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diff --git a/old/13220.txt b/old/13220.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89c1c7a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13220.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21729 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Library Of The World's Best Literature, +Ancient And Modern, Vol 4, by Charles Dudley Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Library Of The World's Best Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 4 + +Author: Charles Dudley Warner + +Release Date: August 19, 2004 [EBook #13220] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEST LITERATURE, VOL. 4 *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +LIBRARY OF THE + +WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE + +ANCIENT AND MODERN + +CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER + +EDITOR + +HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE +LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE +GEORGE HENRY WARNER + +ASSOCIATE EDITORS + + +Connoisseur Edition + +VOL. IV. + + + + +THE ADVISORY COUNCIL + + * * * * * + +CRAWFORD H. TOY, A.M., LL.D., + Professor of Hebrew, + HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass. + +THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D., + Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of + YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn. + +WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH.D., L.H.D., + Professor of History and Political Science, + PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N.J. + +BRANDER MATTHEWS, A.M., LL.B., + Professor of Literature, + COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City. + +JAMES B. ANGELL, LL.D., + President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich. + +WILLARD FISKE, A.M., PH.D., + Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages + and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N.Y. + +EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A.M., LL.D., + Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer, + UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal. + +ALCEE FORTIER, LIT.D., + Professor of the Romance Languages, + TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La. + +WILLIAM P. TRENT, M.A., + Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of + English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn. + +PAUL SHOREY, PH.D., + Professor of Greek and Latin Literature, + UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill. + +WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D., + United States Commissioner of Education, + BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D.C. + +MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A.M., LL.D., + Professor of Literature in the + CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D.C. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +VOL. IV + + LIVED +GEORGE BANCROFT--_Continued_: 1800-1891 + Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham ('History of the + United States') + Lexington (same) + Washington (same) + +JOHN AND MICHAEL BANIM 1798-1874 + The Publican's Dream ('The Bit of Writin'') + Ailleen + Soggarth Aroon + Irish Maiden's Song + +THEODORE DE BANVILLE 1823--1891 + Le Cafe ('The Soul of Paris') + The Mysterious Hosts of the Forests ('The + Caryatids': Lang's Translation) + Aux Enfants Perdus: Lang's Translation + Ballade des Pendus: Lang's Translation + +ANNA LAEITIA BARBAULD 1743-1825 + Against Inconsistency in Our Expectations + A Dialogue of the Dead + Life + Praise to God + +ALEXANDER BARCLAY 1475-1552 + The Courtier's Life (Second Eclogue) + +RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM 1788-1845 + As I Laye A-Thynkynge + The Lay of St. Cuthbert + A Lay of St. Nicholas + +SABINE BARING-GOULD 1834- + St. Patrick's Purgatory ('Curious Myths of the + Middle Ages') + The Cornish Wreckers ('The Vicar of Morwenstow') + +JANE BARLOW 18-- + Widow Joyce's Cloak ('Strangers at Lisconnel') + Walled Out ('Bogland Studies') + +JOEL BARLOW 1754-1812 + A Feast ('Hasty Pudding') + +WILLIAM BARNES 1800-1886 + Blackmwore Maidens + May + Milken Time + Jessie Lee + The Turnstile + To the Water-Crowfoot + Zummer an' Winter + +JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE 1860- + The Courtin' of T'nowhead's Bell ('Auld Licht Idylls') + Jess Left Alone ('A Window in Thrums') + After the Sermon ('The Little Minister') + The Mutual Discovery (same) + Lost Illusions ('Sentimental Tommy') + Sins of Circumstance (same) + +FREDERIC BASTIAT 1801-1850 + Petition of Manufacturers of Artificial Light + Stulta and Puera + Inapplicable Terms ('Economic Sophisms') + +CHARLES BAUDELAIRE (by Grace King) 1821-1867 + Meditation + Death of the Poor + Music + The Broken Bell + The Enemy + Beauty + Death + The Painter of Modern Life ('L'Art Romantique') + Modernness + From 'Little Poems in Prose': Every One His Own Chimera; + Humanity; Windows; Drink + From a Journal + +LORD BEACONSFIELD (by Isa Carrington Cabell) 1804-1881 + A Day at Ems ('Vivian Grey') + The Festa in the Alhambra ('The Young Duke') + Squibs from 'The Young Duke': Charles Annesley; The + Fussy Hostess; Public Speaking; Female Beauty + Lothair in Palestine ('Lothair') + +BEAUMARCHAIS 1732-1799 + Outwitting a Guardian ('The Barber of Seville') + Outwitting a Husband ('The Marriage of Figaro') + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER 1584-1625 + The Faithful Shepherdess + Song + Song + Aspatia's Song + Leandro's Song + True Beauty + Ode to Melancholy + To Ben Jonson, on His 'Fox' + On the Tombs in Westminster + Arethusa's Declaration ('Philaster') + The Story of Bellario (same) + Evadne's Confession ('The Maid's Tragedy') + Death of the Boy Hengo ('Bonduca') + From 'The Two Noble Kinsmen' + +WILLIAM BECKFORD 1759-1844 + The Incantation and the Sacrifice ('Vathek') + Vathek and Nouronihar in the Halls of Eblis (same) + +HENRY WARD BEECHER 1813-1887 + Book-Stores and Books ('Star Papers') + Selected Paragraphs + Sermon: Poverty and the Gospel + A New England Sunday ('Norwood') + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (by Irenaeus Stevenson) 1770-1827 + Letters: To Dr. Wegeler; To the Same; To Bettina + Brentano; To Countess Giulietta Guicciardi; To the + Same; To His Brothers; To the Royal and Imperial + High Court of Appeal; To Baroness von Drossdick; + To Zmeskall; To the Same; To Stephan v. Breuning + +CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN (by Olga Flinch) 1740-1795 + To Ulla + Cradle-Song for My Son Carl + Amaryllis + Art and Politics + Drink Out Thy Glass + +JEREMY BENTHAM 1748-1832 + Of the Principle of Utility ('An Introduction to the + Principles of Morals and Legislation') + Reminiscences of Childhood + Letter to George Wilson (1781) + Fragment of a Letter to Lord Lansdowne (1790) + +JEAN-PIERRE DE BERANGER (by Alcee Fortier) 1780-1857 + From 'The Gipsies' + The Gad-Fly + Draw It Mild + The King of Yvetot + Fortune + The People's Reminiscences + The Old Tramp + Fifty Years + The Garret + My Tomb + From His Preface to His Collected Poems + +GEORGE BERKELEY 1685-1753 + On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America + Essay on Tar-Water ('Siris') + +HECTOR BERLIOZ 1803-1869 + The Italian Race as Musicians and Auditors ('Autobiography') + The Famous "K Snuff-Box Treachery" (same) + On Gluck (same) + On Bach (same) + Music as an Aristocratic Art (same) + Beginning of a "Grand Passion" (same) + On Theatrical Managers in Relation to Art + +SAINT BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX 1091-1153 + Saint Bernard's Hymn + Monastic Luxury (Apology to the Abbot William of St. Thierry) + From His Sermon on the Death of Gerard + +BERNARD OF CLUNY (by William C. Prime) Twelfth Century + Brief Life Is Here Our Portion + +JULIANA BERNERS Fifteenth Century + The Treatyse of Fyssbynge with an Angle + +WALTER BESANT 1838- + Old-Time London ('London') + The Synagogue ('The Rebel Queen') + +BESTIARIES AND LAPIDARIES (by L. Oscar Kuhns) + The Lion + The Pelican + The Eagle + The Phoenix + The Ant + The Siren + The Whale + The Crocodile + The Turtle-Dove + The Mandragora + Sapphire + Coral + +MARIE-HENRI BEYLE (Stendhal) (by Frederic Taber Cooper) 1783-1842 + Princess Sanseverina's Interview ('Chartreuse de Parme') + Clelia Aids Fabrice to Escape (same) + +WlLLEM BlLDERDIJK 1756-1831 + Ode to Beauty + From the 'Ode to Napoleon' + Slighted Love + The Village Schoolmaster ('Country Life') + +BION Second Century B.C. + Threnody + Hesper + +AUGUSTINE BIRRELL 1850- + Dr. Johnson ('Obiter Dicta') + The Office of Literature (same) + Truth-Hunting (same) + Benvenuto Cellini (same) + On the Alleged Obscurity of Mr. Browning's Poetry (same) + + + + +FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS + +VOLUME IV. + + * * * * * + + PAGE +Egyptian Hieroglyphics (Colored Plate) Frontispiece +"The Irish Maiden's Song" (Photogravure) 1473 +"Milking Time" (Photogravure) 1567 +"Music" (Photogravure) 1625 +Henry Ward Beecher (Portrait) 1714 +"Beethoven" (Photogravure) 1750 +Jean-Pierre de Beranger (Portrait) 1784 +"Monastic Luxury" (Photogravure) 1824 + + +VIGNETTE PORTRAITS + +John Banim +Theodore de Banville +Anna Laetitia Barbauld +Richard Harris Barham +Jane Barlow +Joel Barlow +James Matthew Barrie +Frederic Bastiat +Charles Baudelaire +Lord Beaconsfield +Beaumarchais +Francis Beaumont +William Beckford +Ludwig van Beethoven +Jeremy Bentham +George Berkeley +Hector Berlioz +Saint Bernard of Clairvaux +Juliana Berners +Walter Besant +Henri Beyle (Stendhal) +Augustine Birrell + + + + +GEORGE BANCROFT (Continued from Volume III) + +WOLFE ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM + +From 'History of the United States' + + +But, in the meantime, Wolfe applied himself intently to reconnoitering +the north shore above Quebec. Nature had given him good eyes, as well as +a warmth of temper to follow first impressions. He himself discovered +the cove which now bears his name, where the bending promontories almost +form a basin, with a very narrow margin, over which the hill rises +precipitously. He saw the path that wound up the steep, though so narrow +that two men could hardly march in it abreast; and he knew, by the +number of tents which he counted on the summit, that the Canadian post +which guarded it could not exceed a hundred. Here he resolved to land +his army by surprise. To mislead the enemy, his troops were kept far +above the town; while Saunders, as if an attack was intended at +Beauport, set Cook, the great mariner, with others, to sound the water +and plant buoys along that shore. + +The day and night of the twelfth were employed in preparations. The +autumn evening was bright; and the general, under the clear starlight, +visited his stations, to make his final inspection and utter his last +words of encouragement. As he passed from ship to ship, he spoke to +those in the boat with him of the poet Gray, and the 'Elegy in a Country +Churchyard.' "I," said he, "would prefer being the author of that poem +to the glory of beating the French to-morrow;" and, while the oars +struck the river as it rippled in the silence of the night air under the +flowing tide, he repeated:-- + + "The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, + Await alike the inevitable hour-- + The paths of glory lead but to the grave." + +Every officer knew his appointed duty, when, at one o'clock in the +morning of the thirteenth of September, Wolfe, Monckton, and Murray, and +about half the forces, set off in boats, and, using neither sail nor +oars, glided down with the tide. In three quarters of an hour the ships +followed; and, though the night had become dark, aided by the rapid +current, they reached the cove just in time to cover the landing. Wolfe +and the troops with him leaped on shore; the light infantry, who found +themselves borne by the current a little below the intrenched path, +clambered up the steep hill, staying themselves by the roots and boughs +of the maple and spruce and ash trees that covered the precipitous +declivity, and, after a little firing, dispersed the picket which +guarded the height; the rest ascended safely by the pathway. A battery +of four guns on the left was abandoned to Colonel Howe. When Townshend's +division disembarked, the English had already gained one of the roads to +Quebec; and, advancing in front of the forest, Wolfe stood at daybreak +with his invincible battalions on the Plains of Abraham, the +battle-field of the Celtic and Saxon races. + +"It can be but a small party, come to burn a few houses and retire," +said Montcalm, in amazement as the news reached him in his intrenchments +the other side of the St. Charles; but, obtaining better information, +"Then," he cried, "they have at last got to the weak side of this +miserable garrison; we must give battle and crush them before mid-day." +And, before ten, the two armies, equal in numbers, each being composed +of less than five thousand men, were ranged in presence of one another +for battle. The English, not easily accessible from intervening shallow +ravines and rail fences, were all regulars, perfect in discipline, +terrible in their fearless enthusiasm, thrilling with pride at their +morning's success, commanded by a man whom they obeyed with confidence +and love. The doomed and devoted Montcalm had what Wolfe had called but +"five weak French battalions," of less than two thousand men, "mingled +with disorderly peasantry," formed on commanding ground. The French had +three little pieces of artillery; the English, one or two. The two +armies cannonaded each other for nearly an hour; when Montcalm, having +summoned De Bougainville to his aid, and dispatched messenger after +messenger for De Vaudreuil, who had fifteen hundred men at the camp, to +come up before he should be driven from the ground, endeavored to flank +the British and crowd them down the high bank of the river. Wolfe +counteracted the movement by detaching Townshend with Amherst's +regiment, and afterward a part of the Royal Americans, who formed on the +left with a double front. + +Waiting no longer for more troops, Montcalm led the French army +impetuously to the attack. The ill-disciplined companies broke by their +precipitation and the unevenness of the ground; and fired by platoons, +without unity. Their adversaries, especially the Forty-third and the +Forty-seventh, where Monckton stood, of which three men out of four were +Americans, received the shock with calmness; and after having, at +Wolfe's command, reserved their fire till their enemy was within forty +yards, their line began a regular, rapid, and exact discharge of +musketry. Montcalm was present everywhere, braving danger, wounded, but +cheering by his example. The second in command, De Sennezergues, an +associate in glory at Ticonderoga, was killed. The brave but untried +Canadians, flinching from a hot fire in the open field, began to waver; +and, so soon as Wolfe, placing himself at the head of the Twenty-eighth +and the Louisburg grenadiers, charged with bayonets, they everywhere +gave way. Of the English officers, Carleton was wounded; Barre, who +fought near Wolfe, received in the head a ball which made him blind of +one eye, and ultimately of both. Wolfe, also, as he led the charge, was +wounded in the wrist; but still pressing forward, he received a second +ball; and having decided the day, was struck a third time, and mortally, +in the breast. "Support me," he cried to an officer near him; "let not +my brave fellows see me drop." He was carried to the rear, and they +brought him water to quench his thirst. "They run! they run!" spoke the +officer on whom he leaned. "Who run?" asked Wolfe, as his life was fast +ebbing. "The French," replied the officer, "give way everywhere." +"What," cried the expiring hero, "do they run already? Go, one of you, +to Colonel Burton; bid him march Webb's regiment with all speed to +Charles River to cut off the fugitives." Four days before, he had looked +forward to early death with dismay. "Now, God be praised, I die happy." +These were his words as his spirit escaped in the blaze of his glory. +Night, silence, the rushing tide, veteran discipline, the sure +inspiration of genius, had been his allies; his battle-field, high over +the ocean river, was the grandest theatre for illustrious deeds; his +victory, one of the most momentous in the annals of mankind, gave to the +English tongue and the institutions of the Germanic race the unexplored +and seemingly infinite West and South. He crowded into a few hours +actions that would have given lustre to length of life; and, filling his +day with greatness, completed it before its noon. + +Copyrighted by D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + +LEXINGTON + +From 'History of the United States' + +Day came in all the beauty of an early spring. The trees were budding; +the grass growing rankly a full month before its time; the bluebird and +the robin gladdening the genial season, and calling forth the beams of +the sun which on that morning shone with the warmth of summer; but +distress and horror gathered over the inhabitants of the peaceful town. +There on the green lay in death the gray-haired and the young; the +grassy field was red "with the innocent blood of their brethren slain," +crying unto God for vengeance from the ground. + +Seven of the men of Lexington were killed, nine wounded; a quarter part +of all who stood in arms on the green. These are the village heroes, who +were more than of noble blood, proving by their spirit that they were of +a race divine. They gave their lives in testimony to the rights of +mankind, bequeathing to their country an assurance of success in the +mighty struggle which they began. Their names are held in grateful +remembrance, and the expanding millions of their countrymen renew and +multiply their praise from generation to generation. They fulfilled +their duty not from the accidental impulse of the moment; their action +was the slowly ripened fruit of Providence and of time. The light that +led them on was combined of rays from the whole history of the race; +from the traditions of the Hebrews in the gray of the world's morning; +from the heroes and sages of republican Greece and Rome; from the +example of Him who died on the cross for the life of humanity; from the +religious creed which proclaimed the divine presence in man, and on this +truth, as in a life-boat, floated the liberties of nations over the dark +flood of the Middle Ages; from the customs of the Germans transmitted +out of their forests to the councils of Saxon England; from the burning +faith and courage of Martin Luther; from trust in the inevitable +universality of God's sovereignty as taught by Paul of Tarsus and +Augustine, through Calvin and the divines of New England; from the +avenging fierceness of the Puritans, who dashed the mitre on the ruins +of the throne; from the bold dissent and creative self-assertion of the +earliest emigrants to Massachusetts; from the statesmen who made, and +the philosophers who expounded, the revolution of England; from the +liberal spirit and analyzing inquisitiveness of the eighteenth century; +from the cloud of witnesses of all the ages to the reality and the +rightfulness of human freedom. All the centuries bowed themselves from +the recesses of the past to cheer in their sacrifice the lowly men who +proved themselves worthy of their forerunners, and whose children rise +up and call them blessed. + +Heedless of his own danger, Samuel Adams, with the voice of a prophet, +exclaimed: "Oh, what a glorious morning is this!" for he saw his +country's independence hastening on, and, like Columbus in the tempest, +knew that the storm did but bear him the more swiftly toward the +undiscovered world. + +Copyrighted by D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + +WASHINGTON + +From 'History of the United States' + +Then, on the fifteenth of June, it was voted to appoint a general. +Thomas Johnson, of Maryland, nominated George Washington; and as he had +been brought forward "at the particular request of the people of New +England," he was elected by ballot unanimously. + +Washington was then forty-three years of age. In stature he a little +exceeded six feet; his limbs were sinewy and well-proportioned; his +chest broad; his figure stately, blending dignity of presence with ease. +His robust constitution had been tried and invigorated by his early life +in the wilderness, the habit of occupation out of doors, and rigid +temperance; so that few equaled him in strength of arm, or power of +endurance, or noble horsemanship. His complexion was florid; his hair +dark brown; his head in its shape perfectly round. His broad nostrils +seemed formed to give expression and escape to scornful anger. His +eyebrows were rayed and finely arched. His dark-blue eyes, which were +deeply set, had an expression of resignation, and an earnestness that +was almost pensiveness. His forehead was sometimes marked with thought, +but never with inquietude; his countenance was mild and pleasing and +full of benignity. + +At eleven years old left an orphan to the care of an excellent but +unlettered mother, he grew up without learning. Of arithmetic and +geometry he acquired just knowledge enough to be able to practice +measuring land; but all his instruction at school taught him not so +much as the orthography or rules of grammar of his own tongue. His +culture was altogether his own work, and he was in the strictest sense a +self-made man; yet from his early life he never seemed uneducated. At +sixteen, he went into the wilderness as a surveyor, and for three years +continued the pursuit, where the forests trained him, in meditative +solitude, to freedom and largeness of mind; and nature revealed to him +her obedience to serene and silent laws. In his intervals from toil, he +seemed always to be attracted to the best men, and to be cherished by +them. Fairfax, his employer, an Oxford scholar, already aged, became his +fast friend. He read little, but with close attention. Whatever he took +in hand he applied himself to with care; and his papers, which have been +preserved, show how he almost imperceptibly gained the power of writing +correctly; always expressing himself with clearness and directness, +often with felicity of language and grace. + +When the frontiers on the west became disturbed, he at nineteen was +commissioned an adjutant-general with the rank of major. At twenty-one, +he went as the envoy of Virginia to the council of Indian chiefs on the +Ohio, and to the French officers near Lake Erie. Fame waited upon him +from his youth; and no one of his colony was so much spoken of. He +conducted the first military expedition from Virginia that crossed the +Alleghanies. Braddock selected him as an aid, and he was the only man +who came out of the disastrous defeat near the Monongahela, with +increased reputation, which extended to England. The next year, when he +was but four-and-twenty, "the great esteem" in which he was held in +Virginia, and his "real merit," led the lieutenant-governor of Maryland +to request that he might be "commissioned and appointed second in +command" of the army designed to march to the Ohio; and Shirley, the +commander-in-chief, heard the proposal "with great satisfaction and +pleasure," for "he knew no provincial officer upon the continent to whom +he would so readily give that rank as to Washington." In 1758 he acted +under Forbes as a brigadier, and but for him that general would never +have crossed the mountains. + +Courage was so natural to him that it was hardly spoken of to his +praise; no one ever at any moment of his life discovered in him the +least shrinking in danger; and he had a hardihood of daring which +escaped notice, because it was so enveloped by superior calmness +and wisdom. + +His address was most easy and agreeable; his step firm and graceful; +his air neither grave nor familiar. He was as cheerful as he was +spirited, frank and communicative in the society of friends, fond of the +fox-chase and the dance, often sportive in his letters, and liked a +hearty laugh. "His smile," writes Chastellux, "was always the smile of +benevolence." This joyousness of disposition remained to the last, +though the vastness of his responsibilities was soon to take from him +the right of displaying the impulsive qualities of his nature, and the +weight which he was to bear up was to overlay and repress his gayety +and openness. + +His hand was liberal; giving quietly and without observation, as though +he was ashamed of nothing but being discovered in doing good. He was +kindly and compassionate, and of lively sensibility to the sorrows of +others; so that, if his country had only needed a victim for its relief, +he would have willingly offered himself as a sacrifice. But while he was +prodigal of himself, he was considerate for others; ever parsimonious of +the blood of his countrymen. + +He was prudent in the management of his private affairs, purchased rich +lands from the Mohawk valley to the flats of the Kanawha, and improved +his fortune by the correctness of his judgment; but, as a public man, he +knew no other aim than the good of his country, and in the hour of his +country's poverty he refused personal emolument for his service. + +His faculties were so well balanced and combined that his constitution, +free from excess, was tempered evenly with all the elements of activity, +and his mind resembled a well-ordered commonwealth; his passions, which +had the intensest vigor, owned allegiance to reason; and with all the +fiery quickness of his spirit, his impetuous and massive will was held +in check by consummate judgment. He had in his composition a calm, which +gave him in moments of highest excitement the power of self-control, and +enabled him to excel in patience, even when he had most cause for +disgust. Washington was offered a command when there was little to bring +out the unorganized resources of the continent but his own influence, +and authority was connected with the people by the most frail, most +attenuated, scarcely discernible threads; yet, vehement as was his +nature, impassioned as was his courage, he so retained his ardor that he +never failed continuously to exert the attractive power of that +influence, and never exerted it so sharply as to break its force. + +In secrecy he was unsurpassed; but his secrecy had the character of +prudent reserve, not of cunning or concealment. His great natural power +of vigilance had been developed by his life in the wilderness. + +His understanding was lucid, and his judgment accurate; so that his +conduct never betrayed hurry or confusion. No detail was too minute for +his personal inquiry and continued supervision; and at the same time he +comprehended events in their widest aspects and relations. He never +seemed above the object that engaged his attention, and he was always +equal, without an effort, to the solution of the highest questions, even +when there existed no precedents to guide his decision. In the +perfection of the reflective powers, which he used habitually, he had +no peer. + +In this way he never drew to himself admiration for the possession of +any one quality in excess, never made in council any one suggestion that +was sublime but impracticable, never in action took to himself the +praise or the blame of undertakings astonishing in conception, but +beyond his means of execution. It was the most wonderful accomplishment +of this man that, placed upon the largest theatre of events, at the head +of the greatest revolution in human affairs, he never failed to observe +all that was possible, and at the same time to bound his aspirations by +that which was possible. + +A slight tinge in his character, perceptible only to the close observer, +revealed the region from which he sprung, and he might be described as +the best specimen of manhood as developed in the South; but his +qualities were so faultlessly proportioned that his whole country rather +claimed him as its choicest representative, the most complete expression +of all its attainments and aspirations. He studied his country and +conformed to it. His countrymen felt that he was the best type of +America, and rejoiced in it, and were proud of it. They lived in his +life, and made his success and his praise their own. + +Profoundly impressed with confidence in God's providence, and exemplary +in his respect for the forms of public worship, no philosopher of the +eighteenth century was more firm in the support of freedom of religious +opinion, none more remote from bigotry; but belief in God, and trust in +his overruling power, formed the essence of his character. Divine wisdom +not only illumines the spirit, it inspires the will. Washington was a +man of action, and not of theory or words; his creed appears in his +life, not in his professions, which burst from him very rarely, and +only at those great moments of crisis in the fortunes of his country, +when earth and heaven seemed actually to meet, and his emotions became +too intense for suppression; but his whole being was one continued act +of faith in the eternal, intelligent, moral order of the universe. +Integrity was so completely the law of his nature, that a planet would +sooner have shot from its sphere than he have departed from his +uprightness, which was so constant that it often seemed to be almost +impersonal. "His integrity was the most pure, his justice the most +inflexible I have ever known," writes Jefferson; "no motives of interest +or consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his +decision." + +They say of Giotto that he introduced goodness into the art of painting; +Washington carried it with him to the camp and the Cabinet, and +established a new criterion of human greatness. The purity of his will +confirmed his fortitude: and as he never faltered in his faith in +virtue, he stood fast by that which he knew to be just; free from +illusions; never dejected by the apprehension of the difficulties and +perils that went before him, and drawing the promise of success from the +justice of his cause. Hence he was persevering, leaving nothing +unfinished; devoid of all taint of obstinacy in his firmness; seeking +and gladly receiving advice, but immovable in his devotedness to right. + +Of a "retiring modesty and habitual reserve," his ambition was no more +than the consciousness of his power, and was subordinate to his sense of +duty; he took the foremost place, for he knew from inborn magnanimity +that it belonged to him, and he dared not withhold the service required +of him; so that, with all his humility, he was by necessity the first, +though never for himself or for private ends. He loved fame, the +approval of coming generations, the good opinion of his fellow-men of +his own time, and he desired to make his conduct coincide with his +wishes; but not fear of censure, not the prospect of applause could +tempt him to swerve from rectitude, and the praise which he coveted was +the sympathy of that moral sentiment which exists in every human breast, +and goes forth only to the welcome of virtue. + +There have been soldiers who have achieved mightier victories in the +field, and made conquests more nearly corresponding to the boundlessness +of selfish ambition; statesmen who have been connected with more +startling upheavals of society: but it is the greatness of Washington +that in public trusts he used power solely for the public good; that he +was the life and moderator and stay of the most momentous revolution in +human affairs; its moving impulse and its restraining power.... + +This also is the praise of Washington: that never in the tide of time +has any man lived who had in so great a degree the almost divine faculty +to command the confidence of his fellow-men and rule the willing. +Wherever he became known, in his family, his neighborhood, his county, +his native State, the continent, the camp, civil life, among the common +people, in foreign courts, throughout the civilized world, and even +among the savages, he, beyond all other men, had the confidence of +his kind. + +Copyrighted by D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + + +JOHN AND MICHAEL BANIM + +(1798-1846) (1796-1874) + + +Of the writers who have won esteem by telling the pathetic stories of +their country's people, the names of John and Michael Banim are ranked +among the Irish Gael not lower than that of Sir Walter Scott among the +British Gael. The works of the Banim brothers continued the same sad and +fascinating story of the "mere Irish" which Maria Edgeworth and Lady +Morgan had laid to the hearts of English readers in the late eighteenth +and early nineteenth century days. The Banim family was one of those +which belonged to the class of "middlemen," people so designated in +Ireland who were neither rich nor poor, but in the fortunate mean. The +family home was in the historic town of Kilkenny, famous alike for its +fighting confederation and its fighting cats. Here Michael was born +August 5th, 1796, and John April 3d, 1798. Michael lived to a green old +age, and survived his younger brother John twenty-eight years, less +seventeen days; he died at Booterstown, August 30th, 1874. + +[Illustration: JOHN BANIM] + +The first stories of this brotherly collaboration in letters appeared in +1825 without mark of authorship, as recitals contributed for instruction +and amusement about the hearth-stone of an Irish household, called 'The +O'Hara Family.' The minor chords of the soft music of the Gaelic English +as it fell from the tongues of Irish lads and lasses, whether in note of +sorrow or of sport, had already begun to touch with winsome tenderness +the stolid Saxon hearts, when that idyl of their country's penal days, +'The Bit o' Writin',' was sent out from the O'Hara fireside. The almost +instantaneous success and popularity of their first stories speedily +broke down the anonymity of the Banims, and publishers became eager and +gain-giving. About two dozen stories were published before the death of +John, in 1842. The best-known of them, in addition to the one already +mentioned, are 'The Boyne Water,' 'The Croppy,' and 'Father Connell.' + +The fact that during the long survival of Michael no more of the Banim +stories appeared, is sometimes called in as evidence that the latter had +little to do with the writing of the series. Michael and John, it was +well known, had worked lovingly together, and Michael claimed a part in +thirteen of the tales, without excluding his brother from joint +authorship. Exactly what each wrote of the joint productions has never +been known. A single dramatic work of the Banim brothers has attained to +a position in the standard drama, the play of 'Damon and Pythias,' a +free adaptation from an Italian original, written by John Banim at the +instance of Richard Lalor Shiel. The songs are also attributed to John. +It is but just to say that the great emigration to the United States +which absorbed the Irish during the '40's and '50's depreciated the sale +of such works as those of the Banims to the lowest point, and Michael +had good reason, aside from the loss of his brother's aid, to lay down +his pen. The audience of the Irish story-teller had gone away across the +great western sea. There was nothing to do but sit by the lonesome +hearth and await one's own to-morrow for the voyage of the greater sea. + + +THE PUBLICAN'S DREAM + +From 'The Bit o' Writin' and Other Tales' + +The fair-day had passed over in a little straggling town in the +southeast of Ireland, and was succeeded by a languor proportioned to the +wild excitement it never failed to create. But of all in the village, +its publicans suffered most under the reaction of great bustle. Few of +their houses appeared open at broad noon; and some--the envy of their +competitors--continued closed even after that late hour. Of these +latter, many were of the very humblest kind; little cabins, in fact, +skirting the outlets of the village, or standing alone on the roadside a +good distance beyond it. + +About two o'clock upon the day in question, a house of "Entertainment +for Man and Horse," the very last of the description noticed to be found +between the village and the wild tract of mountain country adjacent to +it, was opened by the proprietress, who had that moment arisen from bed. + +The cabin consisted of only two apartments, and scarce more than +nominally even of two; for the half-plastered wicker and straw +partition, which professed to cut off a sleeping-nook from the whole +area inclosed by the clay walls, was little higher than a tall man, and +moreover chinky and porous in many places. Let the assumed distinction +be here allowed to stand, however, while the reader casts his eyes +around what was sometimes called the kitchen, sometimes the tap-room, +sometimes the "dancing-flure." Forms which had run by the walls, and +planks by way of tables which had been propped before them, were turned +topsy-turvy, and in some instances broken. Pewter pots and pints, +battered and bruised, or squeezed together and flattened, and fragments +of twisted glass tumblers, lay beside them. The clay floor was scraped +with brogue-nails and indented with the heel of that primitive +foot-gear, in token of the energetic dancing which had lately been +performed upon it. In a corner still appeared (capsized, however) an +empty eight-gallon beer barrel, recently the piper's throne, whence his +bag had blown forth the inspiring storms of jigs and reels, which +prompted to more antics than ever did a bag of the laughing-gas. Among +the yellow turf-ashes of the hearth lay on its side an old blackened tin +kettle, without a spout,--a principal utensil in brewing scalding water +for the manufacture of whisky-punch; and its soft and yet warm bed was +shared by a red cat, who had stolen in from his own orgies, through some +cranny, since day-break. The single four-paned window of the apartment +remained veiled by its rough shutter, that turned on leather hinges; but +down the wide yawning chimney came sufficient light to reveal the +objects here described. + +The proprietress opened her back door. She was a woman of about forty; +of a robust, large-boned figure; with broad, rosy visage, dark, handsome +eyes, and well-cut nose: but inheriting a mouth so wide as to proclaim +her pure aboriginal Irish pedigree. After a look abroad, to inhale the +fresh air, and then a remonstrance (ending in a kick) with the hungry +pig, who ran, squeaking and grunting, to demand his long-deferred +breakfast, she settled her cap, rubbed down her _prauskeen_ [coarse +apron], tucked and pinned up her skirts behind, and saying in a loud, +commanding voice, as she spoke into the sleeping-chamber, "Get up now at +once, Jer, I bid you," vigorously if not tidily set about putting her +tavern to rights. + +During her bustle the dame would stop an instant, and bend her ear to +listen for a stir inside the partition; but at last losing patience she +resumed:-- + +"Why, then, my heavy hatred on you, Jer Mulcahy, is it gone into a +_sauvaun_ [pleasant drowsiness] you are, over again? or maybe you stole +out of bed, an' put your hand on one o' them ould good-for-nothing +books, that makes you the laziest man that a poor woman ever had tinder +one roof wid her? ay, an' that sent you out of our dacent shop an' +house, in the heart of the town below, an' banished us here, Jer +Mulcahy, to sell drams o' whisky an' pots o' beer to all the riff-raff +o' the counthry-side, instead o' the nate boots an' shoes you served +your honest time to?" + +She entered his, or her chamber, rather, hoping that she might detect +him luxuriantly perusing in bed one of the mutilated books, a love of +which (or more truly a love of indolence, thus manifesting itself) had +indeed chiefly caused his downfall in the world. Her husband, however, +really tired after his unusual bodily efforts of the previous day, only +slumbered, as Mrs. Mulcahy had at first anticipated; and when she had +shaken and aroused him, for the twentieth time that morning, and scolded +him until the spirit-broken blockhead whimpered,--nay, wept, or +pretended to weep,--the dame returned to her household duties. + +She did not neglect, however, to keep calling to him every half-minute, +until at last Mr. Jeremiah Mulcahy strode into the kitchen: a tall, +ill-contrived figure, that had once been well fitted out, but that now +wore its old skin, like its old clothes, very loosely; and those old +clothes were a discolored, threadbare, half-polished kerseymere pair of +trousers, and aged superfine black coat, the last relics of his former +Sunday finery,--to which had recently and incongruously been added a +calfskin vest, a pair of coarse sky-blue peasant's stockings, and a pair +of brogues. His hanging cheeks and lips told, together, his present bad +living and domestic subjection; and an eye that had been blinded by the +smallpox wore neither patch nor band, although in better days it used to +be genteelly hidden from remark,--an assumption of consequence now +deemed incompatible with his altered condition in society. + +"O Cauth! oh, I had such a dhrame," he said, as he made his appearance. + +"An' I'll go bail you had," answered Cauth, "an' when do you ever go +asleep without having one dhrame or another, that pesters me off o' my +legs the livelong day, till the night falls again to let you have +another? Musha, Jer, don't be ever an' always such a fool; an' never +mind the dhrame now, but lend a hand to help me in the work o' the +house. See the pewther there: haive it up, man alive, an' take it out +into the garden, and sit on the big stone in the sun, an' make it look +as well as you can, afther the ill usage it got last night; come, hurry, +Jer--go an' do what I bid you." + +He retired in silence to "the garden," a little patch of ground +luxuriant in potatoes and a few cabbages. Mrs. Mulcahy pursued her work +till her own sensations warned her that it was time to prepare her +husband's morning or rather day meal; for by the height of the sun it +should now be many hours past noon. So she put down her pot of potatoes; +and when they were boiled, took out a wooden trencher full of them, and +a mug of sour milk, to Jer, determined not to summon him from his useful +occupation of restoring the pints and quarts to something of their +former shape. + +Stepping through the back door, and getting him in view, she stopped +short in silent anger. His back was turned to her, because of the sun; +and while the vessels, huddled about in confusion, seemed little the +better of his latent skill and industry, there he sat on his favorite +round stone, studiously perusing, half aloud to himself, some idle +volume which doubtless he had smuggled into the garden in his pocket. +Laying down her trencher and her mug, Mrs. Mulcahy stole forward on +tiptoe, gained his shoulder without being heard, snatched the imperfect +bundle of soiled pages out of his hand, and hurled it into a neighbor's +cabbage-bed. + +Jeremiah complained, in his usual half-crying tone, declaring that "she +never could let him alone, so she couldn't, and he would rather list for +a soger than lade such a life, from year's end to year's end, so +he would." + +"Well, an' do then--an' whistle that idle cur off wid you," pointing to +a nondescript puppy, which had lain happily coiled up at his master's +feet until Mrs. Mulcahy's appearance, but that now watched her closely, +his ears half cocked and his eyes wide open, though his position +remained unaltered. "Go along to the divil, you lazy whelp you!"--she +took up a pint in which a few drops of beer remained since the previous +night, and drained it on the puppy's head, who instantly ran off, +jumping sideways, and yelping as loud as if some bodily injury had +really visited him--"Yes, an' now you begin to yowl, like your masther, +for nothing at all, only because a body axes you to stir your idle +legs--hould your tongue, you foolish baste!" she stooped for a +stone--"one would think I scalded you." + +"You know you did, once, Cauth, to the backbone; an' small blame for +Shuffle to be afeard o' you ever since," said Jer. + +This vindication of his own occasional remonstrances, as well as of +Shuffle's, was founded in truth. When very young, just to keep him from +running against her legs while she was busy over the fire, Mrs. Mulcahy +certainly had emptied a ladleful of boiling potato-water upon the poor +puppy's back; and from that moment it was only necessary to spill a drop +of the coldest possible water, or of any cold liquid, on any part of his +body, and he believed he was again dreadfully scalded, and ran out of +the house screaming in all the fancied theories of torture. + +"Will you ate your good dinner, now, Jer Mulcahy, an' promise to do +something to help me, afther it?--Mother o' Saints!"--thus she +interrupted herself, turning towards the place where she had deposited +the eulogized food--"see that yon unlucky bird! May I never do an ill +turn but there's the pig afther spilling the sweet milk, an' now +shoveling the beautiful white-eyes down her throat at a mouthful!" + +Jer, really afflicted at this scene, promised to work hard the moment he +got his dinner; and his spouse, first procuring a pitchfork to beat the +pig into her sty, prepared a fresh meal for him, and retired to eat her +own in the house, and then to continue her labor. + +In about an hour she thought of paying him another visit of inspection, +when Jeremiah's voice reached her ear, calling out in disturbed accents, +"Cauth! Cauth! _a-vourneen!_ For the love o' heaven, Cauth! where +are you?" + +Running to him, she found her husband sitting upright, though not upon +his round stone, amongst the still untouched heap of pots and pints, his +pock-marked face very pale, his single eye staring, his hands clasped +and shaking, and moisture on his forehead. + +"What!" she cried, "the pewther just as I left it, over again!" + +"O Cauth! Cauth! don't mind that now--but spake to me kind, Cauth, an' +comfort me." + +"Why, what ails you, Jer _a-vous neen_?" affectionately taking his hand, +when she saw how really agitated he was. + +"O Cauth, oh, I had such a dhrame, now, in earnest, at any rate!" + +"A dhrame!" she repeated, letting go his hand, "a dhrame, Jer Mulcahy! +so, afther your good dinner, you go for to fall asleep, Jer Mulcahy, +just to be ready wid a new dhrame for me, instead of the work you came +out here to do, five blessed hours ago!" + +"Don't scould me, now, Cauth; don't, a-pet: only listen to me, an' then +say what you like. You know the lonesome little glen between the hills, +on the short cut for man or horse, to Kilbroggan? Well, Cauth, there I +found myself in the dhrame; and I saw two sailors, tired afther a day's +hard walking, sitting before one of the big rocks that stand upright in +the wild place; an' they were ating or dhrinking, I couldn't make out +which; and one was a tall, sthrong, broad-shouldhered man, an' the other +was sthrong, too, but short an' burly; an' while they were talking very +civilly to each other, lo an' behould you, Cauth, I seen the tall man +whip his knife into the little man; an' then they both sthruggled, an' +wrastled, an' schreeched together, till the rocks rung again; but at +last the little man was a corpse; an' may I never see a sight o' glory, +Cauth, but all this was afore me as plain as you are, in this garden! +an' since the hour I was born, Cauth, I never got such a fright; +an'--oh, Cauth! what's that now?" + +"What is it, you poor fool, you, but a customer, come at last into the +kitchen--an' time for us to see the face o' one this blessed day. Get up +out o' that, wid your dhrames--don't you hear 'em knocking? I'll stay +here to put one vessel at laste to rights--for I see I must." + +Jeremiah arose, groaning, and entered the cabin through the back door. +In a few seconds he hastened to his wife, more terror-stricken than he +had left her, and settling his loins against the low garden wall, +stared at her. + +"Why, then, duoul's in you, Jer Mulcahy (saints forgive me for +cursing!)--and what's the matter wid you, at-all at-all?" + +"They're in the kitchen," he whispered. + +"Well, an' what will they take?" + +"I spoke never a word to them, Cauth, nor they to me;--I couldn't--an' I +won't, for a duke's ransom: I only saw them stannin' together, in the +dark that's coming on, behind the dour, an' I knew them at the first +look--the tall one an' the little one." + +With a flout at his dreams, and his cowardice, and his +good-for-nothingness, the dame hurried to serve her customers. Jeremiah +heard her loud voice addressing them, and their hoarse tones answering. +She came out again for two pints to draw some beer, and commanded him to +follow her and "discoorse the customers." He remained motionless. She +returned in a short time, and fairly drove him before her into +the house. + +He took a seat remote from his guests, with difficulty pronouncing the +ordinary words of "God save ye, genteels," which they bluffly and +heartily answered. His glances towards them were also few; yet enough to +inform him that they conversed together like friends, pledging healths +and shaking hands. The tall sailor abruptly asked him how far it was, by +the short cut, to a village where they proposed to pass the +night--Kilbroggan?--Jeremiah started on his seat, and his wife, after a +glance and a grumble at him, was obliged to speak for her husband. They +finished their beer; paid for it; put up half a loaf and a cut of bad +watery cheese, saying that they might feel more hungry a few miles on +than they now did; and then they arose to leave the cabin. Jeremiah +glanced in great trouble around. His wife had fortunately disappeared; +he snatched up his old hat, and with more energy than he could himself +remember, ran forward to be a short way on the road before them. They +soon approached him; and then, obeying a conscientious impulse, Jeremiah +saluted the smaller of the two, and requested to speak with him apart. +The sailor, in evident surprise, assented. Jer vaguely cautioned him +against going any farther that night, as it would be quite dark by the +time he should get to the mountain pass, on the by-road to Kilbroggan. +His warning was made light of. He grew more earnest, asserting, what was +not the fact, that it was "a bad road," meaning one infested by robbers. +Still the bluff tar paid no attention, and was turning away. "Oh, sir; +oh, stop, sir," resumed Jeremiah, taking great courage, "I have a thing +to tell you;" and he rehearsed his dream, averring that in it he had +distinctly seen the present object of his solicitude set upon and slain +by his colossal companion. The listener paused a moment; first looking +at Jer, and then at the ground, very gravely: but the next moment he +burst into a loud, and Jeremiah thought, frightful laugh, and walked +rapidly to overtake his shipmate. Jeremiah, much oppressed, +returned home. + +Towards dawn, next morning, the publican awoke in an ominous panic, and +aroused his wife to listen to a loud knocking, and a clamor of voices at +their door. She insisted that there was no such thing, and scolded him +for disturbing her sleep. A renewal of the noise, however, convinced +even her incredulity, and showed that Jeremiah was right for the first +time in his life, at least. Both arose, and hastened to answer +the summons. + +When they unbarred the front door, a gentleman, surrounded by a crowd of +people of the village, stood before it. He had discovered on the by-road +through the hills from Kilbroggan, a dead body, weltering in its gore, +and wearing sailor's clothes; had ridden on in alarm; had raised the +village; and some of its population, recollecting to have seen Mrs. +Mulcahy's visitors of the previous evening, now brought him to her house +to hear what she could say on the subject. + +Before she could say anything, her husband fell senseless at her side, +groaning dolefully. While the bystanders raised him, she clapped her +hands, and exalted her voice in ejaculations, as Irishwomen, when +grieved or astonished or vexed, usually do; and now, as proud of +Jeremiah's dreaming capabilities as she had before been impatient of +them, rehearsed his vision of the murder, and authenticated the visit of +the two sailors to her house, almost while he was in the act of making +her the confidant of his prophetic ravings. The auditors stept back in +consternation, crossing themselves, smiting their breasts, and crying +out, "The Lord save us! The Lord have mercy upon us!" + +Jeremiah slowly awoke from his swoon. The gentleman who had discovered +the body commanded his attendants back to the lonesome glen, where it +lay. Poor Jeremiah fell on his knees, and with tears streaming down his +cheeks, prayed to be saved from such a trial. His neighbors almost +forced him along. + +All soon gained the spot, a narrow pass between slanting piles of +displaced rocks; the hills from which they had tumbled rising brown and +barren and to a great height above and beyond them. And there, indeed, +upon the strip of verdure which formed the winding road through the +defile, lay the corpse of one of the sailors who had visited the +publican's house the evening before. + +Again Jeremiah dropt on his knees, at some distance from the body, +exclaiming, "Lord save us!--yes! oh, yes, neighbors, this is the very +place!--only--the saints be good to us again!--'twas the tall sailor I +seen killing the little sailor, and here's the tall sailor murthered by +the little sailor." + +"Dhrames go by conthraries, some way or another," observed one of his +neighbors; and Jeremiah's puzzle was resolved. + +Two steps were now indispensable to be taken; the county coroner should +be summoned, and the murderer sought after. The crowd parted to engage +in both matters simultaneously. Evening drew on when they again met in +the pass: and the first, who had gone for the coroner, returned with +him, a distance of near twenty miles; but the second party did not prove +so successful. In fact they had discovered no clue to the present +retreat of the supposed assassin. + +The coroner impaneled his jury, and held his inquest under a large +upright rock, bedded in the middle of the pass, such as Jeremiah said he +had seen in his dream. A verdict of willful murder against the absent +sailor was quickly agreed upon; but ere it could be recorded, all +hesitated, not knowing how to individualize a man of whose name they +were ignorant. + +The summer night had fallen upon their deliberations, and the moon arose +in splendor, shining over the top of one of the high hills that inclosed +the pass, so as fully to illumine the bosom of the other. During their +pause, a man appeared standing upon the line of the hill thus favored by +the moonlight, and every eye turned in that direction. He ran down the +abrupt declivity beneath him; he gained the continued sweep of jumbled +rocks which immediately walled in the little valley, springing from one +to another of them with such agility and certainty that it seemed almost +magical; and a general whisper of fear now attested the fact of his +being dressed in a straw hat, a short jacket, and loose white trousers. +As he jumped from the last rock upon the sward of the pass, the +spectators drew back; but he, not seeming to notice them, walked up to +the corpse, which had not yet been touched; took its hand; turned up +its face into the moonlight, and attentively regarded the features; let +the hand go; pushed his hat upon his forehead; glanced around him; +recognized the person in authority; approached, and stood still before +him, and said "Here I am, Tom Mills, that killed long Harry Holmes, and +there he lies." + +The coroner cried out to secure him, now fearing that the man's +sturdiness meant farther harm. "No need," resumed the self-accused; +"here's my bread-and-cheese knife, the only weapon about me;" he threw +it on the ground: "I come back just to ax you, commodore, to order me a +cruise after poor Harry, bless his precious eyes, wherever he is bound." + +"You have been pursued hither?" + +"No, bless your heart; but I wouldn't pass such another watch as the +last twenty-four hours for all the prize-money won at Trafalgar. 'Tisn't +in regard of not tasting food or wetting my lips ever since I fell foul +of Harry, or of hiding my head like a cursed animal o' the yearth, and +starting if a bird only hopped nigh me: but I cannot go on living on +this tack no longer; that's it; and the least I can say to you, Harry, +my hearty." + +"What caused your quarrel with your comrade?" + +"There was no jar or jabber betwixt us, d'you see me." + +"Not at the time, I understand you to mean; but surely you must have +long owed him a grudge?" + +"No, but long loved him; and he me." + +"Then, in heaven's name, what put the dreadful thought in your head?" + +"The devil, commodore, (the horned lubber!) and another lubber to help +him"--pointing at Jeremiah, who shrank to the skirts of the crowd. "I'll +tell you every word of it, commodore, as true as a log-book. For twenty +long and merry years, Harry and I sailed together, and worked together, +thro' a hard gale sometimes, and thro' hot sun another time; and never a +squally word came between us till last night, and then it all came of +that lubberly swipes-seller, I say again. I thought as how it was a real +awful thing that a strange landsman, before ever he laid eyes on either +of us, should come to have this here dream about us. After falling in +with Harry, when the lubber and I parted company, my old mate saw I was +cast down, and he told me as much in his own gruff, well-meaning way; +upon which I gave him the story, laughing at it. _He_ didn't laugh in +return, but grew glum--glummer than I ever seed him; and I wondered, +and fell to boxing about my thoughts, more and more (deep sea sink that +cursed thinking and thinking, say I!--it sends many an honest fellow out +of his course); and 'It's hard to know the best man's mind,' I thought +to myself. Well, we came on the tack into these rocky parts, and Harry +says to me all on a sudden, 'Tom, try the soundings here, ahead, by +yourself--or let me, by myself.' I axed him why? 'No matter,' says Harry +again, 'but after what you chawed about, I don't like your company any +farther, till we fall in again at the next village.' 'What, Harry,' I +cries, laughing heartier than ever, 'are you afeard of your own mind +with Tom Mills?' 'Pho,' he made answer, walking on before me, and I +followed him. + +"'Yes,' I kept saying to myself, 'he _is_ afeard of his own mind with +his old shipmate.' 'Twas a darker night than this, and when I looked +ahead, the devil (for I know 'twas _he_ that boarded me!) made me take +notice what a good spot it was for Harry to fall foul of me. And then I +watched him making way before me, in the dark, and couldn't help +thinking he was the better man of the two--a head and shoulders over me, +and a match for any two of my inches. And then again, I brought to mind +that Harry would be a heavy purse the better of sending me to Davy's +locker, seeing we had both been just paid off, and got a lot of +prize-money to boot;--and at last (the real red devil having fairly got +me helm a-larboard) I argufied with myself that Tom Mills would be as +well alive, with Harry Holmes's luck in his pocket, as he could be dead, +and _his_ in Harry Holmes's; not to say nothing of taking one's own +part, just to keep one's self afloat, if so be Harry let his mind run as +mine was running. + +"All this time Harry never gave me no hail, but kept tacking through +these cursed rocks; and that, and his last words, made me doubt him more +and more. At last he stopped nigh where he now lies, and sitting with +his back to that high stone, he calls for my blade to cut the bread and +cheese he had got at the village; and while he spoke I believed he +looked glummer and glummer, and that he wanted the blade, the only one +between us, for some'at else than to cut bread and cheese; though now I +don't believe no such thing howsumdever; but then I did: and so, d'you +see me, commodore, I lost ballast all of a sudden, and when he stretched +out his hand for the blade (hell's fire blazing up in my lubberly +heart!)--'Here it is, Harry,' says I, and I gives it to him in the +side!--once, twice, in the right place!" (the sailor's voice, hitherto +calm, though broken and rugged, now rose into a high, wild +cadence)--"and then how we did grapple! and sing out one to another! +ahoy! yeho! aye; till I thought the whole crew of devils answered our +hail from the hill-tops!--But I hit you again and again, Harry! before +you could master me," continued the sailor, returning to the corpse, and +once more taking its hand--"until at last you struck,--my old +messmate!--And now--nothing remains for Tom Mills--but to man the +yard-arm!" + +The narrator stood his trial at the ensuing assizes, and was executed +for this avowed murder of his shipmate; Jeremiah appearing as a +principal witness. Our story may seem drawn either from imagination, or +from mere village gossip: its chief acts rest, however, upon the +authority of members of the Irish bar, since risen to high professional +eminence; and they can even vouch that at least Jeremiah asserted the +truth of "The Publican's Dream." + + + AILLEEN + + 'Tis not for love of gold I go, + 'Tis not for love of fame; + Tho' Fortune should her smile bestow, + And I may win a name, + Ailleen, + And I may win a name. + + And yet it is for gold I go, + And yet it is for fame,-- + That they may deck another brow + And bless another name, + Ailleen, + And bless another name. + + For this, but this, I go--for this + I lose thy love awhile; + And all the soft and quiet bliss + Of thy young, faithful smile, + Ailleen, + Of thy young, faithful smile. + + And I go to brave a world I hate + And woo it o'er and o'er, + And tempt a wave and try a fate + Upon a stranger shore, + Ailleen. + Upon a stranger shore. + + Oh! when the gold is wooed and won, + I know a heart will care! + Oh! when the bays are all my own, + I know a brow shall wear, + Ailleen, + I know a brow shall wear. + + And when, with both returned again, + My native land to see, + I know a smile will meet me there + And a hand will welcome me, + Ailleen, + And a hand will welcome me! + + + SOGGARTH AROON + + ("O Priest, O Love!") + + THE IRISH PEASANT'S ADDRESS TO HIS PRIEST + + Am I the slave they say, + Soggarth Aroon? + Since you did show the way, + Soggarth Aroon, + Their slave no more to be, + While they would work with me + Ould Ireland's slavery, + Soggarth Aroon? + + Why not her poorest man, + Soggarth Aroon, + Try and do all he can, + Soggarth Aroon, + Her commands to fulfill + Of his own heart and will, + Side by side with you still, + Soggarth Aroon? + + Loyal and brave to you, + Soggarth Aroon, + Yet be no slave to you, + Soggarth Aroon, + Nor out of fear to you + Stand up so near to you-- + Och! out of fear to _you!_ + Soggarth Aroon! + + Who, in the winter's night, + Soggarth Aroon, + When the cowld blast did bite, + Soggarth Aroon, + Came to my cabin door, + And on my earthen floor + Knelt by me, sick and poor, + Soggarth Aroon? + + Who, on the marriage day, + Soggarth Aroon, + Made the poor cabin gay, + Soggarth Aroon; + And did both laugh and sing, + Making our hearts to ring, + At the poor christening, + Soggarth Aroon? + + Who, as friend only met, + Soggarth Aroon, + Never did flout me yet, + Soggarth Aroon? + And when my hearth was dim + Gave, while his eye did brim, + What I should give to him, + Soggarth Aroon? + + Och! you, and only you, + Soggarth Aroon! + And for this I was true to you, + Soggarth Aroon; + In love they'll never shake + When for ould Ireland's sake + We a true part did take, + Soggarth Aroon! + +[Illustration: _THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG._ +Photogravure from a Painting by E. Hebert.] + + + THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG + + You know it now--it is betrayed + This moment in mine eye, + And in my young cheeks' crimson shade, + And in my whispered sigh. + You know it now--yet listen now-- + Though ne'er was love more true, + My plight and troth and virgin vow + Still, still I keep from you, + Ever! + + Ever, until a proof you give + How oft you've heard me say, + I would not even his empress live + Who idles life away, + Without one effort for the land + In which my fathers' graves + Were hollowed by a despot hand + To darkly close on slaves-- + Never! + + See! round yourself the shackles hang, + Yet come you to love's bowers, + That only he may soothe their pang + Or hide their links in flowers-- + But try all things to snap them first, + And should all fail when tried, + The fated chain you cannot burst + My twining arms shall hide-- + Ever! + + + + +THEODORE DE BANVILLE + +(1823-1891) + + +Theodore Faullain De Banville is best known as a very skillful maker of +polished artificial verse. His poetry stands high; but it is the poetry +not of nature, but of elegant society. His muse, as Mr. Henley says, is +always in evening dress. References to the classic poets are woven into +all of his descriptions of nature. He is distinguished, scholarly, full +of taste, and brilliant in execution; never failing in propriety, and +never reaching inspiration. As an artist in words and cadences he has +few superiors. + +[Illustration: De Banville] + +These qualities are partly acquired, and partly the result of birth. +Born in 1823, the son of a naval officer, from his earliest years he +devoted himself to literature. His birthplace, Moulins, an old +provincial town on the banks of the Allier, where he spent a happy +childhood, made little impression on him. Still almost a child he went +to Paris, where he led a life without events,--without even a marriage +or an election to the Academy; he died March 13th, 1891. His place was +among the society people and the artists; the painter Courbet and the +writers Muerger, Baudelaire, and Gautier were among his closest friends. +He first attracted attention in 1848 by the publication of a volume of +verse, 'The Caryatids.' In 1857 came another, 'Odes Funambulesque,' and +later another series under the same title, the two together containing +his best work in verse. Here he stands highest; though he wrote also +many plays, one of which, 'Gringoire,' has been acted in various +translations. 'The Wife of Socrates' also holds the stage. Like his +other work, his drama is artificial, refined, and skillful. He presents +a marked instance of the artist working for art's sake. During the +latter years of his life he wrote mostly prose, and he has left many +well-drawn portraits of his contemporaries, in addition to several books +of criticism, with much color and charm, but little definiteness. He was +always vague, for facts did not interest him; but he had the power of +making his remote, unreal world attractive, and among the writers of the +school of Gautier he stands among the first. + + +LE CAFE + +From 'The Soul of Paris' + +Imagine a place where you do not endure the horror of being alone, and +yet have the freedom of solitude. There, free from the dust, the +boredom, the vulgarities of a household, you reflect at ease, +comfortably seated before a table, unincumbered by all the things that +oppress you in houses; for if useless objects and papers had accumulated +here they would have been promptly removed. You smoke slowly, quietly, +like a Turk, following your thoughts among the blue curves. + +If you have a voluptuous desire to taste some warm or refreshing +beverage, well-trained waiters bring it to you immediately. If you feel +like talking with clever men who will not bully you, you have within +reach light sheets on which are printed winged thoughts, rapid, written +for you, which you are not forced to bind and preserve in a library when +they have ceased to please you. This place, the paradise of +civilization, the last and inviolable refuge of the free man, is +the cafe. + +It is the cafe; but in the ideal, as we dream it, as it ought to be. The +lack of room and the fabulous cost of land on the boulevards of Paris +make it hideous in actuality. In these little boxes--of which the rent +is that of a palace--one would be foolish to look for the space of a +vestiary. Besides, the walls are decorated with stovepipe hats and +overcoats hung on clothes-pegs--an abominable sight, for which atonement +is offered by multitudes of white panels and ignoble gilding, imitations +made by economical process. + +And (let us not deceive ourselves) the overcoat, with which one never +knows what to do, and which makes us worry everywhere,--in society, at +the theatre, at balls,--is the great enemy and the abominable +enslavement of modern life. Happy the gentlemen of the age of Louis +XIV., who in the morning dressed themselves for all day, in satin and +velvet, their brows protected by wigs, and who remained superb even when +beaten by the storm, and who, moreover, brave as lions, ran the risk of +pneumonia even if they had to put on, one outside the other, the +innumerable waistcoats of Jodelet in 'Les Precieuses Ridicules'! + +"How shall I find my overcoat and my wife's party cape?" is the great +and only cry, the Hamlet-monologue of the modern man, that poisons every +minute of his life and makes him look with resignation toward his dying +hour. On the morning after a ball given by Marshal MacMahon nothing is +found: the overcoats have disappeared; the satin cloaks, the boas, the +lace scarfs have gone up in smoke; and the women must rush in despair +through the driving snow while their husbands try to button their +evening coats, which will not button! + +One evening, at a party given by the wife of the President of the +Chamber of Deputies, at which the gardens were lighted by electricity, +Gambetta suddenly wished to show some of his guests a curiosity, and +invited them to go down with him into the bushes. A valet hastened to +hand him his overcoat, but the guests did not dare to ask for theirs, +and followed Gambetta as they were! However, I believe one or two of +them survived. + +At the cafe no one carries off your overcoat, no one hides it; but they +are all hung up, spread out on the wall like masterpieces of art, +treated as if they were portraits of Mona Lisa or Violante, and you have +them before your eyes, you see them continually. Is there not reason to +curse the moment your eyes first saw the light? One may, as I have said, +read the papers; or rather one might read them if they were not hung on +those abominable racks, which remove them a mile from you and force you +to see them on your horizon. + +As to the drinks, give up all hope; for the owner of the cafe has no +proper place for their preparation, and his rent is so enormous that he +has to make the best even of the quality he sells. But aside from this +reason, the drinks could not be good, because there are too many of +them. The last thing one finds at these coffee-houses is coffee. It is +delicious, divine, in those little Oriental shops where it is made to +order for each drinker in a special little pot. As to syrups, how many +are there in Paris? In what inconceivable place can they keep the jars +containing the fruit juices needed to make them? A few real ladies, +rich, well-born, good housekeepers, not reduced to slavery by the great +shops, who do not rouge or paint their cheeks, still know how to make in +their own homes good syrups from the fruit of their gardens and their +vineyards. But they naturally do not give them away or sell them to the +keepers of cafes, but keep them to gladden their flaxen-haired children. + +Such as it is,--with its failings and its vices, even a full century +after the fame of Procope,--the cafe, which we cannot drive out of our +memories, has been the asylum and the refuge of many charming spirits. +The old Tabourey, who, after having been illustrious, now has a sort of +half popularity and a pewter bar, formerly heard the captivating +conversations of Barbey and of Aurevilly, who were rivals in the noblest +salons, and who sometimes preferred to converse seated before a marble +table in a hall from which one could see the foliage and the flowers of +the Luxembourg. Baudelaire also talked there, with his clear caressing +voice dropping diamonds and precious stones, like the princess of the +fairy tale, from beautiful red, somewhat thick lips. + +A problem with no possible solution holds in check the writers and the +artists of Paris. When one has worked hard all day it is pleasant to +take a seat, during the short stroll that precedes the dinner, to meet +one's comrades and talk with them of everything but politics. The only +favorable place for these necessary accidental meetings is the cafe; but +is the game worth the candle, or, to speak more exactly, the blinding +gas-jets? Is it worth while, for the pleasure of exchanging words, to +accept criminal absinthe, unnatural bitters, tragic vermouth, concocted +in the sombre laboratories of the cafes by frightful parasites? + +Aurelien Scholl, who, being a fine poet and excellent writer, is +naturally a practical man, had a pleasing idea. He wished that the +reunions in the cafes might continue at the absinthe hour, but without +the absinthe! A very honest man, chosen for that purpose, would pour out +for the passers-by, in place of everything else, excellent claret with +quinquina, which would have the double advantage of not poisoning them +and of giving them a wholesome and comforting drink. But this seductive +dream could never be realized. Of course, honest men exist in great +numbers, among keepers of cafes as well as in other walks of life; but +the individual honest man could not be found who would be willing to +pour out quinquina wine in which there was both quinquina and wine. + +In the Palais Royal there used to be a cafe which had retained Empire +fittings and oil lamps. One found there real wine, real coffee, real +milk, and good beefsteaks. Roqueplan, Arsene Houssaye, Michel Levy, and +the handsome Fiorentino used to breakfast there, and they knew how to +get the best mushrooms. The proprietor of the cafe had said that as soon +as he could no longer make a living by selling genuine articles, he +would not give up his stock in trade to another, but would sell his +furniture and shut up shop. He kept his word. He was a hero. + + + BALLADE ON THE MYSTERIOUS HOSTS OF THE FOREST + + From 'The Caryatids' + + Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old, + Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree; + The west wind breathes upon them pure and cold, + And still wolves dread Diana roving free, + In secret woodland with her company. + 'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite + When now the wolds are bathed in silver light, + And first the moonrise breaks the dusky gray; + Then down the dells, with blown soft hair and bright, + And through the dim wood, Dian thrids her way. + + With water-weeds twined in their locks of gold + The strange cold forest-fairies dance in glee; + Sylphs over-timorous and over-bold + Haunt the dark hollows where the dwarf may be, + The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy: + Then, 'mid their mirth and laughter and affright, + The sudden goddess enters, tall and white, + With one long sigh for summers passed away; + The swift feet tear the ivy nets outright, + And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way. + + She gleans her sylvan trophies; down the wold + She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee, + Mixed with the music of the hunting rolled, + But her delight is all in archery, + And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she + More than the hounds that follow on the flight; + The tall nymph draws a golden bow of might, + And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay; + She tosses loose her locks upon the night, + And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way. + + + ENVOI + + Prince, let us leave the din, the dust, the spite, + The gloom and glare of towns, the plague, the blight; + Amid the forest leaves and fountain spray + There is the mystic home of our delight, + And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way. + + Translation of Andrew Lang. + + + AUX ENFANTS PERDUS + + I know Cythera long is desolate; + I know the winds have stripped the garden green. + Alas, my friends! beneath the fierce sun's weight + A barren reef lies where Love's flowers have been, + Nor ever lover on that coast is seen! + So be it, for we seek a fabled shore, + To lull our vague desires with mystic lore, + To wander where Love's labyrinths beguile; + There let us land, there dream for evermore, + "It may be we shall touch the happy isle." + + The sea may be our sepulchre. If Fate, + If tempests wreak their wrath on us, serene + We watch the bolt of Heaven, and scorn the hate + Of angry gods that smite us in their spleen. + Perchance the jealous mists are but the screen + That veils the fairy coast we would explore. + Come, though the sea be vexed, and breakers roar, + Come, for the breath of this old world is vile, + Haste we, and toil, and faint not at the oar; + "It may be we shall touch the happy isle." + + Gray serpents trail in temples desecrate + Where Cypris smiled, the golden maid, the queen, + And ruined is the palace of our state; + But happy loves flit round the mast, and keen + The shrill winds sings the silken cords between. + Heroes are we, with wearied hearts and sore, + Whose flower is faded and whose locks are hoar. + Haste, ye light skiffs, where myrtle thickets smile + Love's panthers sleep 'mid roses, as of yore: + "It may be we shall touch the happy isle." + + + ENVOI + + Sad eyes! the blue sea laughs as heretofore. + Ah, singing birds, your happy music pour; + Ah, poets, leave the sordid earth awhile; + Flit to these ancient gods we still adore: + "It may be we shall touch the happy isle." + + Translation of Andrew Lang. + + + BALLADE DES PENDUS + + Where wide the forest bows are spread, + Where Flora wakes with sylph and fay, + Are crowns and garlands of men dead, + All golden in the morning gay; + Within this ancient garden gray + Are clusters such as no man knows, + Where Moor and Soldan bear the sway: + _This is King Louis's orchard close_! + + These wretched folk wave overhead, + With such strange thoughts as none may say; + A moment still, then sudden sped, + They swing in a ring and waste away. + The morning smites them with her ray; + They toss with every breeze that blows, + They dance where fires of dawning play: + _This is King Louis's orchard close_! + + All hanged and dead, they've summoned + (With Hell to aid, that hears them pray) + New legions of an army dread. + Now down the blue sky flames the day; + The dew dies off; the foul array + Of obscene ravens gathers and goes, + With wings that flap and beaks that flay: + _This is King Louis's orchard close_! + + + ENVOI + + Prince, where leaves murmur of the May, + A tree of bitter clusters grows; + The bodies of men dead are they! + _This is King Louis's orchard close_! + + Translation of Andrew Lang. + + + + +ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD + +(1743-1825) + + +When Laetitia Aikin Barbauld was about thirty years old, her friend, Mrs. +Elizabeth Montague, wishing to establish a college for women, asked her +to be its principal. In her letter of refusal Mrs. Barbauld said:--"A +kind of Academy for ladies, where they are to be taught in a regular +manner the various branches of science, appears to me better calculated +to form such characters as the _Precieuses_ or _Femmes Savantes_ than +good wives or agreeable companions. The very best way for a woman to +acquire knowledge is from conversation with a father or brother.... The +thefts of knowledge in our sex are only connived at while carefully +concealed, and if displayed are punished with disgrace." It is odd to +find Mrs. Barbauld thus reflecting the old-fashioned view of the +capacity and requirements of her own sex, for she herself belonged to +that brilliant group--Hannah More, Fanny Burney, Maria Edgeworth, Jane +Austen, Joanna Baillie, Mary Russell Mitford--who were the living +refutation of her inherited theories. Their influence shows a pedagogic +impulse to present morally helpful ideas to the public. + +[Illustration: ANNA L. BARBAULD] + +From preceding generations whose lives had been concentrated upon +household affairs, these women pioneers had acquired the strictly +practical bent of mind which comes out in all their verse, as in all +their prose. + +The child born at Kibworth Harcourt, Leicestershire, a century and a +half ago, became one of the first of these pleasant writers for young +and old. She was one of the thousand refutations of the stupid popular +idea that precocious children never amount to anything. When only two, +she "could read roundly without spelling, and in half a year more could +read as well as most women." Her father was master of a boys' school, +where her childhood was passed under the rule of a loving but austere +mother, who disliked all intercourse with the pupils for her daughter. +It was not the fashion for women to be highly educated; but, stimulated +perhaps by the scholastic atmosphere, Laetitia implored her father for a +classical training, until, against his judgment, he allowed her to +study Greek and Latin as well as French and Italian. Though not fond of +the housewifely accomplishments insisted upon by Mrs. Aikin, the eager +student also cooked and sewed with due obedience. + +Her dull childhood ended when she was fifteen, for then her father +accepted a position as classical tutor in a boys' school at Warrington, +Lancashire, to which place the family moved. The new home afforded +greater freedom and an interesting circle of friends, among them Currie, +William Roscoe, John Taylor, and the famous Dr. Priestley. A very pretty +girl, with brilliant blonde coloring and animated dark-blue eyes, she +was witty and vivacious, too, under the modest diffidence to which she +had been trained. Naturally she attracted much admiration from the +schoolboys and even from their elders, but on the whole she seems to +have found study and writing more interesting than love affairs. The +first suitor, who presented himself when she was about sixteen, was a +farmer from her early home at Kibworth. He stated his wishes to her +father. "She is in the garden," said Mr. Aikin. "You may ask her +yourself." Laetitia was not propitious, but the young man was persistent, +and the position grew irksome. So the nimble girl scrambled into a +convenient tree, and escaped her rustic wooer by swinging herself down +upon the other side of the garden wall. + +During these years at Warrington she wrote for her own pleasure, and +when her brother John returned home after several years' absence, he +helped her to arrange and publish a selection of her poems. The little +book which appeared in 1773 was highly praised, and ran through four +editions within a year. In spite of grace and fluency, most of these +verses seem flat and antiquated to the modern reader. Of the spirited +first poem 'Corsica,' Dr. Priestley wrote to her:--"I consider that you +are as much a general as Tyrtaeus was, and your poems (which I am +confident are much better than his ever were) may have as great effect +as his. They may be the _coup de grace_ to the French troops in that +island, and Paoli, who reads English, will cause it to be printed in +every history in that renowned island." + +Miss Aikin's next venture was a small volume in collaboration with her +brother, 'Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose by J. and A.L. Aikin.' This too +was widely read and admired. Samuel Rogers has related an amusing +conversation about the book in its first vogue:--"I am greatly pleased +with your 'Miscellaneous Pieces,'" said Charles James Fox to Mrs. +Barbauld's brother. Dr. Aikin bowed. "I particularly admire," continued +Fox, "your essay 'Against Inconsistency in our Expectations.'" "That," +replied Aikin, "is my sister's." "I like much," continued Fox, "your +essay on 'Monastic Institutions.'" "That," answered Aikin, "is also my +sister's." Fox thought it wise to say no more about the book. The essay +'Against Inconsistency in our Expectations' was most highly praised by +the critics, and pronounced by Mackintosh "the best short essay in the +language." + +When thirty years old, Laetitia Aikin married Rochemont Barbauld, and +went to live at Palgrave in Suffolk, where her husband opened a boys' +school, soon made popular by her personal charm and influence. Sir +William Gell, a classic topographer still remembered; William Taylor, +author of a 'Historic Survey of German Poetry '; and Lord Chief Justice +Denman, were a few among the many who looked back with gratitude to a +childhood under her care. + +Perhaps her best known work is the 'Early Lessons for Children,' which +was written during this period. Coming as it did when, as Hannah More +said, there was nothing for children to read between 'Cinderella' and +the Spectator, it was largely welcomed, and has been used by generations +of English children. The lessons were written for a real little Charles, +her adopted son, the child of her brother, Dr. Aikin. For him, too, she +wrote her 'Hymns in Prose for Children,' a book equally successful, +which has been translated into French, German, Spanish, Italian, and +even Latin. + +After eleven busy years at Palgrave, during which, in spite of her +cheerful energy, Mrs. Barbauld had been much harassed by the nervous +irritability of her invalid husband, the Barbaulds gave up their school +and treated themselves to a year of Continental travel. On their return +they settled at Hampstead, where Mr. Barbauld became pastor of a small +Unitarian congregation. The nearness to London was a great advantage to +Mrs. Barbauld's refreshed activity, and she soon made the new home a +pleasant rendezvous for literary men and women. At one of her London +dinner parties she met Sir Walter Scott, who declared that her reading +of Taylor's translation of Buerger's 'Lenore' had inspired him to write +poetry. She met Dr. Johnson too, who, though he railed at her after his +fashion, calling her Deborah and Virago Barbauld, did sometimes betray a +sincere admiration for her character and accomplishments. Miss Edgeworth +and Hannah More were dear friends and regular correspondents. + +From time to time she published a poem or an essay; not many, for in +spite of her brother's continual admonition to write, hers was a +somewhat indolent talent. In 1790 she wrote a capable essay upon the +repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts; a year later, a poetical +epistle to Mr. Wilberforce on the Slave Trade; in 1792, a defense of +Public Worship; and in 1793, a discourse as to a Fast Day upon the Sins +of Government. + +In 1808 her husband's violent death, the result of a long insanity, +prostrated her for a time. Then as a diversion from morbid thought she +undertook an edition of the best English novels in fifty volumes, for +which she wrote an admirable introductory essay. She also made a +compilation from the Spectator, Tatler, Guardian, and Free-holder, with +a preliminary discourse, which she published in 1811. It was called 'The +Female Speaker,' and intended for young women. The same year her +'Eighteen Hundred and Eleven,' a patriotic didactic poem, wounded +national self-love and drew upon her much unfriendly criticism, which so +pained her that she would publish no more. But the stirring lines were +widely read, and in them Macaulay found the original of his famous +traveler from New Zealand, who meditates on the ruined arches of London +Bridge. Her prose style, in its light philosophy, its humorously +sympathetic dealing with every-day affairs, has been often compared with +Addison's. + +Her old age was serene and happy, rich in intellectual companionships +and in the love and respect of many friends. Somewhere she speaks of +"that state of middling life to which I have been accustomed and which I +love." She disliked extremes, in emotion as in all things, and took what +came with cheerful courage. The poem 'Life,' which the self-satisfied +Wordsworth wished that he had written, expresses her serene and +philosophic spirit. + + +AGAINST INCONSISTENCY IN OUR EXPECTATIONS + +As most of the unhappiness in the world arises rather from disappointed +desires than from positive evil, it is of the utmost consequence to +attain just notions of the laws and order of the universe, that we may +not vex ourselves with fruitless wishes, or give way to groundless and +unreasonable discontent. The laws of natural philosophy, indeed, are +tolerably understood and attended to; and though we may suffer +inconveniences, we are seldom disappointed in consequence of them. No +man expects to preserve orange-trees in the open air through an English +winter; or when he has planted an acorn, to see it become a large oak in +a few months. The mind of man naturally yields to necessity; and our +wishes soon subside when we see the impossibility of their being +gratified. + +Now, upon an accurate inspection, we shall find in the moral government +of the world, and the order of the intellectual system, laws as +determinate, fixed, and invariable as any in Newton's 'Principia.' The +progress of vegetation is not more certain than the growth of habit; nor +is the power of attraction more clearly proved than the force of +affection or the influence of example. The man, therefore, who has well +studied the operations of nature in mind as well as matter, will acquire +a certain moderation and equity in his claims upon Providence. He never +will be disappointed either in himself or others. He will act with +precision; and expect that effect and that alone, from his efforts, +which they are naturally adapted to produce. + +For want of this, men of merit and integrity often censure the +dispositions of Providence for suffering characters they despise to run +away with advantages which, they yet know, are purchased by such means +as a high and noble spirit could never submit to. If you refuse to pay +the price, why expect the purchase? We should consider this world as a +great mart of commerce, where fortune exposes to our view various +commodities,--riches, ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge. +Everything is marked at a settled price. Our time, our labor, our +ingenuity, is so much ready money which we are to lay out to the best +advantage. Examine, compare, choose, reject; but stand to your own +judgment: and do not, like children, when you have purchased one thing, +repine that you do not possess another which you did not purchase. Such +is the force of well-regulated industry, that a steady and vigorous +exertion of our faculties, directed to one end, will generally +insure success. + +Would you, for instance, be rich: Do you think that single point worth +the sacrificing everything else to? You may then be rich. Thousands have +become so from the lowest beginnings, by toil, and patient diligence, +and attention to the minutest article of expense and profit. But you +must give up the pleasures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a free, +unsuspicious temper. If you preserve your integrity, it must be a +coarse-spun and vulgar honesty. Those high and lofty notions of morals +which you brought with you from the schools must be considerably +lowered, and mixed with the baser alloy of a jealous and worldly-minded +prudence. You must learn to do hard if not unjust things; and for the +nice embarrassments of a delicate and ingenuous spirit, it is necessary +for you to get rid of them as fast as possible. You must shut your heart +against the Muses, and be content to feed your understanding with plain, +household truths. In short, you must not attempt to enlarge your ideas, +or polish your taste, or refine your sentiments; but must keep on in one +beaten track, without turning aside either to the right hand or to the +left. "But I cannot submit to drudgery like this: I feel a spirit above +it." 'Tis well: be above it then; only do not repine that you are +not rich. + +Is knowledge the pearl of price? That too may be purchased--by steady +application, and long solitary hours of study and reflection. Bestow +these, and you shall be wise. "But" (says the man of letters) "what a +hardship is it that many an illiterate fellow who cannot construe the +motto of the arms on his coach, shall raise a fortune and make a figure, +while I have little more than the common conveniences of life." _Et tibi +magni satis_!--Was it in order to raise a fortune that you consumed the +sprightly hours of youth in study and retirement? Was it to be rich that +you grew pale over the midnight lamp, and distilled the sweetness from +the Greek and Roman spring? You have then mistaken your path, and ill +employed your industry. "What reward have I then for all my labors?" +What reward! A large, comprehensive soul, well purged from vulgar fears +and perturbations and prejudices; able to comprehend and interpret the +works of man--of God. A rich, flourishing, cultivated mind, pregnant +with inexhaustible stores of entertainment and reflection. A perpetual +spring of fresh ideas; and the conscious dignity of superior +intelligence. Good heaven! and what reward can you ask besides? + +"But is it not some reproach upon the economy of Providence that such a +one, who is a mean, dirty fellow, should have amassed wealth enough to +buy half a nation?" Not in the least. He made himself a mean, dirty +fellow for that very end. He has paid his health, his conscience, his +liberty, for it; and will you envy him his bargain? Will you hang your +head and blush in his presence because he outshines you in equipage and +show? Lift up your brow with a noble confidence, and say to yourself, I +have not these things, it is true; but it is because I have not sought, +because I have not desired them; it is because I possess something +better. I have chosen my lot. I am content and satisfied. + +You are a modest man--you love quiet and independence, and have a +delicacy and reserve in your temper which renders it impossible for you +to elbow your way in the world, and be the herald of your own merits. Be +content then with a modest retirement, with the esteem of your intimate +friends, with the praises of a blameless heart, and a delicate, +ingenuous spirit; but resign the splendid distinctions of the world to +those who can better scramble for them. + +The man whose tender sensibility of conscience and strict regard to the +rules of morality makes him scrupulous and fearful of offending, is +often heard to complain of the disadvantages he lies under in every path +of honor and profit. "Could I but get over some nice points, and conform +to the practice and opinion of those about me, I might stand as fair a +chance as others for dignities and preferment." And why can you not? +What hinders you from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of yours +which stands so grievously in your way? If it be a small thing to enjoy +a healthful mind, sound at the very core, that does not shrink from the +keenest inspection; inward freedom from remorse and perturbation; +unsullied whiteness and simplicity of manners; a genuine integrity, + + "Pure in the last recesses of the mind;" + +if you think these advantages an inadequate recompense for what you +resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and be a slave-merchant, a +parasite, or--what you please. + + "If these be motives weak, break off betimes;" + +and as you have not spirit to assert the dignity of virtue, be wise +enough not to forego the emoluments of vice. + +I much admire the spirit of the ancient philosophers, in that they never +attempted, as our moralists often do, to lower the tone of philosophy, +and make it consistent with all the indulgences of indolence and +sensuality. They never thought of having the bulk of mankind for their +disciples; but kept themselves as distinct as possible from a worldly +life. They plainly told men what sacrifices were required, and what +advantages they were which might be expected. + + "Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omissis + Hoc age deliciis ..." + +If you would be a philosopher, these are the terms. You must do thus and +thus; there is no other way. If not, go and be one of the vulgar. + +There is no one quality gives so much dignity to a character as +consistency of conduct. Even if a man's pursuits be wrong and +unjustifiable, yet if they are prosecuted with steadiness and vigor, we +cannot withhold our admiration. The most characteristic mark of a great +mind is to choose some one important object, and pursue it through +life. It was this made Caesar a great man. His object was ambition: he +pursued it steadily; and was always ready to sacrifice to it every +interfering passion or inclination. + +There is a pretty passage in one of Lucian's dialogues, where Jupiter +complains to Cupid that though he has had so many intrigues, he was +never sincerely beloved. In order to be loved, says Cupid, you must lay +aside your aegis and your thunderbolts, and you must curl and perfume +your hair, and place a garland on your head, and walk with a soft step, +and assume a winning, obsequious deportment. But, replied Jupiter, I am +not willing to resign so much of my dignity. Then, returns Cupid, leave +off desiring to be loved. He wanted to be Jupiter and Adonis at the +same time. + +It must be confessed that men of genius are of all others most inclined +to make these unreasonable claims. As their relish for enjoyment is +strong, their views large and comprehensive, and they feel themselves +lifted above the common bulk of mankind, they are apt to slight that +natural reward of praise and admiration which is ever largely paid to +distinguished abilities; and to expect to be called forth to public +notice and favor: without considering that their talents are commonly +very unfit for active life; that their eccentricity and turn for +speculation disqualifies them for the business of the world, which is +best carried on by men of moderate genius; and that society is not +obliged to reward any one who is not useful to it. The poets have been a +very unreasonable race, and have often complained loudly of the neglect +of genius and the ingratitude of the age. The tender and pensive Cowley, +and the elegant Shenstone, had their minds tinctured by this discontent; +and even the sublime melancholy of Young was too much owing to the +stings of disappointed ambition. + +The moderation we have been endeavoring to inculcate will likewise +prevent much mortification and disgust in our commerce with mankind. As +we ought not to wish in ourselves, so neither should we expect in our +friends, contrary qualifications. Young and sanguine, when we enter the +world, and feel our affections drawn forth by any particular excellence +in a character, we immediately give it credit for all others; and are +beyond measure disgusted when we come to discover, as we soon must +discover, the defects in the other side of the balance. But nature is +much more frugal than to heap together all manner of shining qualities +in one glaring mass. Like a judicious painter, she endeavors to preserve +a certain unity of style and coloring in her pieces. Models of absolute +perfection are only to be met with in romance; where exquisite beauty, +and brilliant wit, and profound judgment, and immaculate virtue, are all +blended together to adorn some favorite character. As an anatomist knows +that the racer cannot have the strength and muscles of the +draught-horse; and that winged men, griffins, and mermaids must be mere +creatures of the imagination: so the philosopher is sensible that there +are combinations of moral qualities which never can take place but in +idea. There is a different air and complexion in characters as well as +in faces, though perhaps each equally beautiful; and the excellences of +one cannot be transferred to the other. Thus if one man possesses a +stoical apathy of soul, acts independent of the opinion of the world, +and fulfills every duty with mathematical exactness, you must not expect +that man to be greatly influenced by the weakness of pity, or the +partialities of friendship; you must not be offended that he does not +fly to meet you after a short absence, or require from him the convivial +spirit and honest effusions of a warm, open, susceptible heart. If +another is remarkable for a lively, active zeal, inflexible integrity, a +strong indignation against vice, and freedom in reproving it, he will +probably have some little bluntness in his address not altogether +suitable to polished life; he will want the winning arts of +conversation; he will disgust by a kind of haughtiness and negligence in +his manner, and often hurt the delicacy of his acquaintance with harsh +and disagreeable truths. + +We usually say--That man is a genius, but he has some whims and +oddities--Such a one has a very general knowledge, but he is +superficial, etc. Now in all such cases we should speak more rationally, +did we substitute "therefore" for "but": "He is a genius, therefore he +is whimsical" and the like. + +It is the fault of the present age, owing to the freer commerce that +different ranks and professions now enjoy with each other, that +characters are not marked with sufficient strength; the several classes +run too much into one another. We have fewer pedants, it is true, but we +have fewer striking originals. Every one is expected to have such a +tincture of general knowledge as is incompatible with going deep into +any science; and such a conformity to fashionable manners as checks the +free workings of the ruling passion, and gives an insipid sameness to +the face of society, under the idea of polish and regularity. + +There is a cast of manners peculiar and becoming to each age, sex, and +profession; one, therefore, should not throw out illiberal and +commonplace censures against another. Each is perfect in its kind: a +woman as a woman; a tradesman as a tradesman. We are often hurt by the +brutality and sluggish conceptions of the vulgar; not considering that +some there must be to be hewers of wood and drawers of water, and that +cultivated genius, or even any great refinement and delicacy in their +moral feelings, would be a real misfortune to them. + +Let us then study the philosophy of the human mind. The man who is +master of this science will know what to expect from every one. From +this man, wise advice; from that, cordial sympathy; from another, casual +entertainment. The passions and inclinations of others are his tools, +which he can use with as much precision as he would the mechanical +powers; and he can as readily make allowance for the workings of vanity, +or the bias of self-interest in his friends, as for the power of +friction, or the irregularities of the needle. + + +A DIALOGUE OF THE DEAD + +BETWEEN HELEN AND MADAME MAINTENON + +_Helen_--Whence comes it, my dear Madame Maintenon, that beauty, which +in the age I lived in produced such extraordinary effects, has now lost +almost all its power? + +_Maintenon_--I should wish first to be convinced of the fact, before I +offer to give you a reason for it. + +_Helen_--That will be very easy; for there is no occasion to go any +further than our own histories and experience to prove what I advance. +You were beautiful, accomplished, and fortunate; endowed with every +talent and every grace to bend the heart of man and mold it to your +wish; and your schemes were successful; for you raised yourself from +obscurity and dependence to be the wife of a great monarch.--But what is +this to the influence my beauty had over sovereigns and nations! I +occasioned a long ten-years' war between the most celebrated heroes of +antiquity; contending kingdoms disputed the honor of placing me on their +respective thrones; my story is recorded by the father of verse; and my +charms make a figure even in the annals of mankind. You were, it is +true, the wife of Louis XIV., and respected in his court, but you +occasioned no wars; you are not spoken of in the history of France, +though you furnished materials for the memoirs of a court. Are the love +and admiration that were paid you merely as an amiable woman to be +compared with the enthusiasm I inspired, and the boundless empire I +obtained over all that was celebrated, great, or powerful in the age +I lived in? + +_Maintenon_--All this, my dear Helen, has a splendid appearance, and +sounds well in a heroic poem; but you greatly deceive yourself if you +impute it all to your personal merit. Do you imagine that half the +chiefs concerned in the war of Troy were at all influenced by your +beauty, or troubled their heads what became of you, provided they came +off with honor? Believe me, love had very little to do in the affair: +Menelaus sought to revenge the affront he had received; Agamemnon was +flattered with the supreme command; some came to share the glory, others +the plunder; some because they had bad wives at home, some in hopes of +getting Trojan mistresses abroad; and Homer thought the story extremely +proper for the subject of the best poem in the world. Thus you became +famous; your elopement was made a national quarrel; the animosities of +both nations were kindled by frequent battles; and the object was not +the restoring of Helen to Menelaus, but the destruction of Troy by the +Greeks.--My triumphs, on the other hand, were all owing to myself, and +to the influence of personal merit and charms over the heart of man. My +birth was obscure; my fortunes low; I had past the bloom of youth, and +was advancing to that period at which the generality of our sex lose all +importance with the other; I had to do with a man of gallantry and +intrigue, a monarch who had been long familiarized with beauty, and +accustomed to every refinement of pleasure which the most splendid court +in Europe could afford: Love and Beauty seemed to have exhausted all +their powers of pleasing for him in vain. Yet this man I captivated, I +fixed; and far from being content, as other beauties had been, with the +honor of possessing his heart, I brought him to make me his wife, and +gained an honorable title to his tenderest affection.--The infatuation +of Paris reflected little honor upon you. A thoughtless youth, gay, +tender, and impressible, struck with your beauty, in violation of all +the most sacred laws of hospitality carries you off, and obstinately +refuses to restore you to your husband. You seduced Paris from his duty, +I recovered Louis from vice; you were the mistress of the Trojan prince, +I was the companion of the French monarch. + +_Helen_--I grant you were the wife of Louis, but not the Queen of +France. Your great object was ambition, and in that you met with a +partial success;--my ruling star was love, and I gave up everything for +it. But tell me, did not I show my influence over Menelaus in his taking +me again after the destruction of Troy? + +_Maintenon_--That circumstance alone is sufficient to show that he did +not love you with any delicacy. He took you as a possession that was +restored to him, as a booty that he had recovered; and he had not +sentiment enough to care whether he had your heart or not. The heroes of +your age were capable of admiring beauty, and often fought for the +possession of it; but they had not refinement enough to be capable of +any pure, sentimental attachment or delicate passion. Was that period +the triumph of love and gallantry, when a fine woman and a tripod were +placed together for prizes at a wrestling-bout, and the tripod esteemed +the most valuable reward of the two? No; it is our Clelia, our Cassandra +and Princess of Cleves, that have polished mankind and taught them +how to love. + +_Helen_--Rather say you have lost sight of nature and passion, between +bombast on one hand and conceit on the other. Shall one of the cold +temperament of France teach a Grecian how to love? Greece, the parent of +fair forms and soft desires, the nurse of poetry, whose soft climate and +tempered skies disposed to every gentler feeling, and tuned the heart to +harmony and love!--was Greece a land of barbarians? But recollect, if +you can, an incident which showed the power of beauty in stronger +colors--that when the grave old counselors of Priam on my appearance +were struck with fond admiration, and could not bring themselves to +blame the cause of a war that had almost ruined their country;--you see +I charmed the old as well as seduced the young. + +_Maintenon_--But I, after I was grown old, charmed the young; I was +idolized in a capital where taste, luxury, and magnificence were at the +height; I was celebrated by the greatest wits of my time, and my letters +have been carefully handed down to posterity. + +_Helen_--Tell me now sincerely, were you happy in your elevated +fortune? + +_Maintenon_--- Alas! Heaven knows I was far otherwise: a thousand times +did I wish for my dear Scarron again. He was a very ugly fellow, it is +true, and had but little money: but the most easy, entertaining +companion in the world: we danced, laughed, and sung; I spoke without +fear or anxiety, and was sure to please. With Louis all was gloom, +constraint, and a painful solicitude to please--which seldom produces +its effect; the king's temper had been soured in the latter part of life +by frequent disappointments; and I was forced continually to endeavor to +procure him that cheerfulness which I had not myself. Louis was +accustomed to the most delicate flatteries; and though I had a good +share of wit, my faculties were continually on the stretch to entertain +him,--a state of mind little consistent with happiness or ease; I was +afraid to advance my friends or punish my enemies. My pupils at St. Cyr +were not more secluded from the world in a cloister than I was in the +bosom of the court; a secret disgust and weariness consumed me. I had no +relief but in my work and books of devotion; with these alone I had a +gleam of happiness. + +_Helen_--Alas! one need not have married a great monarch for that. + +_Maintenon_--But deign to inform me, Helen, if you were really as +beautiful as fame reports? for to say truth, I cannot in your shade see +the beauty which for nine long years had set the world in arms. + +_Helen_--Honestly, no: I was rather low, and something sunburnt; but I +had the good fortune to please; that was all. I was greatly obliged +to Homer. + +_Maintenon_--And did you live tolerably with Menelaus after all your +adventures? + +_Helen_--As well as possible. Menelaus was a good-natured domestic man, +and was glad to sit down and end his days in quiet. I persuaded him that +Venus and the Fates were the cause of all my irregularities, which he +complaisantly believed. Besides, I was not sorry to return home: for to +tell you a secret, Paris had been unfaithful to me long before his +death, and was fond of a little Trojan brunette whose office it was to +hold up my train; but it was thought dishonorable to give me up. I began +to think love a very foolish thing: I became a great housekeeper, worked +the battles of Troy in tapestry, and spun with my maids by the side of +Menelaus, who was so satisfied with my conduct, and behaved, good man, +with so much fondness, that I verily think this was the happiest period +of my life. + +_Maintenon_--Nothing more likely; but the most obscure wife in Greece +could rival you there.--Adieu! you have convinced me how little fame and +greatness conduce to happiness. + + + LIFE + + Life! I know not what thou art, + But know that thou and I must part; + And when or how or where we met, + I own to me's a secret yet. + But this I know, when thou art fled, + Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, + No clod so valueless shall be, + As all that then remains of me. + O whither, whither dost thou fly, + Where bend unseen thy trackless course, + And in this strange divorce, + Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I? + To the vast ocean of empyreal flame, + From whence thy essence came, + Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed + From matter's base encumbering weed? + Or dost thou, hid from sight, + Wait, like some spell-bound knight, + Through blank oblivion's years th' appointed hour, + To break thy trance and reassume thy power? + Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be? + O say what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee? + Life! we've been long together, + Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; + 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; + Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; + Then steal away, give little warning, + Choose thine own time; + Say not good-night, but in some brighter clime + Bid me good-morning. + + + PRAISE TO GOD + + Praise to God, immortal praise, + For the love that crowns our days-- + Bounteous source of every joy, + Let Thy praise our tongues employ! + + For the blessings of the field, + For the stores the gardens yield, + For the vine's exalted juice, + For the generous olive's use; + + Flocks that whiten all the plain, + Yellow sheaves of ripened grain, + Clouds that drop their fattening dews, + Suns that temperate warmth diffuse-- + + All that Spring, with bounteous hand, + Scatters o'er the smiling land; + All that liberal Autumn pours + From her rich o'erflowing stores: + + These to Thee, my God, we owe-- + Source whence all our blessings flow! + And for these my soul shall raise + Grateful vows and solemn praise. + + Yet should rising whirlwinds tear + From its stem the ripening ear-- + Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot + Drop her green untimely fruit-- + + Should the vine put forth no more, + Nor the olive yield her store-- + Though the sickening flocks should fall, + And the herds desert the stall-- + + Should Thine altered hand restrain + The early and the latter rain, + Blast each opening bud of joy, + And the rising year destroy: + + Yet to Thee my soul should raise + Grateful vows and solemn praise, + And, when every blessing's flown, + Love Thee--for Thyself alone. + + + + +ALEXANDER BARCLAY + +(1475-1552) + + +Barclay's reputation rests upon his translation of the famous 'Ship of +Fools' and his original 'Eclogues.' A controversy as to the land of his +birth--an event which happened about the year 1475--has lasted from his +century to our own. The decision in favor of Scotland rests upon the +testimony of two witnesses: first, Dr. William Bullim, a younger +contemporary of Barclay, who mentions him in 'A Dialogue Both Pleasaunt +and Pietifull Wherein is a Godlie Regement Against the Fever Pestilence +with a Consolation and Comforte Against Death,' which was published in +1564; and secondly, Barclay himself. + +Bullim groups the Muses at the foot of Parnassus, and gathers about them +Greek and Latin poets, and such Englishmen as Chaucer, Gower, Skelton, +and Barclay, the latter "with an hoopyng russet long coate, with a +pretie hood in his necke, and five knottes upon his girdle, after +Francis's tricks. He was borne beyond the cold river of Twede. He lodged +upon a sweetebed of chamomill under the sinamone-tree: about him many +shepherdes and shepe, with pleasaunte pipes; greatly abhorring the life +of Courtiers, Citizens, Usurers, and Banckruptes, etc., whose daies are +miserable. And the estate of shepherdes and countrie people he accompted +moste happie and sure." Deprived of its poetic fancy, this passage means +that Barclay was a monk of the order of St. Francis, that he was born +north of the Tweed, that his verse was infused with such bitterness and +tonic qualities as camomile possesses, and that he advocated the cause +of the country people in his independent and admirable 'Eclogues,' +another title for the first three of which is 'Miseryes of Courtiers and +Courtes of all Princes in General.' + +Barclay was educated at Oxford and Cambridge, and upon his return to +England after several years of residence abroad, he was made one of the +priests of Saint Mary Ottery, an institution of devout practice and +learning in Devonshire. Here in 1508 was finished 'The Shyp of Folys of +the Worlde translated out of Laten, Frenche, and Doche into Englysshe +tonge by Alexander Barclay, Preste, and at that time chaplen in the +sayd College.' + +After his work was completed Barclay went to London, where his poem was +"imprentyd ... in Fleet Street at the signe of Saynt George by Rycharde +Pyreson to hys Coste and charge: ended the yere of our Saviour MDIX. +the XIII. day of December." That he became a Benedictine and lived at +the monastery of the order at Ely is evident from his 'Eclogues.' Here +he translated at the instance of Sir Giles Arlington, Knight, 'The +Myrrour of Good Maners,' from a Latin elegiac poem which Dominic Mancini +published in the year 1516. + +"It was about this period of his life," says Mr. Jamieson in his +admirable edition of the 'Ship of Fools,' "probably the period of the +full bloom of his popularity, that the quiet life of the poet and priest +was interrupted by the recognition of his eminence in the highest +quarters, and by a request for his aid in maintaining the honor of the +country on an occasion to which the eyes of all Europe were then +directed. In a letter to Wolsey dated 10th April, 1520, Sir Nicholas +Vaux--busied with the preparation for that meeting of Henry VIII and +Francis I called the Field of the Cloth of Gold--begs the Cardinal to +send them ... Maistre Barkleye, the Black Monke and Poete, to devise +histoires and convenient raisons to florisshe the buildings and banquet +house withal." + +He became a Franciscan, the habit of which order Bullim refers to; and +"sure 'tis," says Wood, "that living to see his monastery dissolv'd, in +1539, at the general dissolution by act of Henry VIII, he became vicar +of Much Badew in Essex, and in 1546, the same year, of the Church of St. +Matthew the Apostle at Wokey, in Somersetshire, and finally in 1552, the +year in which he died, of that of All Saints, Lombard Street, London. In +his younger days he was esteemed a good poet and orator, but when years +came on, he spent his time mostly in pious matters, and in reading the +histories of Saints." + +'The Ship of Fools' is the most important work associated with Barclay's +name. It was a translation of Sebastian Brandt's 'Stultifera Navis,' a +book which had attracted universal attention on the Continent when it +appeared in 1494. In his preface, Barclay admits that "it is not +translated word by word according to the verses of my actor. For I have +but only drawn into our mother tongue in rude language the sentences of +the verses as near as the paucity of my wit will suffer me, sometime +adding, sometime detracting and taking away such things as seemeth me +necessary." The classes and conditions of society that Barclay knew were +as deserving of satire as those of Germany. He tells us that his work +was undertaken "to cleanse the vanity and madness of foolish people, of +whom over great number is in the Realm of England." + +The diction of Barclay's version is exceptionally fine. Jamieson calls +it "a rich and unique exhibition of early art," and says:--"Page after +page, even in the antique spelling of Pynson's edition, may be read by +the ordinary reader of to-day without reference to a dictionary; and +when reference is required, it will be found in nine cases out of ten +that the archaism is Saxon, not Latin. This is all the more remarkable +that it occurs in the case of a priest translating mainly from the Latin +and French, and can only be explained with reference to his standpoint +as a social reformer of the broadest type, and to his evident intention +that his book should be an appeal to all classes, but especially to the +mass of people for amendment of their follies." + +As the original work belonged to the German satirist, the extract from +the 'Ship of Fools' is placed under the essay entitled 'Sebastian +Brandt.' His 'Eclogues' show Barclay at his best. They portray the +manners and customs of the period, and are full of local proverbs and +wise sayings. According to Warton, Barclay's are the first 'Eclogues' +that appeared in the English language. "They are like Petrarch's," he +says, "and Mantuans of the moral and satirical kind; and contain but few +touches of moral description and bucolic imagery." Two shepherds meet to +talk about the pleasures and crosses of rustic life and life at court. +The hoary locks of the one show that he is old. His suit of Kendal green +is threadbare, his rough boots are patched, and the torn side of his +coat reveals a bottle never full and never empty. His wallet contains +bread and cheese; he has a crook, and an oaten pipe. His name is Cornix, +and he boasts that he has had worldly experience. The other shepherd, +Coridon, having seen nothing, complains of country life. He grumbles at +the summer's heat and the winter's cold; at beds on the flinty ground, +and the dangers of sleeping where the wolves may creep in to devour the +sheep; of his stiff rough hands, and his parched, wrinkled, and +weather-beaten skin. He asks whether all men are so unhappy. Cornix, +refreshing himself at intervals with his bottle and crusts, shows him +the small amount of liberty at court, discourses upon the folly of +ambition, lays bare the rapine, avarice, and covetousness of the +worldly-minded, and demonstrates that the court is "painted fair +without, but within it is ugly and vile." He then gives the picture of a +courtier's life, which is cited below. He tells how the minstrels and +singers, philosophers, poets, and orators are but the slaves of +patronizing princes; how beautiful women deceive; describes to him, who +has known nothing but a diet of bread and cheese, the delights of the +table; dilates on the cups of silver and gold, and the crystal glass +shining with red and yellow wine; the sewers bearing in roasted crane, +gorgeous peacocks, and savory joints of beef and mutton; the carver +wielding his dexterous knife; the puddings, the pasties, the fish fried +in sweet oils and garnished with herbs; the costumes of the men and +women in cloth of gold and silver and gay damask; the din of music, +voices, laughter, and jests; and then paints a picture of the lords and +ladies who plunge their knives into the meats and their hands into +platters, spilling wine and gravy upon their equally gluttonous +neighbors. He finishes by saying:-- + + "Shepherds have not so wretched lives as they: + Though they live poorely on cruddes, chese, and whey, + On apples, plummes, and drinke cleree water deepe, + As it were lordes reigning among their sheepe. + The wretched lazar with clinking of his bell, + Hath life which doth the courtiers excell; + The caytif begger hath meate and libertie, + When courtiers hunger in harde captivitie. + The poore man beggeth nothing hurting his name, + As touching courters they dare not beg for shame. + And an olde proverb is sayde by men moste sage, + That oft yonge courters be beggars in their age." + +The third 'Eclogue' begins with Coridon relating a dream that he went to +court and saw the scullions standing + + "about me thicke + With knives ready for to flay me quicke." + +This is a text for Cornix, who continues his tirade, and convinces +Coridon of the misery of the court and his happier life, ending as +follows:-- + + "Than let all shepheardes, from hence to Salisbury + With easie riches, live well, laugh and be mery, + Pipe under shadowes, small riches hath most rest, + In greatest seas moste sorest is tempest, + The court is nought els but a tempesteous sea; + Avoyde the rockes. He ruled after me." + +The fourth 'Eclogue' is a dialogue on the rich man's treatment of poets, +by two shepherds, Codrus and Menalcas, musing in "shadowe on the green," +while their snowy flocks graze on the sweet meadow. This contains a fine +allegorical description of 'Labour.' + +The fifth 'Eclogue' is the 'Cytezen and the Uplondyshman.' Here the +scene changes, and two shepherds, Faustus and Amyntas, discourse in a +cottage while the snows of January whirl without. Amyntas has learned in +London "to go so manerly." Not a wrinkle may be found in his clothes, +not a hair on his cloak, and he wears a brooch of tin high on his +bonnet. He has been hostler, costermonger, and taverner, and sings the +delights of the city. Faustus, the rustic, is contented with his lot. +The 'Cytezen and the Uplondyshman' was printed from the original edition +of Wynkyn de Worde, with a preface by F. W. Fairholt, Percy Society +(Vol. xxii.). + +Other works ascribed to Barclay are:--'The Figure of Our Holy Mother +Church, Oppressed by the French King'; 'The Lyfe of the Glorious Martyr +Saynt George,' translated (from Mantuan) by Alexander Barclay; 'The Lyfe +of the Blessed Martyr, Saynte Thomas'; 'Contra Skeltonum,' in which the +quarrel he had with his contemporary poet, John Skelton, was doubtless +continued. + +Estimates of Barclay may be found in 'The Ship of Fools,' edited by T. +H. Jamieson (1874); 'Sibbald's Chronicle of Scottish Poetry,' from the +thirteenth century to the union of the crowns (1802); 'The History of +English Poetry,' by Thomas Warton (1824); 'The History of Scottish +Poetry,' by David Irving (1861); and 'Chips from a German Workshop,' by +F. Max Mueller (1870). + + + THE COURTIER'S LIFE + + Second Eclogue + + CORNIX + + Some men deliteth beholding men to fight, + Or goodly knights in pleasaunt apparayle, + Or sturdie soldiers in bright harnes and male, + Or an army arrayde ready to the warre, + Or to see them fight, so that he stand afarre. + Some glad is to see those ladies beauteous + Goodly appoynted in clothing sumpteous: + A number of people appoynted in like wise + In costly clothing after the newest gise, + Sportes, disgising, fayre coursers mount and praunce, + Or goodly ladies and knightes sing and daunce, + To see fayre houses and curious picture, + Or pleasaunt hanging or sumpteous vesture + Of silke, of purpure or golde moste oriente, + And other clothing divers and excellent, + Hye curious buildinges or palaces royall, + Or chapels, temples fayre and substantial, + Images graven or vaultes curious, + Gardeyns and medowes, or place delicious, + Forestes and parkes well furnished with dere, + Cold pleasaunt streams or welles fayre and clere, + Curious cundites or shadowie mountaynes, + Swete pleasaunt valleys, laundes or playnes, + Houndes, and such other things manyfolde + Some men take pleasour and solace to beholde. + + But all these pleasoures be much more jocounde, + To private persons which not to court be bounde, + Than to such other whiche of necessitie + Are bounde to the court as in captivitie; + For they which be bounde to princes without fayle + When they must nedes be present in battayle, + When shall they not be at large to see the sight, + But as souldiours in the middest of the fight, + To runne here and there sometime his foe to smite, + And oftetimes wounded, herein is small delite, + And more muste he think his body to defende, + Than for any pleasour about him to intende, + And oft is he faynt and beaten to the grounde, + I trowe in suche sight small pleasour may be founde. + As for fayre ladies, clothed in silke and golde, + In court at thy pleasour thou canst not beholde. + At thy princes pleasour thou shalt them only see, + Then suche shalt thou see which little set by thee, + Whose shape and beautie may so inflame thine heart, + That thought and languor may cause thee for to smart. + For a small sparcle may kindle love certayne, + But skantly Severne may quench it clene againe; + And beautie blindeth and causeth man to set + His hearte on the thing which he shall never get. + To see men clothed in silkes pleasauntly + It is small pleasour, and ofte causeth envy. + While thy lean jade halteth by thy side, + To see another upon a, courser ride, + Though he be neyther gentleman nor knight, + Nothing is thy fortune, thy hart cannot be light. + As touching sportes and games of pleasaunce. + To sing, to revell, and other daliaunce: + Who that will truely upon his lord attende, + Unto suche sportes he seldome may entende. + Palaces, pictures, and temples sumptuous, + And other buildings both gay and curious, + These may marchauntes more at their pleasour see, + Men suche as in court be bounde alway to bee. + Sith kinges for moste part passe not their regions, + Thou seest nowe cities of foreyn nations. + Suche outwarde pleasoures may the people see, + So may not courtiers for lacke of libertie. + As for these pleasours of thinges vanable + Whiche in the fieldes appeareth delectable, + + But seldome season mayest thou obtayne respite. + The same to beholde with pleasour and delite, + Sometime the courtier remayneth halfe the yere + Close within walls muche like a prisonere, + To make escapes some seldome times are wont, + Save when the powers have pleasour for to hunt, + Or its otherwise themselfe to recreate, + And then this pleasour shall they not love but hate; + For then shall they foorth most chiefely to their payne, + When they in mindes would at home remayne. + Other in the frost, hayle, or els snowe, + Or when some tempest or mightie wind doth blowe, + Or else in great heat and fervour excessife, + But close in houses the moste parte waste their life, + Of colour faded, and choked were with duste: + This is of courtiers the joy and all the lust. + + + CORIDON + + What! yet may they sing and with fayre ladies daunce, + Both commen and laugh; herein is some pleasaunce. + + + CORNIX + + Nay, nay, Coridon, that pleasour is but small, + Some to contente what man will pleasour call, + For some in the daunce his pincheth by the hande, + Which gladly would see him stretched in a bande. + Some galand seketh his favour to purchase + Which playne abhorreth for to beholde his face. + And still in dauncing moste parte inclineth she + To one muche viler and more abject then he. + No day over passeth but that in court men finde + A thousande thinges to vexe and greve their minde; + Alway thy foes are present in thy sight, + And often so great is their degree and might + That nedes must thou kisse the hand which did thee harm, + Though thou would see it cut gladly from the arme. + And briefly to speake, if thou to courte resorte, + If thou see one thing of pleasour or comfort, + Thou shalt see many, before or thou depart, + To thy displeasour and pensiveness of heart: + So findeth thy sight there more of bitternes + And of displeasour, than pleasour and gladnes. + + + + +RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM + +(1788-1845) + + +The author of the 'Ingoldsby Legends' belonged to a well-defined and +delightful class of men, chiefly found in modern England, and indeed +mostly bred and made possible by the conditions of English society and +the Anglican Church. It is that of clergymen who in the public eye are +chiefly wits and diners-out, jokers and literary humorists, yet are +conscientious and devoted ministers of their religion and curators of +their religious charges, honoring their profession and humanity by true +and useful lives and lovable characters. They are men of the sort +loathed by Lewis Carroll's heroine in the 'Two Voices,' + + "a kind of folk + Who have no horror of a joke," + +and indeed love it dearly, but are as firm in principle and +unostentatiously dutiful in conduct as if they were leaden Puritans or +narrow devotees. + +[Illustration: RICHARD H. BARHAM] + +By far the best remembered of this class, for themselves or their work, +are Sydney Smith and Richard Harris Barham; but their relative repute is +one of the oddest paradoxes in literary history. Roughly speaking, the +one is remembered and unread, the other read and unremembered. Sydney +Smith's name is almost as familiar to the masses as Scott's, and few +could tell a line that he wrote; Barham's writing is almost as familiar +as Scott's, and few would recognize his name. Yet he is in the foremost +rank of humorists; his place is wholly unique, and is likely to remain +so. It will be an age before a similar combination of tastes and +abilities is found once more. Macaulay said truly of Sir Walter Scott +that he "combined the minute learning of an antiquary with the fire of a +great poet." Barham combined a like learning in different fields, and +joined to a different outlook and temper of mind, with the quick +perceptions of a great wit, the brimming zest and high spirits of a +great joker, the genial nature and lightness of a born man of the world, +and the gifts of a wonderful improvisatore in verse. Withal, he had just +enough of serious purpose to give much of his work a certain measure of +cohesive unity, and thus impress it on the mind as no collection of +random skits could do. That purpose is the feathering which steadies the +arrows and sends them home. + +It is pleasant to know that one who has given so good a time to others +had a very good time himself; that we are not, as so often happens, +relishing a farce that stood for tragedy with the maker, and +substituting our laughter for his tears. Barham had the cruel sorrows of +personal bereavement so few escape; but in material things his career +was wholly among pleasant ways. He was well born and with means, well +educated, well nurtured. He was free from the sordid squabbles or +anxious watching and privation which fall to the lot of so many of the +best. He was happy in his marriage and its attendant home and family, +and most fortunate in his friendships and the superb society he enjoyed. +His birth and position as a gentleman of good landed family, combined +with his profession, opened all doors to him. + +But it was the qualities personal to himself, after all, which made +these things available for enjoyment. His desires were moderate; he +counted success what more eager and covetous natures might have esteemed +comparative failure. His really strong intellect and wide knowledge and +cultivation enabled him to meet the foremost men of letters on equal +terms. His kind heart, generous nature, exuberant fun, and entertaining +conversation endeared him to every one and made his company sought by +every one; they saved much trouble from coming upon him and lightened +what did come. And no blight could have withered that perennial fountain +of jollity, drollery, and light-heartedness. But these were only the +ornaments of a stanchly loyal and honorable nature, and a lovable and +unselfish soul. One of his friends writes of him thus:-- + + "The profits of agitating pettifoggers would have materially + lessened in a district where he acted as a magistrate; and + duels would have been nipped in the bud at his regimental + mess. It is not always an easy task to do as you would be + done by; but to think as you would be thought of and thought + for, and to feel as you would be felt for, is perhaps still + more difficult, as superior powers of tact and intellect are + here required in order to second good intentions. These + faculties, backed by an uncompromising love of truth and fair + dealing, indefatigable good nature, and a nice sense of what + was due to every one in the several relations of life, both + gentle and simple, rendered our late friend invaluable, + either as an adviser or a peacemaker, in matters of delicate + and difficult handling." + +Barham was born in Canterbury, England, December 6th, 1788, and died in +London, June 17th, 1845. His ancestry was superior, the family having +derived its name from possessions in Kent in Norman days. He lost his +father--a genial _bon vivant_ of literary tastes who seems like a +reduced copy of his son--when but five years old; and became heir to a +fair estate, including Tappington Hall, the picturesque old gabled +mansion so often imaginatively misdescribed in the 'Ingoldsby Legends,' +but really having the famous blood-stained stairway. He had an expensive +private education, which was nearly ended with his life at the age of +fourteen by a carriage accident which shattered and mangled his right +arm, crippling it permanently. As so often happens, the disaster was +really a piece of good fortune: it turned him to or confirmed him in +quiet antiquarian scholarship, and established connections which +ultimately led to the 'Legends'; he may owe immortality to it. + +After passing through St. Paul's (London) and Brasenose (Oxford), he +studied law, but finally entered the church. After a couple of small +curacies in Kent, he was made rector of Snargate and curate of Warehorn, +near Romney Marsh; all four in a district where smuggling was a chief +industry, and the Marsh in especial a noted haunt of desperadoes (for +smugglers then took their lives in their hands), of which the 'Legends' +are rich in reminiscences. In 1819, during this incumbency, he wrote a +novel, 'Baldwin,' which was a failure; and part of another, 'My Cousin +Nicholas,' which, finished fifteen years later, had fair success as a +serial in Blackwood's Magazine. + +An opportunity offering in 1821, he stood for a minor canonry in St. +Paul's Cathedral, London, and obtained it; his income was less than +before, but he had entered the metropolitan field, which brought him +rich enjoyment and permanent fame. He paid a terrible price for them: +his unhealthy London house cost him the lives of three of his children. +To make up for his shortened means he became editor of the London +Chronicle and a contributor to various other periodicals, including the +notorious weekly John Bull, sometime edited by Theodore Hook. In 1824 he +became a priest in the Chapel Royal at St. James's Palace, and soon +after gained a couple of excellent livings in Essex, which put him at +ease financially. + +He was inflexible in principle, a firm Tory, though without rancor. He +was very High Church, but had no sympathy with the Oxford movement or +Catholicism. He preached careful and sober sermons, without oratorical +display and with rigid avoidance of levity. He would not make the church +a field either for fireworks or jokes, or even for displays of +scholarship or intellectual gymnastics. In his opinion, religious +establishments were kept up to advance religion and morals. And both he +and his wife wrought zealously in the humble but exacting field of +parochial good works. + +He was, however, fast becoming one of the chief ornaments of that +brilliant group of London wits whose repute still vibrates from the +early part of the century. Many of them--actors, authors, artists, +musicians, and others met at the Garrick Club, and Barham joined it. The +names of Sydney Smith and Theodore Hook are enough to show what it was; +but there were others equally delightful,--not the least so, or least +useful, a few who could not see a joke at all, and whose simplicity and +good nature made them butts for the hoaxes and solemn chaff of the rest. +Barbara's diary, quoted in his son's (Life,) gives an exquisite +instance. + +In 1834 his old schoolmaster Bentley established Bentley's Miscellany; +and Barham was asked for contributions. The first he sent was the +amusing but quite "conceivable" (Spectre of Tappington); but there soon +began the immortal series of versified local stories, legendary church +miracles, antiquarian curios, witty summaries of popular plays, skits on +London life, and so on, under the pseudonym of 'Thomas Ingoldsby,' which +sprang instantly into wide popularity, and have never fallen from public +favor since--nor can they till appreciation of humor is dead in the +world. They were collected and illustrated by Leech, Cruikshank, and +others, who were inspired by them to some of their best designs: perhaps +the most perfect realization in art of the Devil in his moments of +jocose triumph is Leech's figure in 'The House-Warming.' A later series +appeared in Colburn's New Monthly Magazine in 1843. + +He wrote some excellent pieces (of their kind) in prose, besides the one +already mentioned: the weird and well-constructed 'Leech of Folkestone' +and the 'Passage in the Life of Henry Harris,' both half-serious tales +of mediaeval magic; the thoroughly Ingoldsbian 'Legend of Sheppey,' with +its irreverent farce, high animal spirits, and antiquarianism; the +equally characteristic 'Lady Rohesia,' which would be vulgar but for his +sly wit and drollery. But none of these are as familiar as the versified +'Legends,' nor have they the astonishing variety of entertainment found +in the latter. + +The 'Ingoldsby Legends' have been called an English naturalization of +the French metrical _contes;_ but Barham owes nothing to his French +models save the suggestion of method and form. Not only is his matter +all his own, but he has _Anglified_ the whole being of the metrical form +itself. His facility of versification, the way in which the whole +language seems to be liquid in his hands and ready to pour into any +channel of verse, was one of the marvelous things of literature. It did +not need the free random movement of the majority of the tales, where +the lines may be anything from one foot to six, from spondaic to +dactylic: in some of them he tied himself down to the most rigid and +inflexible metrical forms, and moved as lightly and freely in those +fetters as if they were non-existent. As to the astonishing rhymes which +meet us at every step, they form in themselves a poignant kind of wit; +often double and even treble, one word rhyming with an entire phrase or +one phrase with another,--not only of the oddest kind, but as nicely +adapted to the necessities of expression and meaning as if intended or +invented for that purpose alone,--they produce on us the effect of the +richest humor. + +One of his most diverting "properties" is the set of "morals" he draws +to everything, of nonsensical literalness and infantile gravity, the +perfection of solemn fooling. Thus in the 'Lay of St. Cuthbert,' where +the Devil has captured the heir of the house, + + "Whom the nurse had forgot and left there in his chair, + Alternately sucking his thumb and his pear," + +the moral is drawn, among others,-- + + "Perhaps it's as well to keep children from plums, + And pears in their season--and sucking their thumbs." + +And part of the moral to the 'Lay of St. Medard' is-- + + "Don't give people nicknames! don't, even in fun, + Call any one 'snuff-colored son of a gun'!" + +And they generally wind up with some slyly shrewd piece of worldly +wisdom and wit. Thus, the closing moral to 'The Blasphemer's +Warning' is:-- + + "To married men this--For the rest of your lives, + Think how your misconduct may act on your wives! + Don't swear then before them, lest haply they faint, + Or--what sometimes occurs--run away with a Saint!" + +Often they are broader yet, and intended for the club rather than the +family. Indeed, the tales as a whole are club tales, with an audience of +club-men always in mind; not, be it remembered, bestialities like their +French counterparts, or the later English and American improvements on +the French, not even objectionable for general reading, but full of +exclusively masculine joking, allusions, and winks, unintelligible to +the other sex, and not welcome if they were intelligible. + +He has plenty of melody, but it is hardly recognized because of the +doggerel meaning, which swamps the music in the farce. And this applies +to more important things than the melody. The average reader floats on +the surface of this rapid and foamy stream, covered with sticks and +straws and flowers and bonbons, and never realizes its depth and volume. +This light frothy verse is only the vehicle of a solid and laborious +antiquarian scholarship, of an immense knowledge of the world and +society, books and men. He modestly disclaimed having any imagination, +and said he must always have facts to work upon. This was true; but the +same may be said of some great poets, who have lacked invention except +around a skeleton ready furnished. What was true of Keats and Fitzgerald +cannot nullify the merit of Barham. His fancy erected a huge and +consistent superstructure on a very slender foundation. The same +materials lay ready to the hands of thousands of others, who, however, +saw only stupid monkish fables or dull country superstition. + +His own explanation of his handling of the church legends tickles a +critic's sense of humor almost as much as the verses themselves. It is +true that while differing utterly in his tone of mind, and his attitude +toward the mediaeval stories, from that of the mediaeval artists and +sculptors,--whose gargoyles and other grotesques were carved without a +thought of travesty on anything religious,--he is at one with them in +combining extreme irreverence of form with a total lack of irreverence +of spirit toward the real spiritual mysteries of religion. He burlesques +saints and devils alike, mocks the swarm of miracles of the mediaeval +Church, makes salient all the ludicrous aspects of mediaeval religious +faith in its devout credulity and barbarous gropings; yet he never +sneers at holiness or real aspiration, and through all the riot of fun +in his masques, one feels the sincere Christian and the warm-hearted +man. But he was evidently troubled by the feeling that a clergyman ought +not to ridicule any form in which religious feeling had ever clothed +itself; and he justified himself by professing that he wished to expose +the absurdity of old superstitions and mummeries to help countervail the +effect of the Oxford movement. Ingoldsby as a soldier of Protestantism, +turning monkish stories into rollicking farces in order to show up what +he conceived to be the errors of his opponents, is as truly Ingoldsbian +a figure as any in his own 'Legends.' Yet one need not accuse him of +hypocrisy or falsehood, hardly even of self-deception. He felt that dead +superstitions, and stories not reverenced even by the Church that +developed them, were legitimate material for any use he could make of +them; he felt that in dressing them up with his wit and fancy he was +harming nothing that existed, nor making any one look lightly on the +religion of Christ or the Church of Christ: and that they were the +property of an opposing church body was a happy thought to set his +conscience at rest. He wrote them thenceforth with greater peace of mind +and added satisfaction, and no doubt really believed that he was doing +good in the way he alleged. And if the excuse gave to the world even one +more of the inimitable 'Legends,' it was worth feeling and making. + +Barham's nature was not one which felt the problems and tragedies of the +world deeply. He grieved for his friends, he helped the distresses he +saw, but his imagination rested closely in the concrete. He was +incapable of _weltschmerz_; even for things just beyond his personal +ken he had little vision or fancy. His treatment of the perpetual +problem of sex-temptations and lapses is a good example: he never seems +to be conscious of the tragedy they envelop. To him they are always good +jokes, to wink over or smile at or be indulgent to. No one would ever +guess from 'Ingoldsby' the truth he finds even in 'Don Juan,' that + + "A heavy price must all pay who thus err, + In some shape." + +But we cannot have everything: if Barham had been sensitive to the +tragic side of life, he could not have been the incomparable fun-maker +he was. We do not go to the 'Ingoldsby Legends' to solace our souls when +hurt or remorseful, to brace ourselves for duty, or to feel ourselves +nobler by contact with the expression of nobility. But there must be +play and rest for the senses, as well as work and aspiration; and there +are worse services than relieving the strain of serious endeavor by +enabling us to become jolly pagans once again for a little space, and +care naught for the morrow. + + + AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE + + THE LAST LINES OF BARHAM + + As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, + Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye; + There came a noble Knighte, + With his hauberke shynynge brighte, + And his gallant heart was lyghte, + Free and gaye; + As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye. + + As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, + Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree! + There seemed a crimson plain, + Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne, + And a steed with broken rein + Ran free, + As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see! + + As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, + Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe; + A lovely mayde came bye, + And a gentil youth was nyghe, + And he breathed many a syghe, + And a vowe; + As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now. + + As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, + Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne; + No more a youth was there, + But a Maiden rent her haire, + And cried in sad despaire, + "That I was borne!" + As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne. + + As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, + Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar; + There came a lovely childe, + And his face was meek and milde, + Yet joyously he smiled + On his sire; + As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire. + + But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, + And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier; + That joyous smile was gone, + And the face was white and wan, + As the downe upon the Swan + Doth appear, + As I laye a-thynkynge,--oh! bitter flowed the tear! + + As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking, + Oh, merrie sang that Birde, as it glittered on her breast + With a thousand gorgeous dyes; + While soaring to the skies, + 'Mid the stars she seemed to rise, + As to her nest; + As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest:-- + "Follow me away, + It boots not to delay,"-- + 'Twas so she seemed to saye, + "HERE IS REST!" + + +THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT + +OR + +THE DEVIL'S DINNER-PARTY + +A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTREE + +Nobilis quidam, cui nomen _Monsr. Lescrop, Chivaler_, cum invitasset +convivas, et, hora convivii jam instante et apparatu facto, spe +frustratus esset, excusantibus se convivis cur non compararent, prorupit +iratus in haec verba: "_Veniant igitur omnes daemones, si nullus hominum +mecum esse potest_!" + +Quod cum fieret, et Dominus, et famuli, et ancillae, a domo properantes, +forte obliti, infantem in cunis jacentem secum non auferent, Daemones +incipiunt commessari et vociferari, prospicereque per fenestras formis +ursorum, luporum, felium, et monstrare pocula vino repleta. _Ah_, inquit +pater, _ubi infans meus?_ Vix cum haec dixisset, unus ex Daemonibus ulnis +suis infantem ad fenestram gestat, etc.--_Chronicon de Bolton_. + + It's in Bolton Hall, and the clock strikes One, + And the roast meat's brown and the boiled meat's done, + And the barbecued sucking-pig's crisped to a turn, + And the pancakes are fried and beginning to burn; + The fat stubble-goose + Swims in gravy and juice, + With the mustard and apple-sauce ready for use; + Fish, flesh, and fowl, and all of the best, + Want nothing but eating--they're all ready drest, + But where is the Host, and where is the Guest? + + Pantler and serving-man, henchman and page + Stand sniffing the duck-stuffing (onion and sage), + And the scullions and cooks, + With fidgety looks, + Are grumbling and mutt'ring, and scowling as black + As cooks always do when the dinner's put back; + For though the board's deckt, and the napery, fair + As the unsunned snow-flake, is spread out with care, + And the Dais is furnished with stool and with chair, + And plate of _orfeverie_ costly and rare, + Apostle-spoons, salt-cellar, all are there, + And Mess John in his place, + With his rubicund face, + And his hands ready folded, prepared to say Grace, + Yet where is the Host?--and his convives--where? + + The Scroope sits lonely in Bolton Hall, + And he watches the dial that hangs by the wall, + He watches the large hand, he watches the small, + And he fidgets and looks + As cross as the cooks, + And he utters--a word which we'll soften to "Zooks!" + And he cries, "What on earth has become of them all?-- + What can delay + De Vaux and De Saye? + What makes Sir Gilbert de Umfraville stay? + What's gone with Poyntz, and Sir Reginald Braye? + Why are Ralph Ufford and Marny away? + And De Nokes and De Styles, and Lord Marmaduke Grey? + And De Roe? + And De Doe? + Poynings and Vavasour--where be they? + Fitz-Walter, Fitz-Osbert, Fitz-Hugh, and Fitz-John, + And the Mandevilles, _pere et filz_ (father and son); + Their cards said 'Dinner precisely at One!' + There's nothing I hate, in + The world, like waiting! + It's a monstrous great bore, when a Gentleman feels + A good appetite, thus to be kept from his meals!" + + It's in Bolton Hall, and the clock strikes Two! + And the scullions and cooks are themselves "in a stew," + And the kitchen-maids stand, and don't know what to do, + For the rich plum-puddings are bursting their bags, + And the mutton and turnips are boiling to rags, + And the fish is all spoiled, + And the butter's all oiled, + And the soup's got cold in the silver tureen, + And there's nothing, in short, that is fit to be seen! + While Sir Guy Le Scroope continues to fume, + And to fret by himself in the tapestried room, + And still fidgets and looks + More cross than the cooks, + And repeats that bad word, which we've softened to "Zooks!" + + Two o'clock's come, and Two o'clock's gone, + And the large and the small hands move steadily on, + Still nobody's there, + No De Roos, or De Clare, + To taste of the Scroope's most delicate fare, + + Or to quaff off a health unto Bolton's Heir, + That nice little boy who sits in his chair, + Some four years old, and a few months to spare, + With his laughing blue eyes and his long curly hair, + Now sucking his thumb, and now munching his pear. + + Again Sir Guy the silence broke, + "It's hard upon Three!--it's just on the stroke! + Come, serve up the dinner!--A joke is a joke"-- + Little he deems that Stephen de Hoaques, + Who "his fun," as the Yankees say, everywhere "pokes," + And is always a great deal too fond of his jokes, + Has written a circular note to De Nokes, + And De Styles and De Roe, and the rest of the folks, + One and all, + Great and small, + Who were asked to the Hall + To dine there and sup, and wind up with a ball, + And had told all the party a great bouncing lie, he + Cooked up, that the "_fete_ was postponed _sine die_, + The dear little curly-wigged heir of Le Scroope + Being taken alarmingly ill with the croop!" + + When the clock struck Three, + And the Page on his knee + Said, "An't please you, Sir Guy Le Scroope, _On a servi_!" + And the Knight found the banquet-hall empty and clear, + With nobody near + To partake of his cheer, + He stamped, and he stormed--then his language!--Oh dear! + 'Twas awful to see, and 'twas awful to hear! + And he cried to the button-decked Page at his knee, + Who had told him so civilly "_On a servi,"_ + "Ten thousand fiends seize them, wherever they be! + --The Devil take _them_! and the Devil take _thee!_ + And the DEVIL MAY EAT UP THE DINNER FOR ME!" + + In a terrible fume + He bounced out of the room, + He bounced out of the house--and page, footman, and groom + Bounced after their master; for scarce had they heard + Of this left-handed grace the last finishing word, + Ere the horn at the gate of the Barbican tower + Was blown with a loud twenty-trumpeter power, + + And in rush'd a troop + Of strange guests!--such a group + As had ne'er before darkened the door of the Scroope! + This looks like De Saye--yet--it is not De Saye-- + And this is--no, 'tis not--Sir Reginald Braye, + This has somewhat the favor of Marmaduke Grey-- + But stay!--_Where on earth did he get those long nails?_ + Why, they're _claws_!--then Good Gracious!--they've all of them _tails!_ + That can't be De Vaux--why, his nose is a bill, + Or, I would say a beak!--and he can't keep it still!-- + Is that Poynings?--Oh, Gemini! look at his feet!! + Why, they're absolute _hoofs_!--is it gout or his corns, + That have crumpled them up so?--by Jingo, he's _horns!_ + Run! run!--There's Fitz-Walter, Fitz-Hugh, and Fitz-John, + And the Mandevilles, _pere et filz_ (father and son), + And Fitz-Osbert, and Ufford--_they've all got them on!_ + Then their great saucer eyes-- + It's the Father of lies + And his Imps--run! run! run!--they're all fiends in disguise, + Who've partly assumed, with more sombre complexions, + The forms of Sir Guy Le Scroope's friends and connections, + And He--at the top there--that grim-looking elf-- + Run! run!--that's the "muckle-horned Clootie" himself! + + And now what a din + Without and within! + For the courtyard is full of them.--How they begin + To mop, and to mowe, and to make faces, and grin! + Cock their tails up together, + Like cows in hot weather, + And butt at each other, all eating and drinking, + The viands and wine disappearing like winking, + And then such a lot + As together had got! + Master Cabbage, the steward, who'd made a machine + To calculate with, and count noses,--I ween + The cleverest thing of the kind ever seen,-- + Declared, when he'd made + By the said machine's aid, + Up, what's now called the "tottle" of those he surveyed, + There were just--how he proved it I cannot divine-- + _Nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety and nine._ + Exclusive of Him + Who, giant in limb, + + And black as the crow they denominate _Jim_, + With a tail like a bull, and a head like a bear, + Stands forth at the window--and what holds he there, + Which he hugs with such care, + And pokes out in the air, + And grasps as its limbs from each other he'd tear? + Oh! grief and despair! + I vow and declare + It's Le Scroope's poor, dear, sweet, little, curly-wigged Heir! + Whom the nurse had forgot and left there in his chair, + Alternately sucking his thumb and his pear. + + What words can express + The dismay and distress + Of Sir Guy, when he found what a terrible mess + His cursing and banning had now got him into? + That words, which to use are a shame and a sin too, + Had thus on their speaker recoiled, and his malison + Placed in the hands of the Devil's own "pal" his son!-- + He sobbed and he sighed, + And he screamed, and he cried, + And behaved like a man that is mad or in liquor--he + Tore his peaked beard, and he dashed off his "Vicary," + Stamped on the jasey + As though he were crazy, + And staggering about just as if he were "hazy," + Exclaimed, "Fifty pounds!" (a large sum in those times) + "To the person, whoever he may be, that climbs + To that window above there, _en ogive_, and painted, + And brings down my curly-wi'--" Here Sir Guy fainted! + + With many a moan, + And many a groan, + What with tweaks of the nose, and some _eau de Cologne_, + He revived,--Reason once more remounted her throne, + Or rather the instinct of Nature--'twere treason + To her, in the Scroope's case, perhaps, to say Reason-- + But what saw he then--Oh! my goodness! a sight + Enough to have banished his reason outright!-- + In that broad banquet-hall + The fiends one and all + Regardless of shriek, and of squeak, and of squall, + From one to another were tossing that small + Pretty, curly-wigged boy, as if playing at ball; + + Yet none of his friends or his vassals might dare + To fly to the rescue or rush up the stair, + And bring down in safety his curly-wigged Heir! + + Well a day! Well a day! + All he can say + Is but just so much trouble and time thrown away; + Not a man can be tempted to join the _melee:_ + E'en those words cabalistic, "I promise to pay + Fifty pounds on demand," have for once lost their sway, + And there the Knight stands + Wringing his hands + In his agony--when on a sudden, one ray + Of hope darts through his midriff!--His Saint!-- + Oh, it's funny + And almost absurd, + That it never occurred!-- + "Ay! the Scroope's Patron Saint!--he's the man for my money! + Saint--who is it?--really I'm sadly to blame,-- + On my word I'm afraid,--I confess it with shame,-- + That I've almost forgot the good Gentleman's name,-- + Cut--let me see--Cutbeard?--no--CUTHBERT!--egad! + St. Cuthbert of Bolton!--I'm right--he's the lad! + O holy St. Cuthbert, if forbears of mine-- + Of myself I say little--have knelt at your shrine, + And have lashed their bare backs, and--no matter--with twine, + Oh! list to the vow + Which I make to you now, + Only snatch my poor little boy out of the row + Which that Imp's kicking up with his fiendish bow-wow, + And his head like a bear, and his tail like a cow! + Bring him back here in safety!--perform but this task, + And I'll give--Oh!--I'll give you whatever you ask!-- + There is not a shrine + In the county shall shine + With a brilliancy half so resplendent as thine, + Or have so many candles, or look half so fine!-- + Haste, holy St. Cuthbert, then,--hasten in pity!--" + + Conceive his surprise + When a strange voice replies, + "It's a bargain!--but, mind, sir, THE BEST SPERMACETI!"-- + Say, whose that voice?--whose that form by his side, + That old, old, gray man, with his beard long and wide, + + In his coarse Palmer's weeds, + And his cockle and beads?-- + And how did he come?--did he walk?--did he ride? + Oh! none could determine,--oh! none could decide,-- + The fact is, I don't believe any one tried; + For while every one stared, with a dignified stride + And without a word more, + He marched on before, + Up a flight of stone steps, and so through the front door, + To the banqueting-hall that was on the first floor, + While the fiendish assembly were making a rare + Little shuttlecock there of the curly-wigged Heir. + --I wish, gentle Reader, that you could have seen + The pause that ensued when he stepped in between, + With his resolute air, and his dignified mien, + And said, in a tone most decided though mild, + "Come! I'll trouble you just to hand over that child!" + + The Demoniac crowd + In an instant seemed cowed; + Not one of the crew volunteered a reply, + All shrunk from the glance of that keen-flashing eye, + Save one horrid Humgruffin, who seemed by his talk, + And the airs he assumed, to be cock of the walk. + He quailed not before it, but saucily met it, + And as saucily said, "Don't you wish you may get it?" + + My goodness!--the look that the old Palmer gave! + And his frown!--'twas quite dreadful to witness--"Why, slave! + You rascal!" quoth he, + "This language to ME! + At once, Mr. Nicholas! down on your knee, + And hand me that curly-wigged boy!--I command it-- + Come!--none of your nonsense!--you know I won't stand it." + + Old Nicholas trembled,--he shook in his shoes, + And seemed half inclined, but afraid, to refuse. + "Well, Cuthbert," said he, + "If so it must be, + For you've had your own way from the first time I knew ye;-- + Take your curly-wigged brat, and much good may he do ye! + But I'll have in exchange"--here his eye flashed with rage-- + "That chap with the buttons--he _gave me_ the Page!" + + "Come, come," the saint answered, "you very well know + The young man's no more his than your own to bestow. + Touch one button of his if you dare, Nick---no! no! + Cut your stick, sir--come, mizzle! be off with you! go!"-- + The Devil grew hot-- + "If I do I'll be shot! + An you come to that, Cuthbert, I'll tell you what's what; + He has _asked_ us to _dine here_, and go we will not! + Why, you Skinflint,--at least + You may leave us the feast! + Here we've come all that way from our brimstone abode, + Ten million good leagues, sir, as ever you strode, + And the deuce of a luncheon we've had on the road-- + 'Go!'--'Mizzle!' indeed--Mr. Saint, who are you, + I should like to know?--'Go!' I'll be hanged if I do! + He invited us all--we've a right here--it's known + That a Baron may do what he likes with his own-- + Here, Asmodeus--a slice of that beef;--now the mustard!-- + What have _you_ got?--oh, apple-pie--try it with custard." + + The Saint made a pause + As uncertain, because + He knew Nick is pretty well "up" in the laws, + And they _might_ be on _his_ side--and then, he'd such claws! + On the whole, it was better, he thought, to retire + With the curly-wigged boy he'd picked out of the fire, + And give up the victuals--to retrace his path, + And to compromise--(spite of the Member for Bath). + So to Old Nick's appeal, + As he turned on his heel, + He replied, "Well, I'll leave you the mutton and veal, + And the soup _a la Reine_, and the sauce _Bechamel;_ + As the Scroope _did_ invite you to dinner, I feel + I can't well turn you out--'twould be hardly genteel--- + But be moderate, pray,--and remember thus much, + Since you're treated as Gentlemen--show yourselves such, + And don't make it late, + But mind and go straight + Home to bed when you've finished--and don't steal the plate, + Nor wrench off the knocker, or bell from the gate. + Walk away, like respectable Devils, in peace, + And don't 'lark' with the watch, or annoy the police!" + + Having thus said his say, + That Palmer gray + Took up little La Scroope, and walked coolly away, + While the Demons all set up a "Hip! hip! hurrah!" + + Then fell, tooth and nail, on the victuals, as they + Had been guests at Guildhall upon Lord Mayor's day, + All scrambling and scuffling for what was before 'em, + No care for precedence or common decorum. + Few ate more hearty + Than Madame Astarte, + And Hecate,--considered the Belles of the party. + Between them was seated Leviathan, eager + To "do the polite," and take wine with Belphegor; + Here was _Morbleu_ (a French devil), supping soup-meagre, + And there, munching leeks, Davy Jones of Tredegar + (A Welsh one), who'd left the domains of Ap Morgan + To "follow the sea,"--and next him Demogorgon,-- + Then Pan with his pipes, and Fauns grinding the organ + To Mammon and Belial, and half a score dancers, + Who'd joined with Medusa to get up 'the Lancers'; + Here's Lucifer lying blind drunk with Scotch ale, + While Beelzebub's tying huge knots in his tail. + There's Setebos, storming because Mephistopheles + Gave him the lie, + Said he'd "blacken his eye," + And dashed in his face a whole cup of hot coffee-lees;-- + Ramping and roaring, + Hiccoughing, snoring, + Never was seen such a riot before in + A gentleman's house, or such profligate reveling + At any _soiree_--where they don't let the Devil in. + + Hark! as sure as fate + The clock's striking Eight! + (An hour which our ancestors called "getting late,") + When Nick, who by this time was rather elate, + Rose up and addressed them:-- + "'Tis full time," he said, + "For all elderly Devils to be in their bed; + For my own part I mean to be jogging, because + I don't find myself now quite so young as I was; + But, Gentlemen, ere I depart from my post + I must call on you all for one bumper--the toast + Which I have to propose is,--OUR EXCELLENT HOST! + Many thanks for his kind hospitality--may + _We_ also be able + To see at _our_ table + Himself, and enjoy, in a family way, + His good company _down-stairs_ at no distant day! + You'd, I'm sure, think me rude + If I did not include, + In the toast my young friend there, the curly-wigged Heir! + He's in very good hands, for you're all well aware + That St. Cuthbert has taken him under his care; + Though I must not say 'bless,'-- + Why, you'll easily guess,-- + May our curly-wigged Friend's shadow never be less!" + Nick took off his heel-taps--bowed--smiled---with an air + Most graciously grim,--and vacated the chair. + + Of course the _elite_ + Rose at once on their feet, + And followed their leader, and beat a retreat: + When a sky-larking Imp took the President's seat, + And requesting that each would replenish his cup, + Said, "Where we have dined, my boys, there let us sup!"-- + It was three in the morning before they broke up!!! + + * * * * * + + I scarcely need say + Sir Guy didn't delay + To fulfill his vow made to St. Cuthbert, or pay + For the candles he'd promised, or make light as day + The shrine he assured him he'd render so gay. + In fact, when the votaries came there to pray, + All said there was naught to compare with it--nay, + For fear that the Abbey + Might think he was shabby, + Four Brethren, thenceforward, two cleric, two lay, + He ordained should take charge of a new-founded chantry, + With six marcs apiece, and some claims on the pantry; + In short, the whole county + Declared, through his bounty, + The Abbey of Bolton exhibited fresh scenes + From any displayed since Sir William de Meschines + And Cecily Roumeli came to this nation + With William the Norman, and laid its foundation. + + For the rest, it is said, + And I know I have read + In some Chronicle--whose, has gone out of my head-- + + That what with these candles, and other expenses, + Which no man would go to if quite in his senses, + He reduced and brought low + His property so, + That at last he'd not much of it left to bestow; + And that many years after that terrible feast, + Sir Guy, in the Abbey, was living a priest; + And there, in one thousand and---something--deceased. + (It's supposed by this trick + He bamboozled Old Nick, + And slipped through his fingers remarkably "slick.") + While as to young Curly-wig,--dear little Soul, + Would you know more of him, you must look at "The Roll," + Which records the dispute, + And the subsequent suit, + Commenced in "Thirteen sev'nty-five,"--which took root + In Le Grosvenor's assuming the arms Le Scroope swore + That none but _his_ ancestors, ever before, + In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore, + To wit, "_On a Prussian-blue Field_, a _Bend Or_;" + While the Grosvenor averred that _his_ ancestors bore + The same, and Scroope lied like a--somebody tore + Off the simile,--so I can tell you no more, + Till some A double S shall the fragment restore. + + + MORAL + + This Legend sound maxims exemplifies--_e.g._ + + 1_mo._ Should anything tease you, + Annoy, or displease you, + Remember what Lilly says, "_Animum rege!_" + And as for that shocking bad habit of swearing,-- + In all good society voted past bearing,-- + Eschew it! and leave it to dustmen and mobs, + Nor commit yourself much beyond "Zooks!" or "Odsbobs!" + + 2_do._ When asked out to dine by a Person of Quality, + Mind, and observe the most strict punctuality! + For should you come late, + And make dinner wait, + And the victuals get cold, you'll incur, sure as fate, + The Master's displeasure, the Mistress's hate. + And though both may perhaps be too well-bred to swear, + They'll heartily _wish_ you--I will not say _Where_. + + 3_tio._ Look well to your Maid-servants!--say you expect them + To see to the children, and not to neglect them! + And if you're a widower, just throw a cursory + Glance in, at times, when you go near the Nursery. + Perhaps it's as well to keep children from plums, + And from pears in the season,--and sucking their thumbs! + + 4_to._ To sum up the whole with a "saw" of much use, + Be _just_ and be _generous_,--don't be _profuse!_-- + Pay the debts that you owe, keep your word to your friends, + But--DON'T SET YOUR CANDLES ALIGHT AT BOTH ENDS!!-- + For of this be assured, if you "go it" too fast, + You'll be "dished" like Sir Guy, + And like him, perhaps, die + A poor, old, half-starved Country Parson at last! + + +A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS + +"Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellae pulchritudinis +mirae, et ecce Divus, fide catholica, et cruce, et aqua benedicta armatus +venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctae et Individuae Trinitatis, quam, +quasi ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus +fugit."--ROGER HOVEDEN. + + "Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess; + I am a-weary, and worn with woe; + Many a grief doth my heart oppress, + And haunt me whithersoever I go!" + + On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid; + "Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me!"-- + "Now naye, fair daughter," the Lord Abbot said, + "Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be. + + "There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John, + Sage penitauncers I ween be they! + And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell, + Ambrose, the anchorite old and gray!" + + --"Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John, + Though sage penitauncers I trow they be; + Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone-- + Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee. + + "Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn + Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine! + I am a maiden royally born, + And I come of old Plantagenet's line. + + "Though hither I stray in lowly array, + I am a damsel of high degree; + And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Ponthieu, + They serve my father on bended knee! + + "Counts a many, and Dukes a few, + A suitoring came to my father's Hall; + But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain, + He pleased my father beyond them all. + + "Dukes a many, and Counts a few, + I would have wedded right cheerfullie; + But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain, + And I vowed that he ne'er should my bridegroom be! + + "So hither I fly, in lowly guise, + From their gilded domes and their princely halls; + Fain would I dwell in some holy cell, + Or within some Convent's peaceful walls!" + + --Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot, + "Now rest thee, fair daughter, withouten fear. + Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke + Of Holy Church an he seek thee here: + + "Holy Church denieth all search + 'Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams, + And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her flock, + Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs. + + "Then lay, fair daughter, thy fears aside, + For here this day shalt thou dine with me!"-- + "Now naye, now naye," the fair maiden cried; + "In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be! + + "Friends would whisper, and foes would frown, + Sith thou art a Churchman of high degree, + And ill mote it match with thy fair renown + That a wandering damsel dine with thee! + + "There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, + With beans and lettuces fair to see: + His lenten fare now let me share, + I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie!" + + --"Though Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, + To our patron Saint foul shame it were + Should wayworn guest, with toil oppressed, + Meet in his Abbey such churlish fare. + + "There is Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, + And Roger the Monk shall our convives be; + Small scandal I ween shall then be seen: + They are a goodly companie!" + + The Abbot hath donned his mitre and ring, + His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine; + And the choristers sing, as the lay-brothers bring + To the board a magnificent turkey and chine. + + The turkey and chine, they are done to a nicety; + Liver, and gizzard, and all are there; + Ne'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce _Benedicite_ + Over more luscious or delicate fare. + + But no pious stave he, no _Pater_ or _Ave_ + Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face; + She asked him for stuffing, she asked him for gravy, + She asked him for gizzard;--but not for grace! + + Yet gayly the Lord Abbot smiled, and pressed, + And the blood-red wine in the wine-cup filled; + And he helped his guest to a bit of the breast, + And he sent the drumsticks down to be grilled. + + There was no lack of the old Sherris sack, + Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright; + And aye, as he drained off his cup with a smack, + He grew less pious and more polite. + + She pledged him once, and she pledged him twice, + And she drank as Lady ought not to drink; + And he pressed her hand 'neath the table thrice, + And he winked as Abbot ought not to wink. + + And Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, + Sat each with a napkin under his chin; + But Roger the Monk got excessively drunk, + So they put him to bed, and they tucked him in! + + The lay-brothers gazed on each other, amazed; + And Simon the Deacon, with grief and surprise. + As he peeped through the key-hole, could scarce fancy real + The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes. + + In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing-- + He could not distinguish the words very plain, + But 'twas all about "Cole," and "jolly old Soul," + And "Fiddlers," and "Punch," and things quite as profane. + + Even Porter Paul, at the sound of such reveling, + With fervor himself began to bless; + For he thought he must somehow have let the Devil in-- + And perhaps was not very much out in his guess. + + The Accusing Byers[1] "flew up to Heaven's Chancery," + Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern; + The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he + Wept (see the works of the late Mr. Sterne). + + Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in + When, after a lapse of a great many years, + They booked Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing, + And blotted the fine out again with their tears! + + But St. Nicholas's agony who may paint? + His senses at first were well-nigh gone; + The beatified saint was ready to faint + When he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on! + + For never, I ween, had such doings been seen + There before, from the time that most excellent Prince, + Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders, + Had built and endowed it some centuries since. + + --But hark--'tis a sound from the outermost gate: + A startling sound from a powerful blow.-- + Who knocks so late?--it is half after eight + By the clock,--and the clock's five minutes too slow. + + Never, perhaps, had such loud double raps + Been heard in St. Nicholas's Abbey before; + All agreed "it was shocking to keep people knocking," + But none seemed inclined to "answer the door." + + Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang, + And the gate on its hinges wide open flew; + And all were aware of a Palmer there, + With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe. + + Many a furrow, and many a frown, + By toil and time on his brow were traced; + And his long loose gown was of ginger brown, + And his rosary dangled below his waist. + + Now seldom, I ween, is such costume seen, + Except at a stage-play or masquerade; + But who doth not know it was rather the go + With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade? + + With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide + Across that oaken floor; + And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump + Against the Refectory door! + + Wide open it flew, and plain to the view + The Lord Abbot they all mote see; + In his hand was a cup and he lifted it up, + "Here's the Pope's good health with three!" + + Rang in their ears three deafening cheers, + "Huzza! huzza! huzza!" + And one of the party said, "Go it, my hearty!"-- + When outspake that Pilgrim gray-- + + "A boon, Lord Abbot! a boon! a boon! + Worn is my foot, and empty my scrip; + And nothing to speak of since yesterday noon + Of food, Lord Abbot, hath passed my lip. + + "And I am come from a far countree, + And have visited many a holy shrine; + And long have I trod the sacred sod + Where the Saints do rest in Palestine!"-- + + "An thou art come from a far countree, + And if thou in Paynim lands hast been, + Now rede me aright the most wonderful sight, + Thou Palmer gray, that thine eyes have seen. + + "Arede me aright the most wonderful sight, + Gray Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see, + And a manchette of bread, and a good warm bed, + And a cup o' the best shall thy guerdon be!" + + "Oh! I have been east, and I have been west, + And I have seen many a wonderful sight; + But never to me did it happen to see + A wonder like that which I see this night! + + "To see a Lord Abbot, in rochet and stole, + With Prior and Friar,--a strange mar-velle!-- + O'er a jolly full bowl, sitting cheek by jowl, + And hob-nobbing away with a Devil from Hell!" + + He felt in his gown of ginger brown, + And he pulled out a flask from beneath; + It was rather tough work to get out the cork, + But he drew it at last with his teeth. + + O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water, + He made a sacred sign; + And he dashed the whole on the _soi-disant_ daughter + Of old Plantagenet's line! + + Oh! then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek, + With a wild unearthly scream; + And fizzled, and hissed, and produced such a mist, + They were all half-choked by the steam. + + Her dove-like eyes turned to coals of fire, + Her beautiful nose to a horrible snout, + Her hands to paws, with nasty great claws, + And her bosom went in and her tail came out. + + On her chin there appeared a long Nanny-goat's beard, + And her tusks and her teeth no man mote tell; + And her horns and her hoofs gave infallible proofs + 'Twas a frightful Fiend from the nethermost hell! + + The Palmer threw down his ginger gown, + His hat and his cockle; and, plain to sight, + Stood St. Nicholas' self, and his shaven crown + Had a glow-worm halo of heavenly light. + + The fiend made a grasp the Abbot to clasp; + But St. Nicholas lifted his holy toe, + And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick + On his elderly namesake, he made him let go. + + And out of the window he flew like a shot, + For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack, + And caught the foul demon about the spot + Where his tail joins on to the small of his back. + + And he bounded away like a foot-ball at play, + Till into the bottomless pit he fell slap, + Knocking Mammon the meagre o'er pursy Belphegor, + And Lucifer into Beelzebub's lap. + + Oh! happy the slip from his Succubine grip, + That saved the Lord Abbot,--though breathless with fright, + In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip, + And his left leg was shorter thenceforth than his right! + + * * * * * + + On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine, + From a certain inn-window the traveler is shown + Most picturesque ruins, the scene of these doings, + Some miles up the river south-east of Cologne. + + And while "_sauer-kraut_" she sells you, the landlady tells you + That there, in those walls all roofless and bare, + One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one + On filling a _ci-devant_ Abbot's state chair. + + How a _ci-devant_ Abbot, all clothed in drab, but + Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt and no shoes + (His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing + Laid aside), in yon cave lived a pious recluse; + + How he rose with the sun, limping "dot and go one," + To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, + Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher + Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together; + + How a thirsty old codger the neighbors called Roger, + With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine! + What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, + Swigging as though he would empty the Rhine! + + And how, as their bodily strength failed, the mental man + Gained tenfold vigor and force in all four; + And how, to the day of their death, the "Old Gentleman" + Never attempted to kidnap them more. + + And how, when at length, in the odor of sanctity, + All of them died without grief or complaint, + The monks of St. Nicholas said 'twas ridiculous + Not to suppose every one was a Saint. + + And how, in the Abbey, no one was so shabby + As not to say yearly four masses ahead, + On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper + Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead! + + How folks long held in reverence their reliques and memories, + How the _ci-devant_ Abbot's obtained greater still, + When some cripples, on touching his fractured _os femoris_, + Threw down their crutches and danced a quadrille! + + And how Abbot Simon (who turned out a prime one) + These words, which grew into a proverb full soon, + O'er the late Abbot's grotto, stuck up as a motto, + "Who Suppes with the Deville sholde have a long spoone!" + + [Footnote 1: The Prince of Peripatetic Informers, and terror of + Stage Coachmen, when such things were.] + + + + +SABINE BARING-GOULD + +(1834-) + + +The Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould was born in Exeter, England, in 1834. The +addition of Gould to the name of Baring came in the time of his +great-grandfather, a brother of Sir Francis Baring, who married an only +daughter and heiress of W.D. Gould of Devonshire. Much of the early life +of Baring-Gould was passed in Germany and France, and at Clare College, +Cambridge, where he graduated in 1854, taking orders ten years later, +and in 1881 becoming rector of Lew Trenchard, Devonshire, where he holds +estates and privileges belonging to his family. + +He has worked in many fields, and in all with so much acceptance that a +list of his books would be the best exposition of the range of his +untiring pen. To a gift of ready words and ready illustration, whether +he concerns himself with diversities of early Christian belief, the +course of country-dances in England, or the growth of mediaeval legends, +he adds the grace of telling a tale and drawing a character. He has +published nearly a hundred volumes, not one of them unreadable. But no +one man may write with equal pen of German history, of comparative +mythology and philology, of theological dissertations, and of the +pleasures of English rural life, while he adds to these a long list +of novels. + +His secret of popularity lies not in his treatment, which is neither +critical nor scientific, but rather in a clever, easy, diffuse, jovial, +amusing way of saying clearly what at the moment comes to him to say. +His books have a certain raciness and spirit that recall the English +squire of tradition. They rarely smell of the lamp. Now and then appears +a strain of sturdy scholarship, leading the reader to wonder what his +author might have accomplished had he not enjoyed the comfortable ease +of a country justice of the peace, and a rector with large landed +estates, to whom his poorer neighbors appear a sort of dancing puppets. + +Between 1857 and 1870, Baring-Gould had published nine volumes, the best +known of these being 'Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.' From 1870 to +1890 his name appeared as author on the title-page of forty-three books: +sermons, lectures, essays, archaeological treatises, memoirs, +curiosities of literature, histories, and fiction; sixteen novels, +tales, and romances being included. From 1890 to 1896 he published +seventeen more novels, and many of his books have passed through several +editions. His most successful novels are 'Mehalah; a Tale of the Salt +Marshes,' 'In the Roar of the Sea,' 'Red Spider,' 'Richard Cable,' and +'Noemi; a Story of Rock-Dwellers.' + +In an essay upon his fiction, Mr. J.M. Barrie writes in The Contemporary +Review (February, 1890):-- + + "Of our eight or ten living novelists who are popular by + merit, few have greater ability than Mr. Baring-Gould. His + characters are bold and forcible figures, his wit is as ready + as his figures of speech are apt. He has a powerful + imagination, and is quaintly fanciful. When he describes a + storm, we can see his trees breaking in the gale. So enormous + and accurate is his general information that there is no + trade or profession with which he does not seem familiar. So + far as scientific knowledge is concerned, he is obviously + better equipped than any contemporary writer of fiction. Yet + one rises from his books with a feeling of repulsion, or at + least with the glad conviction that his ignoble views of life + are as untrue as the characters who illustrate them. Here is + a melancholy case of a novelist, not only clever but sincere, + undone by want of sympathy.... The author's want of + sympathy prevents 'Mehalah's' rising to the highest art; for + though we shudder at the end, there the effect of the story + stops. It illustrates the futility of battling with fate, but + the theme is not allowable to writers with the modern notion + of a Supreme Power.... But 'Mehalah' is still one of the + most powerful romances of recent years." + + +ST. PATRICK'S PURGATORY + +From 'Curious Myths of the Middle Ages' + +In that charming mediaeval romance 'Fortunatus and his Sons,' which by +the way is a treasury of popular mythology, is an account of a visit +paid by the favored youth to that cave of mystery in Lough Derg, the +Purgatory of St. Patrick. + +Fortunatus, we are told, had heard in his travels of how two days' +journey from the town Valdric, in Ireland, was a town, Vernic, where was +the entrance to the Purgatory; so thither he went with many servants. He +found a great abbey, and behind the altar of the church a door, which +led into the dark cave which is called the Purgatory of St. Patrick. In +order to enter it, leave had to be obtained from the abbot; consequently +Leopold, servant to Fortunatus, betook himself to that worthy and made +known to him that a nobleman from Cyprus desired to enter the mysterious +cavern. The abbot at once requested Leopold to bring his master to +supper with him. Fortunatus bought a large jar of wine and sent it as a +present to the monastery, and followed at the meal-time. + +"Venerable sir!" said Fortunatus, "I understand the Purgatory of St. +Patrick is here: is it so?" + +The abbot replied, "It is so indeed. Many hundred years ago, this place, +where stand the abbey and the town, was a howling wilderness. Not far +off, however, lived a venerable hermit, Patrick by name, who often +sought the desert for the purpose of therein exercising his austerities. +One day he lighted on this cave, which is of vast extent. He entered it, +and wandering on in the dark, lost his way, so that he could no more +find how to return to the light of day. After long ramblings through the +gloomy passages, he fell on his knees and besought Almighty God, if it +were His will, to deliver him from the great peril wherein he lay. +Whilst Patrick thus prayed, he was ware of piteous cries issuing from +the depths of the cave, just such as would be the wailings of souls in +purgatory. The hermit rose from his orison, and by God's mercy found his +way back to the surface, and from that day exercised greater +austerities, and after his death he was numbered with the saints. Pious +people, who had heard the story of Patrick's adventure in the cave, +built this cloister on the site." + +Then Fortunatus asked whether all who ventured into the place heard +likewise the howls of the tormented souls. + +The abbot replied, "Some have affirmed that they have heard a bitter +crying and piping therein; whilst others have heard and seen nothing. No +one, however, has penetrated as yet to the furthest limits of +the cavern." + +Fortunatus then asked permission to enter, and the abbot cheerfully +consented, only stipulating that his guest should keep near the entrance +and not ramble too far, as some who had ventured in had never returned. + +Next day early, Fortunatus received the Blessed Sacrament with his +trusty Leopold; the door of the Purgatory was unlocked, each was +provided with a taper, and then with the blessing of the abbot they were +left in total darkness, and the door bolted behind them. Both wandered +on in the cave, hearing faintly the chanting of the monks in the church, +till the sound died away. They traversed several passages, lost their +way, their candles burned out, and they sat down in despair on the +ground, a prey to hunger, thirst, and fear. + +The monks waited in the church hour after hour; and the visitors of the +Purgatory had not returned. Day declined, vespers were sung, and still +there was no sign of the two who in the morning had passed from the +church into the cave. Then the servants of Fortunatus began to exhibit +anger, and to insist on their master being restored to them. The abbot +was frightened, and sent for an old man who had once penetrated far into +the cave with a ball of twine, the end attached to the door-handle. This +man volunteered to seek Fortunatus, and providentially his search was +successful. After this the abbot refused permission to any one to +visit the cave. + +In the reign of Henry II. lived Henry of Saltrey, who wrote a history of +the visit of a Knight Owen to the Purgatory of St. Patrick, which gained +immense popularity, ... was soon translated into other languages, and +spread the fable through mediaeval Europe.... In English there are two +versions. In one of these, 'Owayne Miles,' the origin of the purgatory +is thus described:-- + + "Holy byschoppes some tyme ther were, + That tawgte me of Goddes lore. + In Irlonde preched Seyn Patryke; + In that londe was non hym lyke: + He prechede Goddes worde full wyde, + And tolde men what shullde betyde. + Fyrste he preched of Heven blysse, + Who ever go thyder may ryght nowgt mysse: + Sethen he preched of Hell pyne, + Howe we them ys that cometh therinne: + And then he preched of purgatory, + As he fonde in hisstory; + But yet the folke of the contre + Beleved not that hit mygth be; + And seyed, but gyf hit were so, + That eny non myth hymself go, + And se alle that, and come ageyn, + Then wolde they beleve fayn." + +Vexed at the obstinacy of his hearers, St. Patrick besought the Almighty +to make the truth manifest to the unbelievers; whereupon + + "God spakke to Saynt Patryke tho + By nam, and badde hym with Hym go: + He ladde hym ynte a wyldernesse, + Wher was no reste more no lesse, + And shewed that he might se + Inte the erthe a pryve entre: + Hit was yn a depe dyches ende. + 'What mon,' He sayde, 'that wylle hereyn wende, + And dwelle theryn a day and a nyght, + And hold his byleve and ryght, + And come ageyn that he ne dwelle, + Mony a mervayle he may of telle. + And alle tho that doth thys pylgrymage, + I shalle hem graunt for her wage, + Whether he be sqwyer or knave, + Other purgatorye shalle he non have.'" + +Thereupon St. Patrick, "he ne stynte ner day ne night," till he had +built there a "fayr abbey," and stocked it with pious canons. Then he +made a door to the cave, and locked the door, and gave the key to the +keeping of the prior. The Knight Owain, who had served under King +Stephen, had lived a life of violence and dissolution; but filled with +repentance, he sought by way of penance St. Patrick's Purgatory. Fifteen +days he spent in preliminary devotions and alms-deeds, and then he heard +mass, was washed with holy water, received the Holy Sacrament, and +followed the sacred relics in procession, whilst the priests sang for +him the Litany, "as lowde as they mygth crye." Then Sir Owain was locked +in the cave, and he groped his way onward in darkness, till he reached a +glimmering light; this brightened, and he came out into an underground +land, where was a great hall and cloister, in which were men with shaven +heads and white garments. These men informed the knight how he was to +protect himself against the assaults of evil spirits. After having +received this instruction, he heard "grete dynn," and + + "Then come ther develes on every syde, + Wykked gostes, I wote, fro Helle, + So mony that no tonge mygte telle: + They fylled the hows yn two rowes; + Some grenned on hym and some mad mowes." + +He then visits the different places of torment. In one, the souls are +nailed to the ground with glowing hot brazen nails; in another they are +fastened to the soil by their hair, and are bitten by fiery reptiles. In +another, again, they are hung over fires by those members which had +sinned, whilst others are roasted on spits. In one place were pits in +which were molten metals. In these pits were men and women, some up to +their chins, others to their breasts, others to their hams. The knight +was pushed by the devils into one of these pits and was dreadfully +scalded, but he cried to the Savior and escaped. Then he visited a lake +where souls were tormented with great cold; and a river of pitch, which +he crossed on a frail and narrow bridge. Beyond this bridge was a wall +of glass, in which opened a beautiful gate, which conducted into +Paradise. This place so delighted him that he would fain have remained +in it had he been suffered, but he was bidden return to earth and finish +there his penitence. He was put into a shorter and pleasanter way back +to the cave than that by which he had come; and the prior found the +knight next morning at the door, waiting to be let out, and full of his +adventures. He afterwards went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and +ended his life in piety.... + +Froissart tells us of a conversation he had with one Sir William Lisle, +who had been in the Purgatory. "I asked him of what sort was the cave +that is in Ireland, called St. Patrick's Purgatory, and if that were +true which was related of it. He replied that there certainly was such +a cave, for he and another English knight had been there whilst the king +was at Dublin, and said that they entered the cave, and were shut in as +the sun set, and that they remained there all night and left it next +morning at sunrise. And then I asked if he had seen the strange sights +and visions spoken of. Then he said that when he and his companion had +passed the gate of the Purgatory of St. Patrick, that they had descended +as though into a cellar, and that a hot vapor rose towards them and so +affected their heads that they were obliged to sit down on the stone +steps. And after sitting there awhile they felt heavy with sleep, and so +fell asleep, and slept all night. Then I asked if they knew where they +were in their sleep, and what sort of dreams they had had; he answered +that they had been oppressed with many fancies and wonderful dreams, +different from those they were accustomed to in their chambers; and in +the morning when they went out, in a short while they had clean +forgotten their dreams and visions; wherefore he concluded that the +whole matter was fancy." + +The next to give us an account of his descent into St. Patrick's +Purgatory is William Staunton of Durham, who went down into the cave on +the Friday next after the feast of Holyrood, in the year 1409. + +"I was put in by the Prior of St. Matthew, of the same Purgatory, with +procession and devout prayers of the prior, and the convent gave me an +orison to bless me with, and to write the first word in my forehead, the +which prayer is this, 'Jhesu Christe, Fili Dei vivi, miserere mihi +peccatori.' And the prior taught me to say this prayer when any spirit, +good or evil, appeared unto me, or when I heard any noise that I should +be afraid of." When left in the cave, William fell asleep, and dreamed +that he saw coming to him St. John of Bridlington and St. Ive, who +undertook to conduct him through the scenes of mystery. After they had +proceeded a while, William was found to be guilty of a trespass against +Holy Church, of which he had to be purged before he could proceed much +further. Of this trespass he was accused by his sister, who appeared in +the way. "I make my complaint unto you against my brother that here +standeth; for this man that standeth hereby loved me, and I loved him, +and either of us would have had the other according to God's law, as +Holy Church teaches, and I should have gotten of me three-souls to God, +but my brother hindered us from marrying." St. John of Bridlington then +turned to William, and asked him why he did not allow the two who loved +one another to be married. "I tell thee there is no man that hindereth +man or woman from being united in the bond of God, though the man be a +shepherd and all his ancestors and the woman be come of kings or of +emperors, or if the man be come of never so high kin and the woman of +never so low kin, if they love one another, but he sinneth in Holy +Church against God and his deed, and therefore he shall have much pain +and tribulations." Being assoiled of this crying sin, St. John takes +William to a fire "grete and styngkyng," in which he sees people burning +in their gay clothes. "I saw some with collars of gold about their +necks, and some of silver, and some men I saw with gay girdles of silver +and gold, and harnessed with horns about their necks, some with mo +jagges on their clothes than whole cloth, others full of jingles and +bells of silver all over set, and some with long pokes on their sleeves, +and women with gowns trailing behind them a long space, and some with +chaplets on their heads of gold and pearls and other precious stones. +And I looked on him that I saw first in pain, and saw the collars and +gay girdles and baldrics burning, and the fiends dragging him by two +fingermits. And I saw the jagges that men were clothed in turn all to +adders, to dragons, and to toads, and 'many other orrible bestes,' +sucking them, and biting them, and stinging them with all their might, +and through every jingle I saw fiends smite burning nails of fire into +their flesh. I also saw fiends drawing down the skin of their shoulders +like to pokes, and cutting them off, and drawing them to the heads of +those they cut them from, all burning as fire. And then I saw the women +that had side trails behind them, and the side trails cut off by the +fiends and burned on their head; and some took of the cutting all +burning and stopped therewith their mouths, their noses, and their ears. +I saw also their gay chaplets of gold and pearls and precious stones +turned into nails of iron, burning, and fiends with burning hammers +smiting them into their heads." These were proud and vain people. Then +he saw another fire, where the fiends were putting out people's eyes and +pouring molten brass and lead into the sockets, and tearing off their +arms and the nails of their feet and hands, and soldering them on again. +This was the doom of swearers. William saw other fires wherein the +devils were executing tortures varied and horrible on their unfortunate +victims. We need follow him no further. + +At the end of the fifteenth century the Purgatory in Lough Derg was +destroyed by orders of the Pope, on hearing the report of a monk of +Eymstadt in Holland, who had visited it, and had satisfied himself that +there was nothing in it more remarkable than in any ordinary cavern. The +Purgatory was closed on St. Patrick's Day, 1497; but the belief in it +was not so speedily banished from popular superstition. Calderon made it +the subject of one of his dramas; and it became the subject of numerous +popular chap-books in France and Spain, where during last century it +occupied in the religious belief of the people precisely the same +position which is assumed by the marvelous visions of heaven and hell +sold by hawkers in England at the present day. + + +THE CORNISH WRECKERS + +From 'The Vicar of Morwenstow' + +When the Rev. R.S. Hawker came to Morwenstow in 1834, he found that he +had much to contend with, not only in the external condition of church +and vicarage, but also in that which is of greater importance.... + +"The farmers of the parish were simple-hearted and respectable; but the +denizens of the hamlet, after receiving the wages of the harvest time, +eked out a precarious existence in the winter, and watched eagerly and +expectantly for the shipwrecks that were certain to happen, and upon the +plunder of which they surely calculated for the scant provision of their +families. The wrecked goods supplied them with the necessaries of life, +and the rended planks of the dismembered vessel contributed to the +warmth of the hovel hearthstone. + +"When Mr. Hawker came to Morwenstow, 'the cruel and covetous natives of +the strand, the wreckers of the seas and rocks for flotsam and jetsam,' +held as an axiom and an injunction to be strictly obeyed:-- + + "'Save a stranger from the sea, + And he'll turn your enemy!' + +"The Morwenstow wreckers allowed a fainting brother to perish in the +sea before their eyes without extending a hand of safety,--nay, more, +for the egotistical canons of a shipwreck, superstitiously obeyed, +permitted and absolved the crime of murder by 'shoving the drowning man +into the sea,' to be swallowed by the waves. Cain! Cain! where is thy +brother? And the wrecker of Morwenstow answered and pleaded in excuse, +as in the case of undiluted brandy after meals, 'It is Cornish custom.' +The illicit spirit of Cornish custom was supplied by the smuggler, and +the gold of the wreck paid him for the cursed abomination of drink." + +One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners, Peter Barrow, had been for full forty +years a wrecker, but of a much more harmless description: he had been a +watcher of the coast for such objects as the waves might turn up to +reward his patience. Another was Tristam Pentire, a hero of contraband +adventure, and agent for sale of smuggled cargoes in bygone times. With +a merry twinkle of the eye, and in a sharp and ringing tone, he loved to +tell such tales of wild adventure and of "derring do," as would make the +foot of the exciseman falter and his cheek turn pale. + +During the latter years of last century there lived in Wellcombe, one of +Mr. Hawker's parishes, a man whose name is still remembered with +terror--Cruel Coppinger. There are people still alive who remember +his wife. + +Local recollections of the man have molded themselves into the rhyme-- + + Will you hear of Cruel Coppinger? + He came from a foreign land: + He was brought to us by the salt water, + He was carried away by the wind!" + +His arrival on the north coast of Cornwall was signalized by a terrific +hurricane. The storm came up Channel from the south-west. A strange +vessel of foreign rig went on the reefs of Harty Race, and was broken to +pieces by the waves. The only man who came ashore was the skipper. A +crowd was gathered on the sand, on horseback and on foot, women as well +as men, drawn together by the tidings of a probable wreck. Into their +midst rushed the dripping stranger, and bounded suddenly upon the +crupper of a young damsel who had ridden to the beach to see the sight. +He grasped her bridle, and shouting in some foreign tongue, urged the +double-laden animal into full speed, and the horse naturally took his +homeward way. The damsel was Miss Dinah Hamlyn. The stranger descended +at her father's door, and lifted her off her saddle. He then announced +himself as a Dane, named Coppinger. He took his place at the family +board, and there remained until he had secured the affections and hand +of Dinah. The father died, and Coppinger at once succeeded to the +management and control of the house, which thenceforth became a den and +refuge of every lawless character along the coast. All kinds of wild +uproar and reckless revelry appalled the neighborhood day and night. It +was discovered that an organized band of smugglers, wreckers, and +poachers made this house their rendezvous, and that "Cruel Coppinger" +was their captain. In those days, and in that far-away region, the +peaceable inhabitants were unprotected. There was not a single resident +gentleman of property and weight in the entire district. No revenue +officer durst exercise vigilance west of the Tamar; and to put an end to +all such surveillance at once, the head of a gauger was chopped off by +one of Coppinger's gang on the gunwale of a boat. + +Strange vessels began to appear at regular intervals on the coast, and +signals were flashed from the headlands to lead them into the safest +creek or cove. Amongst these vessels, one, a full-rigged schooner, soon +became ominously conspicuous. She was for long the chief terror of the +Cornish Channel. Her name was The Black Prince. Once, with Coppinger on +board, she led a revenue-cutter into an intricate channel near the Bull +Rock, where, from knowledge of the bearings, The Black Prince escaped +scathless, while the king's vessel perished with all on board. In those +times, if any landsman became obnoxious to Coppinger's men, he was +seized and carried on board The Black Prince, and obliged to save his +life by enrolling himself in the crew. In 1835, an old man of the age of +ninety-seven related to Mr. Hawker that he had been so abducted, and +after two years' service had been ransomed by his friends with a large +sum. "And all," said the old man very simply, "because I happened to see +one man kill another, and they thought I would mention it." + +Amid such practices, ill-gotten gold began to flow and ebb in the hands +of Coppinger. At one time he had enough money to purchase a freehold +farm bordering on the sea. When the day of transfer came, he and one of +his followers appeared before the lawyer and paid the money in dollars, +ducats, doubloons, and pistoles. The man of law demurred, but Coppinger +with an oath bade him take this or none. The document bearing +Coppinger's name is still extant. His signature is traced in stern bold +characters, and under his autograph is the word "Thuro" (thorough) also +in his own handwriting. + +Long impunity increased Coppinger's daring. There were certain bridle +roads along the fields over which he exercised exclusive control. He +issued orders that no man was to pass over them by night, and +accordingly from that hour none ever did. They were called "Coppinger's +Tracks." They all converged at a headland which had the name of Steeple +Brink. Here the cliff sheered off, and stood three hundred feet of +perpendicular height, a precipice of smooth rock towards the beach, with +an overhanging face one hundred feet down from the brow. Under this was +a cave, only reached by a cable ladder lowered from above, and made fast +below on a projecting crag. It received the name of "Coppinger's Cave." +Here sheep were tethered to the rock, and fed on stolen hay and corn +till slaughtered; kegs of brandy and hollands were piled around; chests +of tea; and iron-bound sea-chests contained the chattels and revenues of +the Coppinger royalty of the sea.... + +But the end arrived. Money became scarce, and more than one armed king's +cutter was seen day and night hovering off the land. So he "who came +with the water went with the wind." His disappearance, like his arrival, +was commemorated by a storm. + +A wrecker who had gone to watch the shore, saw, as the sun went down, a +full-rigged vessel standing off and on. Coppinger came to the beach, put +off in a boat to the vessel, and jumped on board. She spread canvas, +stood off shore, and with Coppinger in her was seen no more. That night +was one of storm. Whether the vessel rode it out, or was lost, +none knew. + + * * * * * + +In 1864 a large ship was seen in distress off the coast. The Rev. A. +Thynne, rector of Kilkhampton, at once drove to Morwenstow. The vessel +was riding at anchor a mile off shore, west of Hartland Race. He found +Mr. Hawker in the greatest excitement, pacing his room and shouting for +some things he wanted to put in his greatcoat-pockets, and intensely +impatient because his carriage was not round. With him was the Rev. W. +Valentine, rector of Whixley in Yorkshire, then resident at Chapel in +the parish of Morwenstow. + +"What are you going to do?" asked the rector of Kilkhampton: "I shall +drive at once to Bude for the lifeboat." + +"No good!" thundered the vicar, "no good comes out of the west. You must +go east. I shall go to Clovelly, and then, if that fails, to Appledore. +I shall not stop till I have got a lifeboat to take those poor fellows +off the wreck." + +"Then," said the rector of Kilkhampton, "I shall go to Bude, and see to +the lifeboat there being brought out." + +"Do as you like; but mark my words, no good comes of turning to the +west. Why," said he, "in the primitive church they turned to the west to +renounce the Devil." + +His carriage came to the door, and he drove off with Mr. Valentine as +fast as his horses could spin him along the hilly, wretched roads. + +Before he reached Clovelly, a boat had put off with the mate from the +ship, which was the Margaret Quail, laden with salt. The captain would +not leave the vessel; for, till deserted by him, no salvage could be +claimed. The mate was picked up on the way, and the three +reached Clovelly. + +Down the street proceeded the following procession--the street of +Clovelly being a flight of stairs:-- + +_First_, the vicar of Morwenstow in a claret-colored coat, with long +tails flying in the gale, blue knitted jersey, and pilot-boots, his long +silver locks fluttering about his head. He was appealing to the +fishermen and sailors of Clovelly to put out in their lifeboat to rescue +the crew of the Margaret Quail. The men stood sulky, lounging about with +folded arms, or hands in their pockets, and sou'-westers slouched over +their brows. The women were screaming at the tops of their voices that +they would not have their husbands and sons and sweethearts enticed away +to risk their lives to save wrecked men. Above the clamor of their +shrill tongues and the sough of the wind rose the roar of the vicar's +voice: he was convulsed with indignation, and poured forth the most +sacred appeals to their compassion for drowning sailors. + +_Second_ in the procession moved the Rev. W. Valentine, with purse full +of gold in his hand, offering any amount of money to the Clovelly men, +if they would only go forth in the lifeboat to the wreck. + +_Third_ came the mate of the Margaret Quail, restrained by no +consideration of cloth, swearing and damning right and left, in a +towering rage at the cowardice of the Clovelly men. + +_Fourth_ came John, the servant of Mr. Hawker, with bottles of whisky +under his arm, another inducement to the men to relent and be merciful +to their imperiled brethren. + +The first appeal was to their love of heaven and to their humanity; the +second was to their pockets, their love of gold; the third to their +terrors, their fear of Satan, to whom they were consigned; and the +fourth to their stomachs, their love of grog. + +But all appeals were in vain. Then Mr. Hawker returned to his carriage, +and drove away farther east to Appledore, where he secured the lifeboat. +It was mounted on a wagon; ten horses were harnessed to it; and as fast +as possible it was conveyed to the scene of distress. + +But in the mean while the captain of the Margaret Quail, despairing of +help and thinking that his vessel would break up under him, came off in +his boat with the rest of the crew, trusting rather to a rotten boat, +patched with canvas which they had tarred over, than to the tender +mercies of the covetous Clovellites, in whose veins ran the too recent +blood of wreckers. The only living being left on board was a poor dog. + +No sooner was the captain seen to leave the ship than the Clovelly men +lost their repugnance to go to sea. They manned boats at once, gained +the Margaret Quail, and claimed three thousand pounds for salvage. + +There was an action in court, as the owners refused to pay such a sum; +and it was lost by the Clovelly men, who however got an award of twelve +hundred pounds. The case turned somewhat on the presence of the dog on +the wreck; and it was argued that the vessel was not deserted, because a +dog had been left on board to keep guard for its masters. The owner of +the cargo failed; and the amount actually paid to the salvors was six +hundred pounds to two steam-tugs (three hundred pounds each), and three +hundred pounds to the Clovelly skiff and sixteen men. + +Mr. Hawker went round the country indignantly denouncing the sailors of +Clovelly, and with justice. It roused all the righteous wrath in his +breast. And as may well be believed, no love was borne him by the +inhabitants of that little fishing village. They would probably have +made a wreck of him had he ventured among them. + + + + +Jane Barlow + +(18-) + + +The general reader has yet to learn the most private and sacred events +of Miss Jane Barlow's life, now known only to herself and friends. She +is the daughter of Dr. Barlow of Trinity College, and lives in the +seclusion of a collage at Raheny, a hamlet near Dublin. Her family has +been in Ireland for generations, and she comes of German and Norman +stock. As some one has said, the knowledge and skill displayed in +depicting Irish peasant life, which her books show, are hers not through +Celtic blood and affinities, but by a sympathetic genius and +inspiration. + +[Illustration: Jane Barlow] + +The publication of her writings in book form was preceded by the +appearance of some poems and stories in the magazines, the Dublin +University Review of 1885 containing 'Walled Out; or, Eschatology in a +Bog.' 'Irish Idyls' (1892), and 'Bogland Studies' (of the same year), +show the same pitiful, sombre pictures of Irish peasant life about the +sodden-roofed mud hut and "pitaties" boiling, which only a genial, +impulsive, generous, light-hearted, half-Greek and half-philosophic +people could make endurable to the reader or attractive to the writer. +The innate sweetness of the Irish character, which the author brings out +with fine touches, makes it worth portrayal. "It is safe to say," writes +a critic, "that the philanthropist or the political student interested +in the eternal Irish problem will learn more from Miss Barlow's twin +volumes than from a dozen Royal Commissions and a hundred Blue Books." +Her sympathy constantly crops out, as, for instance, in the mirthful +tale of 'Jerry Dunne's Basket,' where-- + + "Andy Joyce had an ill-advised predilection for seeing things + which he called 'dacint and proper' about him, and he built + some highly superior sheds on the lawn, to the bettering, no + doubt, of his cattle's condition. The abrupt raising of his + rent by fifty per cent, was a broad hint which most men would + have taken; and it did keep Andy ruefully quiet for a season + or two. Then, however, having again saved up a trifle, he + could not resist the temptation to drain the swampy corner of + the farthest river-field, which was as kind a bit of land as + you could wish, only for the water lying on it, and in which + he afterward raised himself a remarkably fine crop of white + oats. The sight of them 'done his heart good,' he said, + exultantly, nothing recking that it was the last touch of + farmer's pride he would ever feel. Yet on the next + quarter-day the Joyces received notice to quit, and their + landlord determined to keep the vacated holding in his own + hands; those new sheds were just the thing for his young + stock. Andy, in fact, had done his best to improve himself + off the face of the earth." + +The long story which Miss Barlow has published, 'Kerrigan's Quality' +(1894), is told with her distinguishing charm, but the book has not the +close-knit force of the 'Idyls.' Miss Barlow herself prefers the +'Bogland Studies,' because, she says, they are "a sort of poetry." "I +had set my heart too long upon being a poet ever to give up the idea +quite contentedly; 'the old hope is hardest to be lost.' A real poet I +can never be, as I have, I fear, nothing of the lyrical faculty; and a +poet without that is worse than a bird without wings, so, like Mrs. +Browning's Nazianzen, I am doomed to look 'at the lyre hung out +of reach.'" + +Besides the three books named, Miss Barlow has published 'Mockus of the +Shallow Waters' (1893); 'The End of Elfintown' (1894); 'The Battle of +the Frogs and Mice in English' (1894); 'Maureen's Fairing and other +Stories' (1895); and 'Strangers at Lisconnel,' a second series of 'Irish +Idyls' (1895). In the last book we again have the sorrows and joys of +the small hamlet in the west of Ireland, where "the broad level spreads +away and away to the horizon before and behind and on either side of +you, very sombre-hued, yet less black-a-vised than more frequent bergs," +where in the distance the mountains "loom up on its borders much less +substantial, apparently, in fabric than so many spirals of blue turf +smoke," and where the curlew's cry "can set a whole landscape to +melancholy in one chromatic phrase." + + +THE WIDOW JOYCE'S CLOAK + +From 'Strangers at Lisconnel' + +Still, although the Tinkers' name has become a byword among us through a +long series of petty offenses rather than any one flagrant crime, there +is a notable misdeed on record against them, which has never been +forgotten in the lapse of many years. It was perpetrated soon after the +death of Mrs. Kilfoyle's mother, the Widow Joyce, an event which is but +dimly recollected now at Lisconnel, as nearly half a century has gone +by. She did not very long survive her husband, and he had left his +roots behind in his little place at Clonmena, where, as we know, he had +farmed not wisely but too well, and had been put out of it for his pains +to expend his energy upon our oozy black sods and stark-white bowlders. +But instead he moped about, fretting for his fair green fields, and few +proudly cherished beasts,--especially the little old Kerry cow. And at +his funeral the neighbors said, "Ah, bedad, poor man, God help him, he +niver held up his head agin from that good day to this." + +When Mrs. Joyce felt that it behooved her to settle her affairs, she +found that the most important possession she had to dispose of was her +large cloak. She had acquired it at the prosperous time of her marriage, +and it was a very superior specimen of its kind, in dark-blue cloth +being superfine, and its ample capes and capacious hood being +double-lined and quilted and stitched in a way which I cannot pretend to +describe, but which made it a most substantial and handsome garment. If +Mrs. Joyce had been left entirely to her own choice in the matter, I +think she would have bequeathed it to her younger daughter Theresa, +notwithstanding that custom clearly designated Bessy Kilfoyle, the +eldest of the family, as the heiress. For she said to herself that poor +Bessy had her husband and childer to consowl her, any way, but little +Theresa, the crathur, had ne'er such a thing at all, and wouldn't have, +not she, God love her. "And the back of me hand to some I could name." +It seemed to her that to leave the child the cloak would be almost like +keeping a warm wing spread over her in the cold wide world; and there +was no fear that Bessy would take it amiss. + +But Theresa herself protested strongly against such a disposition, +urging for one thing that sure she'd be lost in it entirely if ever she +put it on; a not unfounded objection, as Theresa was several sizes +smaller than Bessy, and even she fell far short of her mother in stature +and portliness. Theresa also said confidently with a sinking heart, "But +sure, anyhow, mother jewel, what matter about it? 'Twill be all gone to +houles and flitters and thraneens, and so it will, plase goodness, afore +there's any talk of anybody else wearin' it except your own ould self." +And she expressed much the same conviction one day to her next-door +neighbor, old Biddy Ryan, to whom she had run in for the loan of a sup +of sour milk, which Mrs. Joyce fancied. To Biddy's sincere regret she +could offer Theresa barely a skimpy noggin of milk, and only a meagre +shred of encouragement; and by way of eking out the latter with its +sorry substitute, consolation, she said as she tilted the jug +perpendicularly to extract its last drop:-- + +"Well, sure, me dear, I do be sayin' me prayers for her every sun goes +over our heads that she might be left wid you this great while yet; +'deed, I do so. But ah, acushla, if we could be keepin' people +that-a-way, would there be e'er a funeral iver goin' black on the road +at all at all? I'm thinkin' there's scarce a one livin', and he as ould +and foolish and little-good-for as you plase, but some crathur'ill be +grudgin' him to his grave, that's himself may be all the while wishin' +he was in it. Or, morebetoken, how can we tell what quare ugly +misfortin' thim that's took is took out of the road of, that we should +be as good as biddin' thim stay till it comes to ruinate them? So it's +prayin' away I am, honey," said old Biddy, whom Theresa could not help +hating heart-sickly. "But like enough the Lord might know better than to +be mindin' a word I say." + +And it seemed that He did; anyway, the day soon came when the heavy blue +cloak passed into Mrs. Kilfoyle's possession. + +At that time it was clear, still autumn weather, with just a sprinkle of +frost white on the wayside grass, like the wraith of belated moonlight, +when the sun rose, and shimmering into rainbow stars by noon. But about +a month later the winter swooped suddenly on Lisconnel: with wild winds +and cold rain that made crystal-silver streaks down the purple of the +great mountainheads peering in over our bogland. + +So one perishing Saturday Mrs. Kilfoyle made up her mind that she would +wear her warm legacy on the bleak walk to Mass next morning, and +reaching it down from where it was stored away among the rafters wrapped +in an old sack, she shook it respectfully out of its straight-creased +folds. As she did so she noticed that the binding of the hood had ripped +in one place, and that the lining was fraying out, a mishap which should +be promptly remedied before it spread any further. She was not a very +expert needlewoman, and she thought she had better run over the way to +consult Mrs. O'Driscoll, then a young matron, esteemed the handiest and +most helpful person in Lisconnel. + +"It's the nathur of her to be settin' things straight wherever she +goes," Mrs. Kilfoyle said to herself as she stood in her doorway waiting +for the rain to clear off, and looking across the road to the sodden +roof which sheltered her neighbor's head. It had long been lying low, +vanquished by a trouble which even she could not set to rights, and some +of the older people say that things have gone a little crookeder in +Lisconnel ever since. + +The shower was a vicious one, with the sting of sleet and hail in its +drops, pelted about by gusts that ruffled up the puddles into ripples, +all set on end, like the feathers of a frightened hen. The hens +themselves stood disconsolately sheltering under the bank, mostly on one +leg, as if they preferred to keep up the slightest possible connection +with such a very damp and disagreeable earth. You could not see far in +any direction for the fluttering sheets of mist, and a stranger who had +been coming along the road from Duffelane stepped out of them abruptly +quite close to Mrs. Kilfoyle's door, before she knew that there was +anybody near. He was a tall, elderly man, gaunt and grizzled, very +ragged, and so miserable-looking that Mrs. Kilfoyle could have felt +nothing but compassion for him had he not carried over his shoulder a +bunch of shiny cans, which was to her mind as satisfactory a passport as +a ticket of leave. For although these were yet rather early days at +Lisconnel, the Tinkers had already begun to establish their reputation. +So when he stopped in front of her and said, "Good-day, ma'am," she only +replied distantly, "It's a hardy mornin'," and hoped he would move on. +But he said, "It's cruel could, ma'am," and continued to stand looking +at her with wide and woful eyes, in which she conjectured--erroneously, +as it happened--hunger for warmth or food. Under these circumstances, +what could be done by a woman who was conscious of owning a redly +glowing hearth with a big black pot, fairly well filled, clucking and +bobbing upon it? To possess such wealth as this, and think seriously of +withholding a share from anybody who urges the incontestable claim of +wanting it, is a mood altogether foreign to Lisconnel, where the +responsibilities of poverty are no doubt very imperfectly understood. +Accordingly Mrs. Kilfoyle said to the tattered tramp, "Ah, thin, step +inside and have a couple of hot pitaties." And when he accepted the +invitation without much alacrity, as if he had something else on his +mind, she picked for him out of the steam two of the biggest potatoes, +whose earth-colored skins, cracking, showed a fair flouriness within; +and she shook a little heap of salt, the only relish she had, onto the +chipped white plate as she handed it to him, saying, "Sit you down be +the fire, there, and git a taste of the heat." + +Then she lifted her old shawl over her head, and ran out to see where at +all Brian and Thady were gettin' their deaths on her under the pours of +rain; and as she passed the Keoghs' adjacent door--which was afterward +the Sheridans', whence their Larry departed so reluctantly--young Mrs. +Keogh called her to come in and look at "the child," who, being a new +and unique possession, was liable to develop alarmingly strange +symptoms, and had now "woke up wid his head that hot, you might as well +put your hand on the hob of the grate." Mrs. Kilfoyle stayed only long +enough to suggest, as a possible remedy, a drop of two-milk whey. "But +ah, sure, woman dear, where at all 'ud we come by that, wid the crathur +of a goat scarce wettin' the bottom of the pan?" and to draw reassuring +omens from the avidity with which the invalid grabbed at a sugared +crust. In fact, she was less than five minutes out of her house; but +when she returned to it, she found it empty. First, she noted with a +moderate thrill of surprise that her visitor had gone away leaving his +potatoes untouched; and next, with a rough shock of dismay, that her +cloak no longer lay on the window seat where she had left it. From that +moment she never felt any real doubts about what had befallen her, +though for some time she kept on trying to conjure them up, and searched +wildly round and round and round her little room, like a distracted bee +strayed into the hollow furze-bush, before she sped over to Mrs. +O'Driscoll with the news of her loss. + +It spread rapidly through Lisconnel, and brought the neighbors together +exclaiming and condoling, though not in great force, as there was a fair +going on down beyant, which nearly all the men and some of the women had +attended. This was accounted cruel unlucky, as it left the place without +any one able-bodied and active enough to go in pursuit of the thief. A +prompt start might have overtaken him, especially as he was said to be a +"thrifle lame-futted"; though Mrs. M'Gurk, who had seen him come down +the hill, opined that "'twasn't the sort of lameness 'ud hinder the +miscreant of steppin' out, on'y a quare manner of flourish he had in a +one of his knees, as if he was gatherin' himself up to make an offer at +a grasshopper's lep, and then thinkin' better of it." + +Little Thady Kilfoyle reported that he had met the strange man a bit +down the road, "leggin' it along at a great rate, wid a black rowl of +somethin' under his arm that he looked to be crumplin' up as small as he +could,"--the word "crumpling" went acutely to Mrs. Kilfoyle's +heart,--and some long-sighted people declared that they could still +catch glimpses of a receding figure through the hovering fog on the way +toward Sallinbeg. + +"I'd think he'd be beyant seein' afore now," said Mrs. Kilfoyle, who +stood in the rain, the disconsolate centre of the group about her door; +all women and children except old Johnny Keogh, who was so bothered and +deaf that he grasped new situations slowly and feebly, and had now an +impression of somebody's house being on fire. "He must ha' took off wid +himself the instiant me back was turned, for ne'er a crumb had he +touched of the pitaties." + +"Maybe he'd that much shame in him," said Mrs. O'Driscoll. + +"They'd a right to ha' choked him, troth and they had," said Ody +Rafferty's aunt. + +"Is it chokin'?" said young Mrs. M'Gurk, bitterly. "Sure the bigger +thief a body is, the more he'll thrive on whatever he gits; you might +think villiny was as good as butter to people's pitaties, you might so. +Sharne how are you? Liker he'd ate all he could swally in the last place +he got the chance of layin' his hands on anythin'." + +"Och, woman alive, but it's the fool you were to let him out of your +sight," said Ody Rafferty's aunt. "If it had been me, I'd niver ha' took +me eyes off him, for the look of him on'y goin' by made me flesh creep +upon me bones." + +"'Deed was I," said Mrs. Kilfoyle, sorrowfully, "a fine fool. And vexed +she'd be, rael vexed, if she guessed the way it was gone on us, for the +dear knows what dirty ould rapscallions 'ill get the wearin' of it now. +Rael vexed she'd be." + +This speculation was more saddening than the actual loss of the cloak, +though that bereft her wardrobe of far and away its most valuable +property, which should have descended as an heirloom to her little +Katty, who, however, being at present but three months old, lay sleeping +happily unaware of the cloud that had come over her prospects. + +"I wish to goodness a couple of the lads 'ud step home wid themselves +this minit of time," said Mrs. M'Gurk. "They'd come tip wid him yet, and +take it off of him ready enough. And smash his ugly head for him, if he +would be givin' them any impidence." + +"Aye, and 'twould be a real charity--the mane baste;--or sling him in +one of the bog-houles," said the elder Mrs. Keogh, a mild-looking little +old woman. "I'd liefer than nine nine-pennies see thim comin' along. But +I'm afeard it's early for thim yet." + +Everybody's eyes turned, as she spoke, toward the ridge of the Knockawn, +though with no particular expectation of seeing what they wished upon +it. But behold, just at that moment three figures, blurred among the +gray rain-mists, looming into view. + +"Be the powers," said Mrs. M'Gurk, jubilantly, "it's Ody Rafferty +himself. To your sowls! Now you've a great good chance, ma'am, to be +gettin' it back. He's the boy 'ill leg it over all before him"--for in +those days Ody was lithe and limber--"and it's hard-set the thievin' +Turk 'ill be to get the better of him at a racin' match--Hi--Och." She +had begun to hail him with a call eager and shrill, which broke off in a +strangled croak, like a young cock's unsuccessful effort. "Och, murdher, +murdher, murdher," she said to the bystanders, in a disgusted undertone. +"I'll give you me misfort'nit word thim other two is the polis." + +Now it might seem on the face of things that the arrival of those two +active and stalwart civil servants would have been welcomed as happening +just in the nick of time; yet it argues an alien ignorance to suppose +such a view of the matter by any means possible. The men in invisible +green tunics belonged completely to the category of pitaty-blights, +rint-warnin's, fevers, and the like devastators of life, that dog a man +more or less all through it, but close in on him, a pitiful quarry, when +the bad seasons come and the childer and the old crathurs are starvin' +wid the hunger, and his own heart is broke; therefore, to accept +assistance from them in their official capacity would have been a +proceeding most reprehensibly unnatural. To put a private quarrel or +injury into the hands of the peelers were a disloyal making of terms +with the public foe; a condoning of great permanent wrongs for the sake +of a trivial temporary convenience. Lisconnel has never been skilled in +the profitable and ignoble art of utilizing its enemies. Not that +anybody was more than vaguely conscious of these sentiments, much less +attempted to express them in set terms. When a policeman appeared there +in an inquiring mood, what people said among themselves was, "Musha +cock him up. I hope he'll get his health till I would be tellin' him," +or words to that effect; while in reply to his questions, they made +statements superficially so clear and simple, and essentially so +bewilderingly involved, that the longest experience could do little more +for a constable than teach him the futility of wasting his time in +attempts to disentangle them. + +Thus it was that when Mrs. Kilfoyle saw who Ody's companions were, she +bade a regretful adieu to her hopes of recovering her stolen property. +For how could she set him on the Tinker's felonious track without +apprising them likewise? You might as well try to huroosh one chicken +off a rafter and not scare the couple that were huddled beside it. The +impossibility became more obvious presently as the constables, striding +quickly down to where the group of women stood in the rain and wind with +fluttering shawls and flapping cap-borders, said briskly, "Good-day to +you all. Did any of yous happen to see e'er a one of them tinkerin' +people goin' by here this mornin'?" + +It was a moment of strong temptation to everybody, but especially to +Mrs. Kilfoyle, who had in her mind that vivid picture of her precious +cloak receding from her along the wet road, recklessly wisped up in the +grasp of as thankless a thievin' black-hearted slieveen as ever stepped, +and not yet, perhaps, utterly out of reach, though every fleeting +instant carried it nearer to that hopeless point. However, she and her +neighbors stood the test unshaken. Mrs. Ryan rolled her eyes +deliberatively, and said to Mrs. M'Gurk, "The saints bless us, was it +yisterday or the day before, me dear, you said you seen a couple of them +below, near ould O'Beirne's?" + +And Mrs. M'Gurk replied, "Ah, sure, not at all, ma'am, glory be to +goodness. I couldn't ha' tould you such a thing, for I wasn't next or +nigh the place. Would it ha' been Ody Rafferty's aunt? She was below +there fetchin' up a bag of male, and bedad she came home that dhreeped, +the crathur, you might ha' thought she'd been after fishin' it up out of +the botthom of one of thim bog-houles." + +And Mrs. Kilfoyle heroically hustled her Thady into the house, as she +saw him on the brink of beginning loudly to relate his encounter with a +strange man, and desired him to whisht and stay where he was in a manner +so sternly repressive that he actually remained there as if he had been +a pebble dropped into a pool, and not, as usual, a cork to bob up again +immediately. + +Then Mrs. M'Gurk made a bold stroke, designed to shake off the +hampering presence of the professionals, and enable Ody's amateur +services to be utilized while there was yet time. + +"I declare," she said, "now that I think of it, I seen a feller crossin' +the ridge along there a while ago, like as if he was comin' from +Sallinbeg ways; and according to the apparence of him, I wouldn't won'er +if he _was_ a one of thim tinker crathures--carryin' a big clump of cans +he was, at any rate--I noticed the shine of thim. And he couldn't ha' +got any great way yet to spake of, supposin' there was anybody lookin' +to folly after him." + +But Constable Black crushed her hopes as he replied, "Ah, it's nobody +comin' _from_ Sallinbeg that we've anything to say to. There's after +bein' a robbery last night, down below at Jerry Dunne's--a shawl as good +as new took, that his wife's ragin' over frantic, along wid a sight of +fowl and other things. And the Tinkers that was settled this long while +in the boreen at the back of his haggard is quit out of it afore +daylight this mornin', every rogue of them. So we'd have more than a +notion where the property's went to if we could tell the road they've +took. We thought like enough some of them might ha' come this way." + +Now, Mr. Jerry Dunne was not a popular person in Lisconnel, where he has +even become, as we have seen, proverbial for what we call "ould +naygurliness." So there was a general tendency to say, "The divil's cure +to him," and listen complacently to any details their visitors could +impart. For in his private capacity a policeman, provided that he be +otherwise "a dacint lad," which to do him justice is commonly the case, +may join, with a few unobtrusive restrictions, in our neighborly +gossips; the rule in fact being--Free admission except on business. + +Only Mrs. Kilfoyle was so much cast down by her misfortune that she +could not raise herself to the level of an interest in the affairs of +her thrifty suitor, and the babble of voices relating and commenting +sounded as meaningless as the patter of the drops which jumped like +little fishes in the large puddle at their feet. It had spread +considerably before Constable Black said to his comrade:-- + + "Well, Daly, we'd better be steppin' home wid ourselves as + wise as we come, as the man said when he'd axed his road of + the ould black horse in the dark lane. There's no good goin' + further, for the whole gang of them's scattered over the + counthry agin now like a seedin' thistle in a high win'." + + "Aye, bedad," said Constable Daly, "and be the same token, + this win' ud skin a tanned elephant. It's on'y bogged and + drenched we'd git. Look at what's comin' up over there. That + rain's snow on the hills, every could drop of it; I seen Ben + Bawn this mornin' as white as the top of a musharoon, and + it's thickenin' wid sleet here this minute, and so it is." + + The landscape did, indeed, frown upon further explorations. + In quarters where the rain had abated it seemed as if the + mists had curdled on the breath of the bitter air, and they + lay floating in long white bars and reefs low on the track of + their own shadow, which threw down upon the sombre bogland + deeper stains of gloom. Here and there one caught on the + crest of some gray-bowldered knoll, and was teazed into + fleecy threads that trailed melting instead of tangling. But + toward the north the horizon was all blank, with one vast, + smooth slant of slate-color, like a pent-house roof, which + had a sliding motion onwards. + + Ody Rafferty pointed to it and said, "Troth, it's teemin' + powerful this instiant up there in the mountains. 'Twill be + much if you land home afore it's atop of you; for 'twould be + the most I could do myself." + +And as the constables departed hastily, most people forgot the stolen +cloak for a while to wonder whether their friends would escape being +entirely drowned on the way back from the fair. + +Mrs. Kilfoyle, however, still stood in deep dejection at her door, and +said, "Och, but she was the great fool to go let the likes of him set +fut widin' her house." + +To console her Mrs. O'Driscoll said, "Ah, sure, sorra a fool were you, +woman dear; how would you know the villiny of him? And if you'd turned +the man away widout givin' him e'er a bit, it's bad you'd be thinkin' of +it all the day after." + +And to improve the occasion for her juniors, old Mrs. Keogh added, "Aye, +and morebetoken you'd ha' been committin' a sin." + +But Mrs. Kilfoyle replied with much candor, "'Deed, then, I'd a dale +liefer be after committin' a sin, or a dozen sins, than to have me poor +mother's good cloak thieved away on me, and walkin' wild about +the world." + +As it happened, the fate of Mrs. Kilfoyle's cloak was very different +from her forecast. But I do not think that a knowledge of it would have +teen consolatory to her by any means. If she had heard of it, she would +probably have said, "The cross of Christ upon us. God be good to the +misfort'nit crathur." For she was not at all of an implacable temper, +and would, under the circumstances, have condoned even the injury that +obliged her to appear at Mass with a flannel petticoat over her head +until the end of her days. Yet she did hold the Tinkers in a perhaps +somewhat too unqualified reprobation. For there are tinkers and tinkers. +Some of them, indeed, are stout and sturdy thieves,--veritable birds of +prey,--whose rapacity is continually questing for plunder. But some of +them have merely the magpies' and jackdaws' thievish propensity for +picking up what lies temptingly in their way. And some few are so honest +that they pass by as harmlessly as a wedge of high-flying wild duck. And +I have heard it said that to places like Lisconnel their pickings and +stealings have at worst never been so serious a matter as those of +another flock, finer of feather, but not less predacious in their +habits, who roosted, for the most part, a long way off, and made their +collections by deputy. + +Copyrighted 1895, by Dodd, Mead and Company. + + + WALLED OUT + + From 'Bogland Studies' + + An' wanst we were restin' a bit in the sun on the smooth hillside, + Where the grass felt warm to your hand as the fleece of a sheep, + for wide, + As ye'd look overhead an' around, 'twas all a-blaze and a-glow, + An' the blue was blinkin' up from the blackest bog-holes below; + + An' the scent o' the bogmint was sthrong on the air, an' never a sound + But the plover's pipe that ye'll seldom miss by a lone bit o' ground. + An' he laned--Misther Pierce--on his elbow, an' stared at the sky + as he smoked, + Till just in an idle way he sthretched out his hand an' sthroked + The feathers o' wan of the snipe that was kilt an' lay close by on + the grass; + An' there was the death in the crathur's eyes like a breath upon + glass. + + An' sez he, "It's quare to think that a hole ye might bore wid a pin + 'Ill be wide enough to let such a power o' darkness in + On such a power o' light; an' it's quarer to think," sez he, + "That wan o' these days the like is bound to happen to you an' me." + Thin Misther Barry, he sez: "Musha, how's wan to know but there's + light + On t'other side o' the dark, as the day comes afther the night?" + An' "Och," says Misther Pierce, "what more's our knowin'--save the + mark-- + Than guessin' which way the chances run, an' thinks I they run to + the dark; + Or else agin now some glint of a bame'd ha' come slithered an' slid; + Sure light's not aisy to hide, an' what for should it be hid?" + Up he stood with a sort o' laugh: "If on light," sez he, "ye're set, + Let's make the most o' this same, as it's all that we're like to get." + + Thim were his words, as I minded well, for often afore an' sin, + The 'dintical thought 'ud bother me head that seemed to bother him + thin; + An' many's the time I'd be wond'rin' whatever it all might mane, + The sky, an' the lan', an' the bastes, an' the rest o' thim plain as + plain, + And all behind an' beyant thim a big black shadow let fall; + Ye'll sthrain the sight out of your eyes, but there it stands like a + wall. + + "An' there," sez I to meself, "we're goin' wherever we go, + But where we'll be whin we git there it's never a know I know." + Thin whiles I thought I was maybe a sthookawn to throuble me mind + + Wid sthrivin' to comprehind onnathural things o' the kind; + An' Quality, now, that have larnin', might know the rights o' the + case, + But ignorant wans like me had betther lave it in pace. + + Priest, tubbe sure, an' Parson, accordin' to what they say, + The whole matther's plain as a pikestaff an' clear as the day, + An' to hear thim talk of a world beyant, ye'd think at the laste + They'd been dead an' buried half their lives, an' had thramped it + from west to aist; + An' who's for above an' who's for below they've as pat as if they + could tell + The name of every saint in heaven an' every divil in hell. + But cock up the lives of thimselves to be settlin' it all to their + taste-- + I sez, and the wife she sez I'm no more nor a haythin baste-- + + For mighty few o' thim's rael Quality, musha, they're mostly a pack + O' playbians, each wid a tag to his name an' a long black coat to + his back; + An' it's on'y romancin' they are belike; a man must stick be his + trade, + An' _they_ git their livin' by lettin' on they know how wan's + sowl is made. + + And in chapel or church they're bound to know somethin' for sure, + good or bad, + Or where'd be the sinse o' their preachin' an' prayers an' hymns an' + howlin' like mad? + So who'd go mindin' o' thim? barrin' women, in coorse, an' wanes, + That believe 'most aught ye tell thim, if they don't understand what + it manes-- + Bedad, if it worn't the nathur o' women to want the wit, + Parson and Priest I'm a-thinkin' might shut up their shop an' quit. + + But, och, it's lost an' disthracted the crathurs 'ud be without + Their bit of divarsion on Sundays whin all o' thim gits about, + Cluth'rin' an' pluth'rin' together like hins, an' a-roostin' in rows, + An' meetin' their frins an' their neighbors, and wearin' their dacint + clothes. + An' sure it's quare that the clergy can't ever agree to keep + Be tellin' the same thrue story, sin' they know such a won'erful heap; + + For many a thing Priest tells ye that Parson sez is a lie, + An' which has a right to be wrong, the divil a much know I, + For all the differ I see 'twixt the pair o' thim 'd fit in a nut: + Wan for the Union, an' wan for the League, an' both o' thim bitther + as sut. + But Misther Pierce, that's a gintleman born, an' has college larnin' + and all, + There he was starin' no wiser than me where the shadow stands like + a wall. + + Authorized American Edition, Dodd, Mead and Company. + + + + +JOEL BARLOW + +(1754-1812) + + +One morning late in the July of 1778, a select company gathered in the +little chapel of Yale College to listen to orations and other exercises +by a picked number of students of the Senior class, one of whom, named +Barlow, had been given the coveted honor of delivering what was termed +the 'Commencement Poem.' Those of the audience who came from a distance +carried back to their homes in elm-shaded Norwich, or Stratford, or +Litchfield, high on its hills, lively recollections of a handsome young +man and of his 'Prospect of Peace,' whose cheerful prophecies in heroic +verse so greatly "improved the occasion." They had heard that he was a +farmer's son from Redding, Connecticut, who had been to school at +Hanover, New Hampshire, and had entered Dartmouth College, but soon +removed to Yale on account of its superior advantages; that he had twice +seen active service in the Continental army, and that he was engaged to +marry a beautiful New Haven girl. + +[Illustration: Joel Barlow] + +The brilliant career predicted for Barlow did not begin immediately. +Distaste for war, hope of securing a tutorship in college, and--we may +well believe--Miss Ruth's entreaties, kept him in New Haven two years +longer, engaged in teaching and in various courses of study. 'The +Prospect of Peace' had been issued in pamphlet form, and the compliments +paid the author incited him to plan a poem of a philosophic character on +the subject of America at large, bearing the title 'The Vision of +Columbus.' The appointment as tutor never came, and instead of +cultivating the Muse in peaceful New Haven, he was forced to evoke her +aid in a tent on the banks of the Hudson, whither after a hurried course +in theology, he proceeded as an army chaplain in 1780. During his +connection with the army, which lasted until its disbandment in 1783, he +won repute by lyrics written to encourage the soldiers, and by "a +flaming political sermon," as he termed it, on the treason of Arnold. + +Army life ended, Barlow removed to Hartford, where he studied law, +edited the American Mercury,--a weekly paper he had helped to found,--- +and with John Trumbull, Lemuel Hopkins, and David Humphreys formed a +literary club which became widely known as the "Hartford Wits." Its +chief publication, a series of political lampoons styled 'The +Anarchiad,' satirized those factions whose disputes imperiled the young +republic, and did much to influence public opinion in Connecticut and +elsewhere in favor of the Federal Constitution. A revision and +enlargement of Dr. Watts's 'Book of Psalmody,' and the publication +(1787) of his own 'Vision of Columbus,' occupied part of Barlow's time +while in Hartford. The latter poem was extravagantly praised, ran +through several editions, and was republished in London and Paris; but +the poet, who now had a wife to support, could not live by his pen nor +by the law, and when in 1788 he was urged by the Scioto Land Company to +become its agent in Paris, he gladly accepted. The company was a private +association, formed to buy large tracts of government land situated in +Ohio and sell them in Europe to capitalists or actual settlers. This +failed disastrously, and Barlow was left stranded in Paris, where he +remained, supporting himself partly by writing, partly by business +ventures. Becoming intimate with the leaders of the Girondist party, the +man who had dedicated his 'Vision of Columbus' to Louis XVI., and had +also dined with the nobility, now began to figure as a zealous +Republican and as a Liberal in religion. From 1790 to 1793 he passed +most of his time in London, where he wrote a number of political +pamphlets for the Society for Constitutional Information, an +organization openly favoring French Republicanism and a revision of the +British Constitution. Here also, in 1791, he finished a work entitled +'Advice to the Privileged Orders,' which probably would have run through +many editions had it not been suppressed by the British government. The +book was an arraignment of tyranny in church and state, and was quickly +followed by 'The Conspiracy of Kings,' an attack in verse on those +European countries which had combined to kill Republicanism in France. +In 1792 Barlow was made a citizen of France as a mark of appreciation of +a 'Letter' addressed to the National Convention, giving that body +advice, and when the convention sent commissioners to organize the +province of Savoy into a department, Barlow was one of the number. As a +candidate for deputy from Savoy, he was defeated; but his visit was not +fruitless, for at Chambery the sight of a dish of maize-meal porridge +reminded him of his early home in Connecticut, and inspired him to write +in that ancient French town a typical Yankee poem, 'Hasty Pudding.' Its +preface, in prose, addressed to Mrs. Washington, assured her that +simplicity of diet was one of the virtues; and if cherished by her, as +it doubtless was, it would be more highly regarded by her countrywomen. + +Between the years of 1795-97, Barlow held the important but unenviable +position of United States Consul at Algiers, and succeeded both in +liberating many of his countrymen who were held as prisoners, and in +perfecting treaties with the rulers of the Barbary States, which gave +United States vessels entrance to their ports and secured them from +piratical attacks. On his return to Paris he translated Volney's 'Ruins' +into English, made preparations for writing histories of the American +and French revolutions, and expanded his 'Vision of Columbus' into a +volume which as 'The Columbiad'--a beautiful specimen of typography--was +published in Philadelphia in 1807 and republished in London. The poem +was held to have increased Barlow's fame; but it is stilted and +monotonous, and 'Hasty Pudding' has done more to perpetuate his name. + +In 1805 Barlow returned to the United States and bought an estate near +Washington, D.C., where he entertained distinguished visitors. In 1811 +he returned to France authorized to negotiate a treaty of commerce. +After waiting nine months, he was invited by Napoleon, who was then in +Poland, to a conference at Wilna. On his arrival Barlow found the French +army on the retreat from Moscow, and endured such privations on the +march that on December 24th he died of exhaustion at the village of +Zarnowiec, near Cracow, and there was buried. + +Barlow's part in developing American literature was important, and +therefore he has a rightful place in a work which traces that +development. He certainly was a man of varied ability and power, who +advanced more than one good cause and stimulated the movement toward +higher thought. The only complete 'Life and Letters of Joel Barlow,' by +Charles Burr Todd, published in 1888, gives him unstinted praise as +excelling in statesmanship, letters, and philosophy. With more assured +justice, which all can echo, it praises his nobility of spirit as a man. +No one can read the letter to his wife, written from Algiers when he +thought himself in danger of death, without a warm feeling for so +unselfish and affectionate a nature. + + +A FEAST + +From 'Hasty Pudding' + +There are various ways of preparing and eating Hasty Pudding, with +molasses, butter, sugar, cream, and fried. Why so excellent a thing +cannot be eaten alone? Nothing is perfect alone; even man, who boasts of +so much perfection, is nothing without his fellow-substance. In eating, +beware of the lurking heat that lies deep in the mass; dip your spoon +gently, take shallow dips and cool it by degrees. It is sometimes +necessary to blow. This is indicated by certain signs which every +experienced feeder knows. They should be taught to young beginners. I +have known a child's tongue blistered for want of this attention, and +then the school-dame would insist that the poor thing had told a lie. A +mistake: the falsehood was in the faithless pudding. A prudent mother +will cool it for her child with her own sweet breath. The husband, +seeing this, pretends his own wants blowing, too, from the same lips. A +sly deceit of love. She knows the cheat, but, feigning ignorance, lends +her pouting lips and gives a gentle blast, which warms the husband's +heart more than it cools his pudding. + + The days grow short; but though the falling sun + To the glad swain proclaims his day's work done, + Night's pleasing shades his various tasks prolong, + And yield new subjects to my various song. + For now, the corn-house filled, the harvest home, + The invited neighbors to the husking come; + A frolic scene, where work and mirth and play + Unite their charms to chase the hours away. + Where the huge heap lies centred in the hall, + The lamp suspended from the cheerful wall, + Brown corn-fed nymphs, and strong hard-handed beaux, + Alternate ranged, extend in circling rows, + Assume their seats, the solid mass attack; + The dry husks rustle, and the corn-cobs crack; + The song, the laugh, alternate notes resound, + And the sweet cider trips in silence round. + The laws of husking every wight can tell; + And sure, no laws he ever keeps so well: + For each red ear a general kiss he gains, + With each smut ear he smuts the luckless swains; + But when to some sweet maid a prize is cast, + Red as her lips, and taper as her waist, + She walks the round, and culls one favored beau, + Who leaps, the luscious tribute to bestow. + Various the sport, as are the wits and brains + Of well-pleased lasses and contending swains; + Till the vast mound of corn is swept away, + And he that gets the last ear wins the day. + Meanwhile the housewife urges all her care, + The well-earned feast to hasten and prepare. + The sifted meal already waits her hand, + The milk is strained, the bowls in order stand, + The fire flames high; and as a pool (that takes + The headlong stream that o'er the mill-dam breaks) + Foams, roars, and rages with incessant toils, + So the vexed caldron rages, roars and boils. + First with clean salt she seasons well the food, + Then strews the flour, and thickens well the flood. + Long o'er the simmering fire she lets it stand; + To stir it well demands a stronger hand: + The husband takes his turn, and round and round + The ladle flies; at last the toil is crowned; + When to the board the thronging huskers pour, + And take their seats as at the corn before. + I leave them to their feast. There still belong + More useful matters to my faithful song. + For rules there are, though ne'er unfolded yet, + Nice rules and wise, how pudding should be ate. + Some with molasses grace the luscious treat, + And mix, like bards, the useful and the sweet; + A wholesome dish, and well deserving praise, + A great resource in those bleak wintry days, + When the chilled earth lies buried deep in snow, + And raging Boreas dries the shivering cow. + Blest cow! thy praise shall still my notes employ, + Great source of health, the only source of joy; + Mother of Egypt's god, but sure, for me, + Were I to leave my God, I'd worship thee. + How oft thy teats these pious hands have pressed! + How oft thy bounties prove my only feast! + How oft I've fed thee with my favorite grain! + And roared, like thee, to see thy children slain. + Ye swains who know her various worth to prize, + Ah! house her well from winter's angry skies. + Potatoes, pumpkins, should her sadness cheer, + Corn from your crib, and mashes from your beer; + When spring returns, she'll well acquit the loan, + And nurse at once your infants and her own. + Milk, then, with pudding I should always choose; + To this in future I confine my muse, + Till she in haste some further hints unfold, + Good for the young, nor useless to the old. + First in your bowl the milk abundant take, + Then drop with care along the silver lake + Your flakes of pudding: these at first will hide + Their little bulk beneath the swelling tide; + But when their growing mass no more can sink, + When the soft island looms above the brink, + Then check your hand; you've got the portion due, + So taught my sire, and what he taught is true. + There is a choice in spoons. Though small appear + The nice distinction, yet to me 'tis clear. + The deep-bowled Gallic spoon, contrived to scoop + In ample draughts the thin diluted soup, + Performs not well in those substantial things, + Whose mass adhesive to the metal clings; + Where the strong labial muscles must embrace + The gentle curve, and sweep the hollow space. + With ease to enter and discharge the freight, + A bowl less concave, but still more dilate, + Becomes the pudding best. The shape, the size, + A secret rests, unknown to vulgar eyes. + Experienced feeders can alone impart + A rule so much above the lore of art. + These tuneful lips that thousand spoons have tried, + With just precision could the point decide, + Though not in song--the muse but poorly shines + In cones, and cubes, and geometric lines; + Yet the true form, as near as she can tell, + Is that small section of a goose-egg shell, + Which in two equal portions shall divide + The distance from the centre to the side. + Fear not to slaver; 'tis no deadly sin;-- + Like the free Frenchman, from your joyous chin + Suspend the ready napkin; or like me, + Poise with one hand your bowl upon your knee; + Just in the zenith your wise head project, + Your full spoon rising in a line direct, + Bold as a bucket, heed no drops that fall. + The wide-mouthed bowl will surely catch them all! + + + + +WILLIAM BARNES + +(1800-1886) + + +Had he chosen to write solely in familiar English, rather than in the +dialect of his native Dorsetshire, every modern anthology would be +graced by the verses of William Barnes, and to multitudes who now know +him not, his name would have become associated with many a country sight +and sound. Other poets have taken homely subjects for their themes,--the +hayfield, the chimney-nook, milking-time, the blossoming of +"high-boughed hedges"; but it is not every one who has sung out of the +fullness of his heart and with a naive delight in that of which he sung: +and so by reason of their faithfulness to every-day life and to nature, +and by their spontaneity and tenderness, his lyrics, fables, and +eclogues appeal to cultivated readers as well as to the rustics whose +quaint speech he made his own. + +Short and simple are the annals of his life; for, a brief period +excepted, it was passed in his native county--though Dorset, for all his +purposes, was as wide as the world itself. His birthplace was Bagbere in +the vale of Blackmore, far up the valley of the Stour, where his +ancestors had been freeholders. The death of his parents while he was a +boy threw him on his own resources; and while he was at school at +Sturminster and Dorchester he supported himself by clerical work in +attorneys' offices. After he left school his education was mainly +self-gained; but it was so thorough that in 1827 he became master of a +school at Mere, Wilts, and in 1835 opened a boarding-school in +Dorchester, which he conducted for a number of years. A little later he +spent a few terms at Cambridge, and in 1847 received ordination. From +that time until his death in 1886, most of his days were spent in the +little parishes of Whitcombe and Winterbourne Came, near Dorchester, +where his duties as rector left him plenty of time to spend on his +favorite studies. To the last, Barnes wore the picturesque dress of the +eighteenth century, and to the tourist he became almost as much a +curiosity as the relics of Roman occupation described in a guide-book +he compiled. + +When one is at the same time a linguist, a musician, an antiquary, a +profound student of philology, and skilled withal in the graphic arts, +it would seem inevitable that he should have more than a local +reputation; but when, in 1844, a thin volume entitled 'Poems of Rural +Life in the Dorset Dialect' appeared in London, few bookshop +frequenters had ever heard of the author. But he was already well known +throughout Dorset, and there he was content to be known; a welcome guest +in castle and hall, but never happier than when, gathering about him the +Jobs and Lettys with whom Thomas Hardy has made us familiar, he +delighted their ears by reciting his verses. The dialect of Dorset, he +boasted, was the least corrupted form of English; therefore to commend +it as a vehicle of expression and to help preserve his mother tongue +from corruption, and to purge it of words not of Anglo-Saxon or Teutonic +origin,--this was one of the dreams of his life,--he put his impressions +of rural scenery and his knowledge of human character into metrical +form. He is remembered by scholars here and there for a number of works +on philology, and one ('Outline of English Speech-Craft') in which, with +zeal, but with the battle against him, he aimed to teach the English +language by using words of Teutonic derivation only; but it is through +his four volumes of poems that he is better remembered. These include +'Hwomely Rhymes' (1859), 'Poems of Rural Life' (1862), and 'Poems of +Rural Life in Common English' (1863). The three collections of dialect +poems were brought out in one volume, with a glossary, in 1879. + +"A poet fresh as the dew," "The first of English purely pastoral poets," +"The best writer of eclogues since Theocritus,"--these are some of the +tardy tributes paid him. With a sympathy for his fellow-man and a humor +akin to that of Burns, with a feeling for nature as keen as +Wordsworth's, though less subjective, and with a power of depicting a +scene with a few well-chosen epithets which recalls Tennyson, Barnes has +fairly earned his title to remembrance. + +'The Life of William Barnes, Poet and Philologist,' written by his +daughter, Mrs. Baxter, was published in 1887. There are numerous +articles relating to him in periodical literature, one of which, a +sketch by Thomas Hardy, in Vol. 86 of the 'Athenaeum,' is of +peculiar interest. + + + BLACKMWORE MAIDENS + + The primrwose in the sheaede do blow, + The cowslip in the zun, + The thyme upon the down do grow, + The clote where streams do run; + An' where do pretty maidens grow + An' blow, but where the tow'r + Do rise among the bricken tuns, + In Blackmwore by the Stour? + + If you could zee their comely gait, + An' pretty feaeces' smiles, + A-trippen on so light o' waight, + An' steppen off the stiles; + A-gwain to church, as bells do swing + An' ring 'ithin the tow'r, + You'd own the pretty maidens' pleaece + Is Blackmwore by the Stour? + + If you vrom Wimborne took your road, + To Stower or Paladore, + An' all the farmers' housen show'd + Their daughters at the door; + You'd cry to bachelors at hwome-- + "Here, come: 'ithin an hour + You'll vind ten maidens to your mind, + In Blackmwore by the Stour." + + An' if you look'd 'ithin their door, + To zee em in their pleaece, + A-doen housework up avore + Their smilen mother's feaece; + You'd cry,--"Why, if a man would wive + An' thrive, 'ithout a dow'r, + Then let en look en out a wife + In Blackmwore by the Stour." + + As I upon my road did pass + A school-house back in May, + There out upon the beaeten grass + Wer maidens at their play; + An' as the pretty souls did tweil + An' smile, I cried, "The flow'r + O' beauty, then, is still in bud + In Blackmwore by the Stour." + + + MAY + + Come out o' door, 'tis Spring! 'tis May! + The trees be green, the yields be gay; + The weather's warm, the winter blast, + Wi' all his train o' clouds, is past; + The zun do rise while vo'k do sleep, + To teaeke a higher daily zweep, + Wi' cloudless feaece a-flingen down + His sparklen light upon the groun'. + The air's a-streamen soft,--come drow + The winder open; let it blow + In drough the house, where vire, an' door + A-shut, kept out the cwold avore. + Come, let the vew dull embers die, + An' come below the open sky; + An' wear your best, vor fear the groun' + In colors gaey mid sheaeme your gown: + An' goo an' rig wi' me a mile + Or two up over geaete an' stile, + Drough zunny parrocks that do lead, + Wi' crooked hedges, to the meaed, + Where elems high, in steaetely ranks, + Do rise vrom yollow cowslip-banks, + An' birds do twitter vrom the spraey + O' bushes deck'd wi' snow-white maey; + An' gil' cups, wi' the deaeisy bed, + Be under ev'ry step you tread. + We'll wind up roun' the hill, an' look + All down the thickly timber'd nook, + Out where the squier's house do show + His gray-walled peaks up drough the row + O' sheaedy elems, where the rock + Do build her nest; an' where the brook + Do creep along the meaeds, an' lie + To catch the brightness o' the sky; + An' cows, in water to their knees, + Do stan' a-whisken off the vlees. + Mother o' blossoms, and ov all + That's feaeir a-vield vrom Spring till Fall, + The gookoo over white-weaev'd seas + Do come to zing in thy green trees, + An' buttervlees, in giddy flight, + Do gleaem the mwost by thy gaey light. + +[Illustration: _MILKING TIME_. +Photogravure from a Painting by A. Roll.] + +Oh! when, at last, my fleshly eyes Shall shut upon the vields an' +skies, Mid zummer's zunny days be gone, An' winter's clouds be comen on: +Nor mid I draw upon the e'th, O' thy sweet air my leaetest breath; +Alassen I mid want to staey Behine' for thee, O flow'ry May! + + + MILKEN TIME + + 'Poems of Rural Life' + + 'Twer when the busy birds did vlee, + Wi' sheenen wings, vrom tree to tree, + To build upon the mossy lim' + Their hollow nestes' rounded rim; + The while the zun, a-zinken low, + Did roll along his evenen bow, + I come along where wide-horn'd cows, + 'Ithin a nook, a-screen'd by boughs, + Did stan' an' flip the white-hooped pails + Wi' heaeiry tufts o' swingen tails; + An' there were Jenny Coom a-gone + Along the path a vew steps on, + A-beaeren on her head, upstraight, + Her pail, wi' slowly-riden waight, + An hoops a-sheenen, lily-white, + Ageaen the evenen's slanten light; + An' zo I took her pail, an' left + Her neck a-freed vrom all his heft; + An' she a-looken up an' down, + Wi' sheaeply head an' glossy crown, + Then took my zide, an' kept my peaece, + A-talken on wi' smilen feaece, + An' zetten things in sich a light, + I'd fain ha' heaer'd her talk all night; + An' when I brought her milk avore + The geaete, she took it in to door, + An' if her pail had but allow'd + Her head to vall, she would ha' bow'd; + An' still, as 'twer, I had the zight + Ov' her sweet smile, droughout the night. + + + JESSIE LEE + + Above the timber's benden sh'ouds, + The western wind did softly blow; + An' up avore the knap, the clouds + Did ride as white as driven snow. + Vrom west to east the clouds did zwim + Wi' wind that plied the elem's lim'; + Vrom west to east the stream did glide, + A sheenen wide, wi' winden brim. + + How feaeir, I thought, avore the sky + The slowly-zwimmen clouds do look; + How soft the win's a-streamen by; + How bright do roll the weaevy brook: + When there, a-passen on my right, + A-walken slow, an' treaden light, + Young Jessie Lee come by, an' there + Took all my ceaere, an' all my zight. + + Vor lovely wer the looks her feaece + Held up avore the western sky: + An' comely wer the steps her peaece + Did meaeke a-walken slowly by: + But I went east, wi' beaten breast, + Wi' wind, an' cloud, an' brook, vor rest, + Wi' rest a-lost, vor Jessie gone + So lovely on, toward the west. + + Blow on, O winds, athirt the hill; + Zwim on, O clouds; O waters vall, + Down maeshy rocks, vrom mill to mill: + I now can overlook ye all. + But roll, O zun, an' bring to me + My day, if such a day there be, + When zome dear path to my abode + Shall be the road o' Jessie Lee. + + + THE TURNSTILE + + Ah! sad wer we as we did peaece + The wold church road, wi' downcast feaece, + The while the bells, that mwoan'd so deep + Above our child a-left asleep, + Wer now a-zingen all alive + Wi' tother bells to meaeke the vive. + But up at woone pleaece we come by, + 'Twere hard to keep woone's two eyes dry; + On Steaen-cliff road, 'ithin the drong, + Up where, as vo'k do pass along, + The turnen stile, a-painted white, + Do sheen by day an' show by night. + Vor always there, as we did goo + To church, thik stile did let us drough, + Wi' spreaden eaerms that wheel'd to guide + Us each in turn to tother zide. + An' vu'st ov all the train he took + My wife, wi' winsome gait an' look; + An' then zent on my little maid, + A-skippen onward, overjaey'd + To reach ageaen the pleaece o' pride, + Her comely mother's left han' zide. + An' then, a-wheelen roun' he took + On me, 'ithin his third white nook. + An' in the fourth, a-sheaeken wild, + He zent us on our giddy child. + But eesterday he guided slow + My downcast Jenny, vull o' woe, + An' then my little maid in black, + A-walken softly on her track; + An' after he'd a-turn'd ageaen, + To let me goo along the leaene, + He had noo little bwoy to vill + His last white eaerms, an' they stood still. + + + TO THE WATER-CROWFOOT + + O small-feaec'd flow'r that now dost bloom, + To stud wi' white the shallow Frome, + An' leaeve the [2]clote to spread his flow'r + On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour, + When sof'ly-rizen airs do cool + The water in the sheenen pool, + Thy beds o' snow white buds do gleam + So feaeir upon the sky-blue stream, + As whitest clouds, a-hangen high + Avore the blueness of the sky. + + [Footnote 2: The yellow water-lily.] + + + ZUMMER AN' WINTER + + When I led by zummer streams + The pride o' Lea, as naighbours thought her, + While the zun, wi' evenen beams, + Did cast our sheaedes athirt the water: + Winds a-blowen, + Streams a-flowen, + Skies a-glowen, + Tokens ov my jay zoo fleeten, + Heightened it, that happy meeten. + + Then, when maid and man took pleaeces, + Gay in winter's Chris'mas dances, + Showen in their merry feaeces + Kindly smiles an' glisnen glances: + Stars a-winken, + Days a-shrinken, + Sheaedes a-zinken, + Brought anew the happy meeten, + That did meaeke the night too fleeten. + + + + +JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE + +(1860-) + + +James Matthew Barrie was born May 9th, 1860, at Kirriemuir, Scotland +('Thrums'); son of a physician whom he has lovingly embodied as 'Dr. +McQueen,' and with a mother and sister who will live as 'Jess' and +'Leeby.' After an academy course at Dumfries he entered the University +of Edinburgh at eighteen, where he graduated M.A., and took honors in +the English Literature class. A few months later he took a place on a +newspaper in Nottingham, England, and in the spring of 1885 went to +London, where the papers had begun to accept his work. + +[Illustration: "JAMES M. BARRIE"] + +Above all, the St. James's Gazette had published the first of the 'Auld +Licht Idylls' November 17th, 1884; and the editor, Frederick Greenwood, +instantly perceiving a new and rich genius, advised him to work the vein +further, enforcing the advice by refusing to accept his contributions on +other subjects. + +He had the usual painful struggle to become a successful journalist, +detailed in 'When a Man's Single'; but his real work was other and +greater. In 1887 'When a Man's Single' came out serially in the British +Weekly; it has little merit except in the Scottish prelude, which is of +high quality in style and pathos. It is curious how utterly his powers +desert him the moment he leaves his native heath: like Antaeus, he is a +giant on his mother earth and a pigmy off it. His first published book +was 'Better Dead' (1887); it works out a cynical idea which would be +amusing in five pages, but is diluted into tediousness by being spread +over fifty. But in 1889 came a second masterpiece, 'A Window in Thrums,' +a continuation of the Auld Licht series from an inside instead of an +outside standpoint,--not superior to the first, but their full equals in +a deliciousness of which one cannot say how much is matter and how much +style. 'My Lady Nicotine' appeared in 1890; it was very popular, and has +some amusing sketches, but no enduring quality. 'An Edinburgh Eleven' +(1890) is a set of sketches of his classmates and professors. + +In 1891 the third of his Scotch works appeared,--'The Little +Minister,'--which raised him from the rank of an admirable sketch writer +to that of an admirable novelist, despite its fantastic plot and +detail. Since then he has written three plays,--'Walker, London,' 'Jane +Annie,' and 'The Professor's Love Story,' the latter very successful and +adding to his reputation; but no literature except his novel +'Sentimental Tommy,' just closed in Scribner's Magazine. This novel is +not only a great advance on 'The Little Minister' in symmetry of +construction, reality of matter, tragic power, and insight, but its tone +is very different. Though as rich in humor, the humor is largely of a +grim, bitter, and sardonic sort. The light, gay, buoyant fun of 'The +Little Minister,' which makes it a perpetual enjoyment, has mostly +vanished; in its stead we feel that the writer's sensitive nature is +wrung by the swarming catastrophes he cannot avert, the endless wrecks +on the ocean of life he cannot succor, and hardly less by those +spiritual tragedies and ironies so much worse, on a true scale of +valuation, than any material misfortune. + +The full secret of Mr. Barrie's genius, as of all genius, eludes +analysis; but some of its characteristics are not hard to define. His +wonderful keenness of observation and tenacity of remembrance of the +pettinesses of daily existence, which in its amazing minuteness reminds +us of Dickens and Mark Twain, and his sensitiveness to the humorous +aspects of their little misfits and hypocrisies and lack of proportion, +might if untempered have made him a literary cynic like some others, +remembered chiefly for the salience he gave to the ugly meannesses of +life and the ironies of fate. But his good angel added to these a gift +of quick, sure, and spontaneous sympathy and wide spiritual +understanding. This fills all his higher work with a generous +appreciativeness, a justness of judgment, a tenderness of feeling, which +elevate as well as charm the reader. He makes us love the most grotesque +characters, whom in life we should dislike and avoid, by the sympathetic +fineness of his interpretation of their springs of life and their +warping by circumstance. The impression left on one by the studies of +the Thrums community is not primarily of intellectual and spiritual +narrowness, or niggardly thrift, or dour natures: all are there, but +with them are souls reaching after God and often flowering into beauty, +and we reverence the quenchless aspiration of maligned human nature for +an ideal far above its reach. He achieves the rare feat of portraying +every pettiness and prejudice, even the meannesses and dishonors of a +poor and hidebound country village, yet leaving us with both sincere +respect and warm liking for it; a thing possible only to one himself of +a fine nature as well as of a large mind. Nor is there any mawkishness +or cheap surface sentimentality in it all. His pathos never makes you +wince: you can always read his works aloud, the deadly and unfailing +test of anything flat or pinchbeck in literature. His gift of humor +saves him from this: true humor and true pathos are always found +together because they are not two but one, twin aspects of the very +same events. He who sees the ludicrous in misfits must see their sadness +too; he who can laugh at a tumble must grieve over it: both are +inevitable and both are coincident. + +As a literary artist, he belongs in the foremost rank. He has that sense +of the typical in incident, of the universal in feeling, and of the +suggestive in language, which mark the chiefs of letters. No one can +express an idea with fewer strokes; he never expands a sufficient hint +into an essay. His management of the Scotch dialect is masterly: he uses +it sparingly, in the nearest form to English compatible with retaining +the flavor; he never makes it so hard as to interfere with enjoyment; in +few dialect writers do we feel so little alienness. + +'Auld Licht Idylls' is a set of regular descriptions of the life of +"Thrums," with special reference to the ways and character of the "Old +Lights," the stubborn conservative Scotch Puritans; it contains also a +most amusing and characteristic love story of the sect (given below), +and a satiric political skit. 'A Window in Thrums' is mainly a series of +selected incidents in detail, partly from the point of view of a +crippled woman ("Jess"), sitting at her window and piecing out what she +sees with great shrewdness from her knowledge of the general current of +affairs, aided by her daughter "Leeby." 'The Little Minister' is +developed from the real story of a Scotch clergyman who brought home a +wife from afar, of so alien a sort to the general run that the parish +spent the rest of her short life in speculating on her previous history +and weaving legends about her. Barrie's imagined explanation is of +Arabian-Nights preposterousness of incident, and indeed is only a +careless fairy-tale in substance; but it is so rich in delicious +filling, so full of his best humor, sentiment, character-drawing, and +fine feeling, that one hardly cares whether it has any plot at all. +'Sentimental Tommy' is a study of a sensitive mobile boy, a born +_poseur_, who passes his life in cloud-castles where he always +dramatizes himself as the hero, who has no continuity of purpose, and no +capacity of self-sacrifice except in spasms of impulse, and in emotional +feeling which is real to itself; a spiritual Proteus who deceives even +himself, and only now and then recognizes his own moral illusiveness, +like Hawthorne's scarecrow-gentleman before the mirror: but with the +irresistible instincts also of the born literary creator and +constructor. The other characters are drawn with great power and truth. + +The judgment of contemporaries is rarely conclusive; and we will not +attempt to anticipate that of posterity. It may be said, however, that +the best applicable touchstone of permanency is that of seeming +continuously fresh to cultivated tastes after many readings; and that +Mr. Barrie's four best books bear the test without failure. + + +THE COURTING OF T'NOWHEAD'S BELL + +From 'Auld Licht Idylls' + +For two years it had been notorious in the square that Sam'l Dickie was +thinking of courting T'nowhead's Bell, and that if little Sanders +Elshioner (which is the Thrums pronunciation of Alexander Alexander) +went in for her, he might prove a formidable rival. Sam'l was a weaver +in the Tenements, and Sanders a coal-carter whose trade-mark was a bell +on his horse's neck that told when coals were coming. Being something of +a public man, Sanders had not, perhaps, so high a social position as +Sam'l; but he had succeeded his father on the coal-cart, while the +weaver had already tried several trades. It had always been against +Sam'l, too, that once when the kirk was vacant he had advised the +selection of the third minister who preached for it, on the ground that +it came expensive to pay a large number of candidates. The scandal of +the thing was hushed up, out of respect for his father, who was a +God-fearing man, but Sam'l was known by it in Lang Tammas's circle. The +coal-carter was called Little Sanders, to distinguish him from his +father, who was not much more than half his size. He had grown up with +the name, and its inapplicability now came home to nobody. Sam'l's +mother had been more far-seeing than Sanders's. Her man had been called +Sammy all his life, because it was the name he got as a boy, so when +their eldest son was born she spoke of him as Sam'l while still in his +cradle. The neighbors imitated her, and thus the young man had a better +start in life than had been granted to Sammy, his father. + +It was Saturday evening--the night in the week when Auld Licht young men +fell in love. Sam'l Dickie, wearing a blue Glengarry bonnet with a red +ball on the top, came to the door of a one-story house in the Tenements, +and stood there wriggling, for he was in a suit of tweeds for the first +time that week, and did not feel at one with them. When his feeling of +being a stranger to himself wore off, he looked up and down the road, +which straggles between houses and gardens, and then, picking his way +over the puddles, crossed to his father's hen-house and sat down on it. +He was now on his way to the square. + +Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dike, knitting stockings, and +Sam'l looked at her for a time. + +"Is't yersel, Eppie?" he said at last. + +"It's a' that," said Eppie. + +"Hoo's a' wi' ye?" asked Sam'l. + +"We're juist aff an' on," replied Eppie, cautiously. + +There was not much more to say, but as Sam'l sidled off the hen-house, +he murmured politely, "Ay, ay." In another minute he would have been +fairly started, but Eppie resumed the conversation. + +"Sam'l," she said, with a twinkle in her eye, "ye can tell Lisbeth +Fargus I'll likely be drappin' in on her aboot Munday or Teisday." + +Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Thomas McQuhatty, better known +as T'nowhead, which was the name of his farm. She was thus +Bell's mistress. + +Sam'l leaned against the hen-house, as if all his desire to depart had +gone. + +"Hoo d'ye kin I'll be at the T'nowhead the nicht?" he asked, grinning in +anticipation. + +"Ou, I'se warrant ye'll be after Bell," said Eppie. + +"Am no sae sure o' that," said Sam'l, trying to leer. He was enjoying +himself now. + +"Am no sure o' that," he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches. + +"Sam'l?" + +"Ay." + +"Ye'll be speirin' her sune noo, I dinna doot?" + +This took Sam'l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, a +little aback. + +"Hoo d'ye mean, Eppie?" he asked. + +"Maybe ye'll do't the nicht." + +"Na, there's nae hurry," said Sam'l. + +"Weel, we're a' coontin' on't, Sam'l." + +"Gae wa wi' ye." + +"What for no?" + +"Gae wa wi' ye," said Sam'l again. + +"Bell's gei an' fond o' ye, Sam'l." + +"Ay," said Sam'l. + +"But am dootin' ye're a fell billy wi' the lasses." + +"Ay, oh, I d'na kin, moderate, moderate," said Sam'l, in high delight. + +"I saw ye," said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, "gaen on +terr'ble wi' Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday." + +"We was juist amoosin' oorsels," said Sam'l. + +"It'll be nae amoosement to Mysy," said Eppie, "gin ye brak her heart." + +"Losh, Eppie," said Sam'l, "I didna think o' that." + +"Ye maun kin weel, Sam'l, at there's mony a lass wid jump at ye." + +"Ou, weel," said Sam'l, implying that a man must take these things as +they come. + +"For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam'l." + +"Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d'na kin am onything by the +ordinar." + +"Ye mayna be," said Eppie, "but lasses doesna do to be ower partikler." + +Sam'l resented this, and prepared to depart again. + +"Ye'll no tell Bell that?" he asked, anxiously. + +"Tell her what?" + +"Aboot me an' Mysy." + +"We'll see hoo ye behave yersel, Sam'l." + +"No 'at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna think twice +o' tellin' her mysel." + +"The Lord forgie ye for leein', Sam'l," said Eppie, as he disappeared +down Tammy Tosh's close. Here he came upon Henders Webster. + +"Ye're late, Sam'l," said Henders. + +"What for?" + +"Ou, I was thinkin' ye wid be gaen the length o' T'nowhead the nicht, +an' I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin's wy there an oor syne." + +"Did ye?" cried Sam'l, adding craftily; "but its naething to me." + +"Tod, lad," said Henders; "gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders'll be +carryin' her off!" + +Sam'l flung back his head and passed on. + +"Sam'l!" cried Henders after him. + +"Ay," said Sam'l, wheeling round. + +"Gie Bell a kiss frae me." + +The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam'l began to +smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came upon Henders +while he was in his garden feeding his ferret. Then he slapped his legs +gleefully, and explained the conceit to Will'um Byars, who went into the +house and thought it over. + +There were twelve or twenty little groups of men in the square, which +was lighted by a flare of oil suspended over a cadger's cart. Now and +again a staid young woman passed through the square with a basket on her +arm, and if she had lingered long enough to give them time, some of the +idlers would have addressed her, As it was, they gazed after her, and +then grinned to each other. + +"Ay, Sam'l," said two or three young men, as Sam'l joined them beneath +the town clock. + +"Ay, Davit," replied Sam'l. + +This group was composed of some of the sharpest wits in Thrums, and it +was not to be expected that they would let this opportunity pass. +Perhaps when Sam'l joined them he knew what was in store for him. + +"Was ye lookin' for T'nowhead's Bell, Sam'l?" asked one. + +"Or mebbe ye was wantin' the minister?" suggested another, the same who +had walked out twice with Chirsty Duff and not married her after all. + +Sam'l could not think of a good reply at the moment, so he laughed +good-naturedly. + +"Ondoobtedly she's a snod bit crittur," said Davit, archly. + +"An' michty clever wi' her fingers," added Jamie Deuchars. + +"Man, I've thocht o' makkin' up to Bell myself," said Pete Ogle. "Wid +there be ony chance, think ye, Sam'l?" + +"I'm thinkin' she widna hae ye for her first, Pete," replied Sam'l, in +one of those happy flashes that come to some men, "but there's nae +sayin' but what she micht tak ye to finish up wi'." + +The unexpectedness of this sally startled every one. Though Sam'l did +not set up for a wit, however, like Davit, it was notorious that he +could say a cutting thing once in a way. + +"Did ye ever see Bell reddin' up?" asked Pete, recovering from his +overthrow. He was a man who bore no malice. + +"It's a sicht," said Sam'l, solemnly. + +"Hoo will that be?" asked Jamie Deuchars. + +"It's weel worth yer while," said Pete, "to ging atower to the T'nowhead +an' see. Ye'll mind the closed-in beds i' the kitchen? Ay, weel, they're +a fell spoilt crew, T'nowhead's litlins, an' no that aisy to manage. Th' +ither lasses Lisbeth's ha'en had a michty trouble wi' them. When they +war i' the middle o' their reddin up the bairns wid come tumlin' about +the floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didna fash lang wi' them. Did +she, Sam'l?" + +"She did not," said Sam'l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to add +emphasis to his remark. + +"I'll tell ye what she did," said Pete to the others. "She juist lifted +up the litlins, twa at a time, an' flung them into the coffin-beds. Syne +she snibbit the doors on them, an' keepit them there till the floor +was dry." + +"Ay, man, did she so?" said Davit, admiringly. + +"I've seen her do't myself," said Sam'l. + +"There's no a lassie maks better bannocks this side o' Fetter Lums," +continued Pete. + +"Her mither tocht her that," said Sam'l; "she was a gran' han' at the +bakin', Kitty Ogilvy." + +"I've heard say," remarked Jamie, putting it this way so as not to tie +himself down to anything, "'at Bell's scones is equal to Mag Lunan's." + +"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely. + +"I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete. + +"An' wi't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in her +Sabbath claes." + +"If onything, thick in the waist," suggested Jamie. + +"I dinna see that," said Sam'l. + +"I d'na care for her hair either," continued Jamie, who was very nice in +his tastes; "something mair yallowchy wid be an improvement." + +"A'body kins," growled Sam'l, "'at black hair's the bonniest." + +The others chuckled. + +"Puir Sam'l!" Pete said. + +Sam'l, not being certain whether this should be received with a smile or +a frown, opened his mouth wide as a kind of compromise. This was +position one with him for thinking things over. + +Few Auld Lichts, as I have said, went the length of choosing a helpmate +for themselves. One day a young man's friends would see him mending the +washing-tub of a maiden's mother. They kept the joke until Saturday +night, and then he learned from them what he had been after. It dazed +him for a time, but in a year or so he grew accustomed to the idea, and +they were then married. With a little help, he fell in love just like +other people. + +Sam'l was going the way of the others, but he found it difficult to come +to the point. He only went courting once a week, and he could never take +up the running at the place where he left off the Saturday before. Thus +he had not, so far, made great headway. His method of making up to Bell +had been to drop in at T'nowhead on Saturday nights and talk with the +farmer about the rinderpest. + +The farm-kitchen was Bell's testimonial. Its chairs, tables, and stools +were scoured by her to the whiteness of Rob Angus's saw-mill boards, and +the muslin blind on the window was starched like a child's pinafore. +Bell was brave, too, as well as energetic. Once Thrums had been overrun +with thieves. It is now thought that there may have been only one; but +he had the wicked cleverness of a gang. Such was his repute, that there +were weavers who spoke of locking their doors when they went from home. +He was not very skillful, however, being generally caught, and when they +said they knew he was a robber he gave them their things back and went +away. If they had given him time there is no doubt that he would have +gone off with his plunder. One night he went to T'nowhead, and Bell, who +slept in the kitchen, was awakened by the noise. She knew who it would +be, so she rose and dressed herself, and went to look for him with a +candle. The thief had not known what to do when he got in, and as it was +very lonely he was glad to see Bell. She told him he ought to be ashamed +of himself, and would not let him out by the door until he had taken off +his boots, so as not to soil the carpet. + +On this Saturday evening Sam'l stood his ground in the square, until by +and by he found himself alone. There were other groups there still, but +his circle had melted away. They went separately, and no one said +good-night. Each took himself off slowly, backing out of the group until +he was fairly started. + +Sam'l looked about him, and then, seeing that the others had gone, +walked round the town-house into the darkness of the brae that leads +down and then up to the farm of T'nowhead. + +To get into the good graces of Lisbeth Fargus you had to know her ways +and humor them. Sam'l, who was a student of women, knew this, and so, +instead of pushing the door open and walking in, he went through the +rather ridiculous ceremony of knocking. Sanders Elshioner was also aware +of this weakness of Lisbeth, but though he often made up his mind to +knock, the absurdity of the thing prevented his doing so when he reached +the door. T'nowhead himself had never got used to his wife's refined +notions, and when any one knocked he always started to his feet, +thinking there must be something wrong. + +Lisbeth came to the door, her expansive figure blocking the way in. + +"Sam'l," she said. + +"Lisbeth," said Sam'l. + +He shook hands with the farmer's wife, knowing that she liked it, but +only said, "Ay, Bell," to his sweetheart, "Ay, T'nowhead," to McQuhatty, +and "It's yersel, Sanders," to his rival. + +They were all sitting round the fire; T'nowhead with his feet on the +ribs, wondering why he felt so warm, and Bell darned a stocking, while +Lisbeth kept an eye on a goblet full of potatoes. + +"Sit in to the fire, Sam'l," said the farmer, not, however, making way +for him. + +"Na, na," said Sam'l, "I'm to bide nae time." Then he sat in to the +fire. His face was turned away from Bell, and when she spoke he answered +her without looking round. Sam'l felt a little anxious. Sanders +Elshioner, who had one leg shorter than the other, but looked well when +sitting, seemed suspiciously at home. He asked Bell questions out of his +own head, which was beyond Sam'l, and once he said something to her in +such a low voice that the others could not catch it. T'nowhead asked +curiously what it was, and Sanders explained that he had only said, "Ay, +Bell, the morn's the Sabbath." There was nothing startling in this, but +Sam'l did not like it. He began to wonder if he was too late, and had he +seen his opportunity would have told Bell of a nasty rumor, that Sanders +intended to go over to the Free Church if they would make him +kirk-officer. + +Sam'l had the good-will of T'nowhead's wife, who liked a polite man. +Sanders did his best, but from want of practice he constantly made +mistakes. To-night, for instance, he wore his hat in the house, because +he did not like to put up his hand and take it off. T'nowhead had not +taken his off either, but that was because he meant to go out by and by +and lock the byre door. It was impossible to say which of her lovers +Bell preferred. The proper course with an Auld Licht lassie was to +prefer the man who proposed to her. + +"Yell bide a wee, an' hae something to eat?" Lisbeth asked Sam'l, with +her eyes on the goblet. + +"No, I thank ye," said Sam'l, with true gentility. + +"Ye'll better?" + +"I dinna think it." + +"Hoots ay; what's to hender ye?" + +"Weel, since ye're sae pressin', I'll bide." + +No one asked Sanders to stay. Bell could not, for she was but the +servant, and T'nowhead knew that the kick his wife had given him meant +that he was not to do so either. Sanders whistled to show that he was +not uncomfortable. + +"Ay, then, I'll be stappin' ower the brae," he said at last. + +He did not go, however. There was sufficient pride in him to get him off +his chair, but only slowly, for he had to get accustomed to the notion +of going. At intervals of two or three minutes he remarked that he must +now be going. In the same circumstances Sam'l would have acted +similarly. For a Thrums man it is one of the hardest things in life to +get away from anywhere. + +At last Lisbeth saw that something must be done. The potatoes were +burning, and T'nowhead had an invitation on his tongue. + +"Yes, I'll hae to be movin'," said Sanders, hopelessly, for the fifth +time. + +"Guid-nicht to ye, then, Sanders," said Lisbeth. "Gie the door a +fling-to ahent ye." + +Sanders, with a mighty effort, pulled himself together. He looked boldly +at Bell, and then took off his hat carefully. Sam'l saw with misgivings +that there was something in it which was not a handkerchief. It was a +paper bag glittering with gold braid, and contained such an assortment +of sweets as lads bought for their lasses on the Muckle Friday. + +"Hae, Bell," said Sanders, handing the bag to Bell in an off-hand way, +as if it were but a trifle. Nevertheless, he was a little excited, for +he went off without saying good-night. + +No one spoke. Bell's face was crimson. T'nowhead fidgeted on his chair, +and Lisbeth looked at Sam'l. The weaver was strangely calm and +collected, though he would have liked to know whether this was +a proposal. + +"Sit in by to the table, Sam'l," said Lisbeth, trying to look as if +things were as they had been before. + +She put a saucerful of butter, salt, and pepper near the fire to melt, +for melted butter is the shoeing-horn that helps over a meal of +potatoes. Sam'l, however, saw what the hour required, and jumping up, he +seized his bonnet. + +"Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth," he said with dignity; +"I'se be back in ten meenits." + +He hurried out of the house, leaving the others looking at each other. + +"What do ye think?" asked Lisbeth. + +"I d'na kin," faltered Bell. + +"Thae tatties is lang o' comin' to the boil," said T'nowhead. + +In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam'l would have been suspected +of intent upon his rival's life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth did the +weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it does not much matter +what T'nowhead thought. + +The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam'l was back in the +farm-kitchen. He was too flurried to knock this time, and indeed Lisbeth +did not expect it of him. + +"Bell, hae!" he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice the +size of Sanders' gift. + +"Losh preserve's!" exclaimed Lisbeth; "I'se warrant there's a shillin's +worth." + +"There's a' that, Lisbeth--an' mair," said Sam'l, firmly. + +"I thank ye, Sam'l," said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as she gazed +at the two paper bags in her lap. + +"Ye're ower extravegint, Sam'l," Lisbeth said. + +"Not at all," said Sam'l; "not at all. But I wouldna advise ye to eat +thae ither anes, Bell--they're second quality." + +Bell drew back a step from Sam'l. + +"How do ye kin?" asked the farmer, shortly; for he liked Sanders. + +"I speired i' the shop," said Sam'l. + +The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the table, with the saucer +beside it, and Sam'l, like the others, helped himself. What he did was +to take potatoes from the pot with his fingers, peel off their coats, +and then dip them into the butter. Lisbeth would have liked to provide +knives and forks, but she knew that beyond a certain point T'nowhead was +master in his own house. As for Sam'l, he felt victory in his hands, and +began to think that he had gone too far. + +In the meantime, Sanders, little witting that Sam'l had trumped his +trick, was sauntering along the kirk-wynd with his hat on the side of +his head. Fortunately he did not meet the minister. + +The courting of T'nowhead's Bell reached its crisis one Sabbath about a +month after the events above recorded. The minister was in great force +that day, but it is no part of mine to tell how he bore himself. I was +there, and am not likely to forget the scene. It was a fateful Sabbath +for T'nowhead's Bell and her swains, and destined to be remembered for +the painful scandal which they perpetrated in their passion. + +Bell was not in the kirk. There being an infant of six months in the +house, it was a question of either Lisbeth or the lassie's staying at +home with him, and though Lisbeth was unselfish in a general way, she +could not resist the delight of going to church. She had nine children +besides the baby, and being but a woman, it was the pride of her life to +march them into the T'nowhead pew, so well watched that they dared not +disbehave, and so tightly packed that they could not fall. The +congregation looked at that pew, the mothers enviously, when they sung +the lines:-- + + "Jerusalem like a city is + Compactly built together." + +The first half of the service had been gone through on this particular +Sunday without anything remarkable happening. It was at the end of the +psalm which preceded the sermon that Sanders Elshioner, who sat near the +door, lowered his head until it was no higher than the pews, and in that +attitude, looking almost like a four-footed animal, slipped out of the +church. In their eagerness to be at the sermon, many of the congregation +did not notice him, and those who did, put the matter by in their minds +for future investigation. Sam'l, however, could not take it so coolly. +From his seat in the gallery he saw Sanders disappear and his mind +misgave him. With the true lover's instinct, he understood it all. +Sanders had been struck by the fine turn-out in the T'nowhead pew. Bell +was alone at the farm. What an opportunity to work one's way up to a +proposal. T'nowhead was so overrun with children that such a chance +seldom occurred, except on a Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, was off to +propose, and he, Sam'l, was left behind. + +The suspense was terrible. Sam'l and Sanders had both known all along +that Bell would take the first of the two who asked her. Even those who +thought her proud admitted that she was modest. Bitterly the weaver +repented having waited so long. Now it was too late. In ten minutes +Sanders would be at T'nowhead; in an hour all would be over. Sam'l rose +to his feet in a daze. His mother pulled him down by the coat-tail, and +his father shook him, thinking he was walking in his sleep. He tottered +past them, however, hurried up the aisle, which was so narrow that Dan'l +Ross could only reach his seat by walking sideways, and was gone before +the minister could do more than stop in the middle of a whirl and gape +in horror after him. + +A number of the congregation felt that day the advantage of sitting in +the laft. What was a mystery to those down-stairs was revealed to them. +From the gallery windows they had a fine open view to the south; and as +Sam'l took the common, which was a short cut, though a steep ascent, to +T'nowhead, he was never out of their line of vision. Sanders was not to +be seen, but they guessed rightly the reason why. Thinking he had ample +time, he had gone round by the main road to save his boots--perhaps a +little scared by what was coming. Sam'l's design was to forestall him by +taking the shorter path over the burn and up the commonty. + +It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers in the gallery braved +the minister's displeasure to see who won. Those who favored Sam'l's +suit exultingly saw him leap the stream, while the friends of Sanders +fixed their eyes on the top of the common where it ran into the road. +Sanders must come into sight there, and the one who reached this point +first would get Bell. + +As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders would probably +not be delayed. The chances were in his favor. Had it been any other day +in the week, Sam'l might have run. So some of the congregation in the +gallery were thinking, when suddenly they saw him bend low and then take +to his heels. He had caught sight of Sanders's head bobbing over the +hedge that separated the road from the common, and feared that Sanders +might see him. The congregation who could crane their necks sufficiently +saw a black object, which they guessed to be the carter's hat, crawling +along the hedge-top. For a moment it was motionless, and then it shot +ahead. The rivals had seen each other. It was now a hot race. Sam'l, +dissembling no longer, clattered up the common, becoming smaller and +smaller to the onlookers as he neared the top. More than one person in +the gallery almost rose to their feet in their excitement. Sam'l had it. +No, Sanders was in front. Then the two figures disappeared from view. +They seemed to run into each other at the top of the brae, and no one +could say who was first. The congregation looked at one another. Some +of them perspired. But the minister held on his course. + +Sam'l had just been in time to cut Sanders out. It was the weaver's +saving that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the corner; for Sam'l +was sadly blown. Sanders took in the situation and gave in at once. The +last hundred yards of the distance he covered at his leisure, and when +he arrived at his destination he did not go in. It was a fine afternoon +for the time of year, and he went round to have a look at the pig, about +which T'nowhead was a little sinfully puffed up. + +"Ay," said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the grunting +animal; "quite so." + +"Grumph!" said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet. + +"Ou ay; yes," said Sanders, thoughtfully. + +Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long and silently at +an empty bucket. But whether his thoughts were of T'nowhead's Bell, whom +he had lost forever, or of the food the farmer fed his pig on, is +not known. + +"Lord preserve's! Are ye no at the kirk?" cried Bell, nearly dropping +the baby as Sam'l broke into the room. + +"Bell!" cried Sam'l. + +Then T'nowhead's Bell knew that her hour had come. + +"Sam'l," she faltered. + +"Will ye hae's, Bell?" demanded Sam'l, glaring at her sheepishly. + +"Ay," answered Bell. + +Sam'l fell into a chair. + +"Bring's a drink o' water, Bell," he said. + +But Bell thought the occasion required milk, and there was none in the +kitchen. She went out to the byre, still with the baby in her arms, and +saw Sanders Elshioner sitting gloomily on the pig-sty. + +"Weel, Bell," said Sanders. + +"I thocht ye'd been at the kirk, Sanders," said Bell. + +Then there was a silence between them. + +"Has Sam'l speired ye, Bell?" asked Sanders, stolidly. + +"Ay," said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her eye. +Sanders was little better than an "orra man," and Sam'l was a +weaver, and yet-- + +But it was too late now. Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke with a +stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in the kitchen. +She had forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam'l only got water +after all. + +In after days, when the story of Bell's wooing was told, there were some +who held that the circumstances would have almost justified the lassie +in giving Sam'l the go-by. But these perhaps forgot that her other lover +was in the same predicament as the accepted one--that, of the two, +indeed, he was the more to blame, for he set off to T'nowhead on the +Sabbath of his own accord, while Sam'l only ran after him. And then +there is no one to say for certain whether Bell heard of her suitors' +delinquencies until Lisbeth's return from the kirk. Sam'l could never +remember whether he told her, and Bell was not sure whether, if he did, +she took it in. Sanders was greatly in demand for weeks after to tell +what he knew of the affair, but though he was twice asked to tea to the +manse among the trees, and subjected thereafter to ministerial +cross-examinations, this is all he told. He remained at the pigsty until +Sam'l left the farm, when he joined him at the top of the brae, and they +went home together. + +"It's yersel, Sanders," said Sam'l. + +"It is so, Sam'l," said Sanders. + +"Very cauld," said Sam'l. + +"Blawy," assented Sanders. + +After a pause-- + +"Sam'l," said Sanders. + +"Ay." + +"I'm hearin' yer to be mairit." + +"Ay." + +"Weel, Sam'l, she's a snod bit lassie." + +"Thank ye," said Sam'l. + +"I had ance a kin' o' notion o' Bell mysel," continued Sanders. + +"Ye had?" + +"Yes, Sam'l; but I thocht better o't." + +"Hoo d'ye mean?" asked Sam'l, a little anxiously. + +"Weel, Sam'l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity." + +"It is so," said Sam'l, wincing. + +"An' no the thing to take up withoot conseederation." + +"But it's a blessed and honorable state, Sanders; ye've heard the +minister on't." + +"They say," continued the relentless Sanders, "'at the minister doesna +get on sair wi' the wife himsel." + +"So they do," cried Sam'l, with a sinking at the heart. + +"I've been telt," Sanders went on, "'at gin you can get the upper han' +o' the wife for awhile at first, there's the mair chance o' a harmonious +exeestence." + +"Bell's no the lassie," said Sam'l, appealingly, "to thwart her man." + +Sanders smiled. + +"D'ye think she is, Sanders?" + +"Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but she's been ower lang wi' +Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt her ways. An' a'body kins what a life +T'nowhead has wi' her." + +"Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afoore?" + +"I thocht ye kent o't, Sam'l." + +They had now reached the square, and the U.P. kirk was coming out. The +Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet. + +"But, Sanders," said Sam'l, brightening up, "ye was on yer wy to spier +her yersel." + +"I was, Sam'l," said Sanders, "and I canna but be thankfu' ye was ower +quick for's." + +"Gin't hadna been for you," said Sam'l, "I wid never hae thocht o't." + +"I'm sayin' naething agin Bell," pursued the other, "but, man Sam'l, a +body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o' the kind." + +"It was michty hurried," said Sam'l, wofully. + +"It's a serious thing to spier a lassie," said Sanders. + +"It's an awfu' thing," said Sam'l. + +"But we'll hope for the best," added Sanders, in a hopeless, voice. + +They were close to the Tenements now, and Sam'l looked as if he were on +his way to be hanged. + +"Sam'l?" + +"Ay, Sanders." + +"Did ye--did ye kiss her, Sam'l?" + +"Na." + +"Hoo?" + +"There's was varra little time, Sanders." + +"Half an 'oor," said Sanders. + +"Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never thocht o't." + +Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt for Sam'l +Dickie. + +The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the minister would +interfere to prevent the union, but beyond intimating from the pulpit +that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond praying for, and then +praying for Sam'l and Sanders at great length, with a word thrown in for +Bell, he let things take their course. Some said it was because he was +always frightened lest his young men should intermarry with other +denominations, but Sanders explained it differently to Sam'l. + +"I hav'na a word to say agin the minister," he said; "they're gran' +prayers, but Sam'l, he's a mairit man himsel." + +"He's a' the better for that, Sanders, isna he?" + +"Do ye no see," asked Sanders, compassionately, "'at he's tryin' to mak +the best o't?" + +"Oh, Sanders, man!" said Sam'l. + +"Cheer up, Sam'l," said Sanders; "it'll sune be ower." + +Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with their +friendship. On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mere +acquaintances, they became inseparables as the wedding-day drew near. It +was noticed that they had much to say to each other, and that when they +could not get a room to themselves they wandered about together in the +churchyard. When Sam'l had anything to tell Bell, he sent Sanders to +tell it, and Sanders did as he was bid. There was nothing that he would +not have done for Sam'l. + +The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam'l grew. He never +laughed now on Saturdays, and sometimes his loom was silent half the +day. Sam'l felt that Sanders's was the kindness of a friend for a +dying man. + +It was to be a penny wedding, and Lisbeth Fargus said it was delicacy +that made Sam'l superintend the fitting-up of the barn by deputy. Once +he came to see it in person, but he looked so ill that Sanders had to +see him home. This was on the Thursday afternoon, and the wedding was +fixed for Friday. + +"Sanders, Sanders," said Sam'l, in a voice strangely unlike his own, +"it'll a' be ower by this time the morn." + +"It will," said Sanders. + +"If I had only kent her langer," continued Sam'l. + +"It wid hae been safer," said Sanders. + +"Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell's bonnet?" asked the accepted +swain. + +"Ay," said Sanders, reluctantly. + +"I'm dootin'--I'm sair dootin' she's but a flichty, licht-hearted +crittur, after a'." + +"I had ay my suspeecions o't," said Sanders. + +"Ye hae kent her langer than me," said Sam'l. + +"Yes," said Sanders, "but there's nae gettin' at the heart o' women. Man +Sam'l, they're desperate cunnin'." + +"I'm dootin't; I'm sair dootin't." + +"It'll be a warnin' to ye, Sam'l, no to be in sic a hurry i' the futur," +said Sanders. + +Sam'l groaned. + +"Ye'll be gaein up to the manse to arrange wi' the minister the morn's +mornin'," continued Sanders, in a subdued voice. + +Sam'l looked wistfully at his friend. + +"I canna do't, Sanders," he said, "I canna do't." + +"Ye maun," said Sanders. + +"It's aisy to speak," retorted Sam'l, bitterly. + +"We have a' oor troubles, Sam'l," said Sanders, soothingly, "an' every +man maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie's wife's dead, an' he's no +repinin'." + +"Ay," said Sam'l, "but a death's no a mairitch. We hae haen deaths in +our family, too." + +"It may a' be for the best," added Sanders, "an' there wid be a michty +talk i' the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to the minister like +a man." + +"I maun hae langer to think o't," said Sam'l. + +"Bell's mairitch is the morn," said Sanders, decisively. + +Sam'l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes. + +"Sanders!" he cried. + +"Sam'l!" + +"Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair affliction." + +"Nothing ava," said Sanders; "dount mention't." + +"But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin oot o' the kirk that +awfu' day was at the bottom o't a'." + +"It was so," said Sanders, bravely. + +"An' ye used to be fond o' Bell, Sanders." + +"I dinna deny't." + +"Sanders, laddie," said Sam'l, bending forward and speaking in a +wheedling voice, "I aye thocht it was you she likit." + +"I had some sic idea mysel," said Sanders. + +"Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to ane +anither as you an' Bell." + +"Canna ye, Sam'l?" + +"She wid make ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae studied her weel, and she's +a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o' her. +Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel, There's a lass ony man micht +be prood to tak. A'body says the same, Sanders. There's nae risk ava, +man; nane to speak o'. Tak her, laddie, tak her, Sanders, it's a grand +chance, Sanders. She's yours for the speirin. I'll gie her up, Sanders." + +"Will ye, though?" said Sanders. + +"What d'ye think?" asked Sam'l. + +"If ye wid rayther," said Sanders, politely. + +"There's my han' on't," said Sam'l. "Bless ye, Sanders; ye've been a +true frien' to me." + +Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives; and soon +afterward Sanders struck up the brae to T'nowhead. + +Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the night before, +put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse. + +"But--but where is Sam'l?" asked the minister. "I must see himself." + +"It's a new arrangement," said Sanders. + +"What do you mean, Sanders?" + +"Bell's to marry me," explained Sanders. + +"But--- but what does Sam'l say?" + +"He's willin'," said Sanders. + +"And Bell?" + +"She's willin', too. She prefers it." + +"It is unusual," said the minister. + +"It's a' richt," said Sanders. + +"Well, you know best," said the minister. + +"You see, the hoose was taen, at ony rate," continued Sanders. "An' I'll +juist ging in til't instead o' Sam'l." + +"Quite so." + +"An" I cudna think to disappoint the lassie." + +"Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders," said the minister; "but I hope +you do not enter upon the blessed state of matrimony without full +consideration of its responsibilities. It is a serious business, +marriage." + +"It's a' that," said Sanders; "but I'm willin' to stan' the risk." + +So, as soon as it could be done, Sanders Elshioner took to wife +T'nowhead's Bell, and I remember seeing Sam'l Dickie trying to dance at +the penny wedding. + +Years afterward it was said in Thrums that Sam'l had treated Bell badly, +but he was never sure about it himself. + +"It was a near thing--a michty near thing," he admitted in the square. + +"They say," some other weaver would remark, "'at it was you Bell liked +best." + +"I d'na kin," Sam'l would reply, "but there's nae doot the lassie was +fell fond o' me. Ou, a mere passin' fancy's ye micht say." + + +JESS LEFT ALONE + +From 'A Window in Thrums' + +There may be a few who care to know how the lives of Jess and Hendry +ended. Leeby died in the back end of the year I have been speaking of, +and as I was snowed up in the school-house at the time, I heard the news +from Gavin Birse too late to attend her funeral. She got her death on +the commonty one day of sudden rain, when she had run out to bring in +her washing, for the terrible cold she woke with next morning carried +her off very quickly. Leeby did not blame Jamie for not coming to her, +nor did I, for I knew that even in the presence of death the poor must +drag their chains. He never got Hendry's letter with the news, and we +know now that he was already in the hands of her who played the devil +with his life. Before the spring came he had been lost to Jess. + +"Them 'at has got sae mony blessin's mair than the generality," Hendry +said to me one day, when Craigiebuckle had given me a lift into Thrums, +"has nae shame if they would pray aye for mair. The Lord has gi'en this +hoose sae muckle, 'at to pray for mair looks like no bein' thankfu' for +what we've got. Ay, but I canna help prayin' to Him 'at in His great +mercy he'll tak Jess afore me. Noo 'at Leeby's gone, an' Jamie never +lets us hear frae him, I canna gulp doon the thocht o' Jess bein' +left alane." + +This was a prayer that Hendry may be pardoned for having so often in his +heart, though God did not think fit to grant it. In Thrums, when a +weaver died, his women-folk had to take his seat at the loom, and those +who, by reason of infirmities, could not do so, went to a place, the +name of which, I thank God, I am not compelled to write in this chapter. +I could not, even at this day, have told any episode in the life of Jess +had it ended in the poor house. + +Hendry would probably have recovered from the fever had not this +terrible dread darkened his intellect when he was still prostrate. He +was lying in the kitchen when I saw him last in life, and his parting +words must be sadder to the reader than they were to me. + +"Ay, richt ye are," he said, in a voice that had become a child's; "I +hae muckle, muckle to be thankfu' for, an' no the least is 'at baith me +an' Jess has aye belonged to a bural society. We hae nae cause to be +anxious aboot a' thing bein' dune respectable aince we're gone. It was +Jess 'at insisted on oor joinin': a' the wisest things I ever did I was +put up to by her." + +I parted from Hendry, cheered by the doctor's report, but the old weaver +died a few days afterward. His end was mournful, yet I can recall it now +as the not unworthy close of a good man's life. One night poor worn Jess +had been helped ben into the room, Tibbie Birse having undertaken to sit +up with Hendry. + +Jess slept for the first time for many days, and as the night was dying +Tibbie fell asleep too. Hendry had been better than usual, lying +quietly, Tibbie said, and the fever was gone. About three o'clock Tibbie +woke and rose to mend the fire. Then she saw that Hendry was not in +his bed. + +Tibbie went ben the house in her stocking soles, but Jess heard her. + +"What is't, Tibbie?" she asked, anxiously. + +"Ou, it's no naething," Tibbie said; "he's lyin' rale quiet." + +Then she went up to the attic. Hendry was not in the house. + +She opened the door gently and stole out. It was not snowing, but there +had been a heavy fall two days before, and the night was windy. A +tearing gale had blown the upper part of the brae clear, and from +T'nowhead's fields the snow was rising like smoke. Tibbie ran to the +farm and woke up T'nowhead. + +For an hour they looked in vain for Hendry. At last some one asked who +was working in Elshioner's shop all night. This was the long +earthen-floored room in which Hendry's loom stood with three others. + +"It'll be Sanders Whamond likely," T'nowhead said, and the other men +nodded. + +But it happened that T'nowhead's Bell, who had flung on a wrapper, and +hastened across to sit with Jess, heard of the light in +Elshioner's shop. + +"It's Hendry," she cried; and then every one moved toward the workshop. + +The light at the diminutive, darn-covered window was pale and dim, but +Bell, who was at the house first, could make the most of a +cruizey's glimmer. + +"It's him," she said; and then, with swelling throat, she ran back to +Jess. + +The door of the workshop was wide open, held against the wall by the +wind. T'nowhead and the others went in. The cruizey stood on the little +window. Hendry's back was to the door, and he was leaning forward on the +silent loom. He had been dead for some time, but his fellow-workers saw +that he must have weaved for nearly an hour. + +So it came about that for the last few months of her pilgrimage Jess was +left alone. Yet I may not say that she was alone. Jamie, who should have +been with her, was undergoing his own ordeal far away; where, we did not +now even know. But though the poorhouse stands in Thrums, where all may +see it, the neighbors did not think only of themselves. + +Than Tammas Haggart there can scarcely have been a poorer man, but +Tammas was the first to come forward with offer of help. To the day of +Jess's death he did not once fail to carry her water to her in the +morning, and the luxuriously living men of Thrums in these present days +of pumps at every corner, can hardly realize what that meant. Often +there were lines of people at the well by three o'clock in the morning, +and each had to wait his turn. Tammas filled his own pitcher and pan, +and then had to take his place at the end of the line with Jess's +pitcher and pan, to wait his turn again. His own house was in the +Tenements, far from the brae in winter time, but he always said to Jess +it was "naething ava." + +Every Saturday old Robbie Angus sent a bag of sticks and shavings from +the sawmill by his little son Rob, who was afterward to become a man for +speaking about at nights. Of all the friends that Jess and Hendry had, +T'nowhead was the ablest to help, and the sweetest memory I have of the +farmer and his wife is the delicate way they offered it. You who read +will see Jess wince at the offer of charity. But the poor have fine +feelings beneath the grime, as you will discover if you care to look for +them; and when Jess said she would bake if anyone would buy, you would +wonder to hear how many kindly folk came to her door for scones. + +She had the house to herself at nights, but Tibbie Birse was with her +early in the morning, and other neighbors dropped in. Not for long did +she have to wait the summons to the better home. + +"Na," she said to the minister, who has told me that he was a better man +from knowing her, "my thocht is no nane set on the vanities o' the world +noo. I kenna hoo I could ever hae haen sic an ambeetion to hae thae +stuff-bottomed chairs." + +I have tried to keep away from Jamie, whom the neighbors sometimes +upbraided in her presence. It is of him you who read would like to hear, +and I cannot pretend that Jess did not sit at her window looking +for him. + +"Even when she was bakin'," Tibbie told me, "she aye had an eye on the +brae. If Jamie had come at ony time when it was licht she would hae seen +'im as sune as he turned the corner." + +"If he ever comes back, the sacket" (rascal), T'nowhead said to Jess, +"we'll show 'im the door gey quick." + +Jess just looked, and all the women knew how she would take Jamie to her +arms. + +We did not know of the London woman then, and Jess never knew of her. +Jamie's mother never for an hour allowed that he had become anything but +the loving laddie of his youth. + +"I ken 'im ower weel," she always said, "my ain Jamie." + +Toward the end she was sure he was dead. I do not know when she first +made up her mind to this, nor whether it was not merely a phrase for +those who wanted to discuss him with her. I know that she still sat at +the window looking at the elbow of the brae. + +The minister was with her when she died. She was in her chair, and he +asked her, as was his custom, if there was any particular chapter which +she would like him to read. Since her husband's death she had always +asked for the fourteenth of John, "Hendry's chapter," as it is still +called among a very few old people in Thrums. This time she asked him to +read the sixteenth chapter of Genesis. + +"When I came to the thirteenth verse," the minister told me, "'And she +called the name of the Lord that spake unto her, Thou God seest me,' she +covered her face with her two hands, and said, 'Joey's text, Joey's +text. Oh, but I grudged ye sair, Joey.'" + +"I shut the book," the minister said, "when I came to the end of the +chapter, and then I saw that she was dead. It is my belief that her +heart broke one-and-twenty years ago." + + +AFTER THE SERMON + +From 'The Little Minister': by permission of the American Publishers' +Corporation. + +One may gossip in a glen on Sabbaths, though not in a town, without +losing his character, and I used to await the return of my neighbor, the +farmer of Waster Lunny, and of Birse, the Glen Quharity post, at the end +of the school-house path. Waster Lunny was a man whose care in his +leisure hours was to keep from his wife his great pride in her. His +horse, Catlaw, on the other hand, he told outright what he thought of +it, praising it to its face and blackguarding it as it deserved, and I +have seen him, when completely baffled by the brute, sit down before it +on a stone and thus harangue:--"You think you're clever, Catlaw, my +lass, but you're mista'en. You're a thrawn limmer, that's what you are. +You think you have blood in you. You ha'e blood! Gae awa, and dinna +blether. I tell you what, Catlaw, I met a man yestreen that kent your +mither, and he says she was a feikie,[3] fushionless besom. What do you +say to that?" + +[Footnote 3: Feikie, over-particular.] + +As for the post, I will say no more of him than that his bitter topic +was the unreasonableness of humanity, which treated him graciously when +he had a letter for it, but scowled at him when he had none, "aye +implying that I ha'e a letter, but keep it back." + +On the Sabbath evening after the riot, I stood at the usual place +awaiting my friends, and saw before they reached me that they had +something untoward to tell. The farmer, his wife, and three children, +holding each other's hands, stretched across the road. Birse was a +little behind, but a conversation was being kept up by shouting. All +were walking the Sabbath pace, and the family having started half a +minute in advance, the post had not yet made up on them. + +"It's sitting to snaw," Waster Lunny said, drawing near, and just as I +was to reply, "It is so," Silva slipped in the words before me. + +"You wasna at the kirk," was Elspeth's salutation. I had been at the +glen church, but did not contradict her, for it is Established, and so +neither here nor there. I was anxious, too, to know what their long +faces meant, and therefore asked at once,--"Was Mr. Dishart on +the riot?" + +"Forenoon, ay; afternoon, no," replied Waster Lunny, walking round his +wife to get nearer me. "Dominie, a queery thing happened in the kirk +this day, sic as--" + +"Waster Lunny," interrupted Elspeth sharply, "have you on your Sabbath +shoon or have you no on your Sabbath shoon?" + +"Guid care you took I should ha'e the dagont oncanny things on," +retorted the farmer. + +"Keep out o' the gutter, then," said Elspeth, "on the Lord's day." + +"Him," said her man, "that is forced by a foolish woman to wear genteel +'lastic-sided boots canna forget them until he takes them aff. Whaur's +the extra reverence in wearing shoon twa sizes ower sma'?" + +"It mayna be mair reverent," suggested Birse, to whom Elspeth's kitchen +was a pleasant place, "but it's grand, and you canna expect to be baith +grand and comfortable." + +I reminded them that they were speaking of Mr. Dishart. + +"We was saying," began the post briskly, "that--" + +"It was me that was saying it," said Waster Lunny. "So, Dominie--" + +"Haud your gabs, baith o' you," interrupted Elspeth. "You've been +roaring the story to one another till you're hoarse." + +"In the forenoon," Waster Lunny went on determinedly, "Mr. Dishart +preached on the riot, and fine he was. Oh, dominie, you should hae heard +him ladling it on to Lang Tammas, no by name, but in sic a way that +there was no mistaking wha he was preaching at. Sal! oh, losh! Tammas +got it strong." + +"But he's dull in the uptake," broke in the post, "by what I expected. +I spoke to him after the sermon, and I says, just to see if he was +properly humbled:--'Ay, Tammas,' I says, 'them that discourse was +preached against winna think themselves seven-feet men for a while +again.' 'Ay, Birse,' he answers, 'and glad I am to hear you admit it, +for he had you in his eye.' I was fair scunnered at Tammas the day." + +"Mr. Dishart was preaching at the whole clan-jamfray o' you," said +Elspeth. + +"Maybe he was," said her husband, leering; "but you needna cast it at +us, for my certie, if the men got it frae him in the forenoon, the women +got it in the afternoon." + +"He redd them up most michty," said the post. "Thae was his very words +or something like them:--'Adam,' says he, 'was an erring man, but aside +Eve he was respectable.'" + +"Ay, but it wasna a' women he meant," Elspeth explained, "for when he +said that, he pointed his finger direct at T'nowhead's lassie, and I +hope it'll do her good." + +"But, I wonder," I said, "that Mr. Dishart chose such a subject to-day. +I thought he would be on the riot at both services." + +"You'll wonder mair," said Elspeth, "when you hear what happened afore +he began the afternoon sermon. But I canna get in a word wi' that man +o' mine." + +"We've been speaking about it," said Birse, "ever since we left the kirk +door. Tod, we've been sawing it like seed a' alang the glen." + +"And we meant to tell you about it at once," said Waster Lunny; "but +there's aye so muckle to say about a minister. Dagont, to hae ane keeps +a body out o' languor. Aye, but this breaks the drum. Dominie, either +Mr. Dishart wasna weel or he was in the devil's grip." + +This startled me, for the farmer was looking serious. + +"He was weel eneuch," said Birse, "for a heap o' fowk spiered at Jean if +he had ta'en his porridge as usual, and she admitted he had. But the +lassie was skeered hersel', and said it was a mercy Mrs. Dishart wasna +in the kirk." + +"Why was she not there?" I asked anxiously. + +"Ou, he winna let her out in sic weather." + +"I wish you would tell me what happened," I said to Elspeth. + +"So I will," she answered, "if Waster Lunny would haud his wheest for a +minute. You see the afternoon diet began in the ordinary way, and a' +was richt until we came to the sermon. 'You will find my text,' he says, +in his piercing voice, 'in the eighth chapter of Ezra.'" + +"And at thae words," said Waster Lunny, "my heart gae a loup, for Ezra +is an unca ill book to find; ay, and so is Ruth." + +"I kent the books o' the Bible by heart," said Elspeth, scornfully, +"when I was a sax-year-auld." + +"So did I," said Waster Lunny, "and I ken them yet, except when I'm +hurried. When Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra he a sort o' keeked round the +kirk to find out if he had puzzled onybody, and so there was a kind o' a +competition among the congregation wha would lay hand on it first. That +was what doited me. Ay, there was Ruth when she wasna wanted, but Ezra, +dagont, it looked as if Ezra had jumped clean out o' the Bible." + +"You wasna the only distressed crittur," said his wife. "I was ashamed +to see Eppie McLaren looking up the order o' the books at the beginning +o' the Bible." + +"Tibbie Birse was even mair brazen," said the post, "for the sly cuttie +opened at Kings and pretended it was Ezra." + +"None o' thae things would I do," said Waster Lunny, "and sal, I +dauredna, for Davit Lunan was glowering ower my shuther. Ay, you may +scowl at me, Elspeth Proctor, but as far back as I can mind Ezra has +done me. Mony a time afore I start for the kirk I take my Bible to a +quiet place and look Ezra up. In the very pew I says canny to mysel', +'Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Job,' the which should be a help, but the +moment the minister gi'es out that awfu' book, away goes Ezra like the +Egyptian." + +"And you after her," said Elspeth, "like the weavers that wouldna fecht. +You make a windmill of your Bible." + +"Oh, I winna admit I'm beat. Never mind, there's queer things in the +world forby Ezra. How is cripples aye so puffed up mair than other folk? +How does flour-bread aye fall on the buttered side?" + +"I will mind," Elspeth said, "for I was terrified the minister would +admonish you frae the pulpit." + +"He couldna hae done that, for was he no baffled to find Ezra himsel'?" + +"Him no find Ezra!" cried Elspeth. "I hae telled you a dozen times he +found it as easy as you could yoke a horse." + +"The thing can be explained in no other way," said her husband doggedly; +"if he was weel and in sound mind." + +"Maybe the dominie can clear it up," suggested the post, "him being a +scholar." + +"Then tell me what happened," I asked. + +"Man, hae we no telled you?" Birse said. "I thocht we had." + +"It was a terrible scene," said Elspeth, giving her husband a shove. "As +I said, Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra eighth. Weel, I turned it up in a +jiffy, and syne looked cautiously to see how Eppie McLaren was getting +on. Just at that minute I heard a groan frae the pulpit. It didna stop +short o' a groan. Ay, you may be sure I looked quick at the minister, +and there I saw a sicht that would hae made the grandest gape. His face +was as white as a baker's, and he had a sort of fallen against the back +o' the pulpit, staring demented-like at his open Bible." + +"And I saw him," said Birse, "put up his hand atween him and the Book, +as if he thocht it was to jump at him." + +"Twice," said Elspeth, "he tried to speak, and twice he let the words +fall." + +"That," said Waster Lunny, "the whole congregation admits, but I didna +see it mysel', for a' this time you may picture me hunting savage-like +for Ezra. I thocht the minister was waiting till I found it." + +"Hendry Munn," said Birse, "stood upon one leg, wondering whether he +should run to the session-house for a glass of water." + +"But by that time," said Elspeth, "the fit had left Mr. Dishart, or +rather it had ta'en a new turn. He grew red, and it's gospel that he +stamped his foot." + +"He had the face of one using bad words," said the post. "He didna +swear, of course, but that was the face he had on." + +"I missed it," said Waster Lunny, "for I was in full cry after Ezra, +with the sweat running down my face." + +"But the most astounding thing has yet to be telled," went on Elspeth. +"The minister shook himsel' like one wakening frae a nasty dream, and he +cries in a voice of thunder, just as if he was shaking his fist at +somebody--" + +"He cries," Birse interposed, cleverly, "he cries, 'You will find the +text in Genesis, chapter three, verse six.'" + +"Yes," said Elspeth, "first he gave out one text, and then he gave out +another, being the most amazing thing to my mind that ever happened in +the town of Thrums. What will our children's children think o't? I +wouldna ha'e missed it for a pound note." + +"Nor me," said Waster Lunny, "though I only got the tail o't. Dominie, +no sooner had he said Genesis third and sixth, than I laid my finger on +Ezra. Was it no provoking? Onybody can turn up Genesis, but it needs an +able-bodied man to find Ezra." + +"He preached on the Fall," Elspeth said, "for an hour and twenty-five +minutes, but powerful though he was I would rather he had telled us what +made him gie the go-by to Ezra." + +"All I can say," said Waster Lunny, "is that I never heard him mair +awe-inspiring. Whaur has he got sic a knowledge of women? He riddled +them, he fair riddled them, till I was ashamed o' being married." + +"It's easy kent whaur he got his knowledge of women," Birse explained, +"it's a' in the original Hebrew. You can howk ony mortal thing out o' +the original Hebrew, the which all ministers hae at their finger ends. +What else makes them ken to jump a verse now and then when giving out +a psalm?" + +"It wasna women like me he denounced," Elspeth insisted, "but young +lassies that leads men astray wi' their abominable wheedling ways." + +"Tod," said her husband, "if they try their hands on Mr. Dishart they'll +meet their match." + +"They will," chuckled the post. "The Hebrew's a grand thing, though +teuch, I'm telled, michty teuch." + +"His sublimest burst," Waster Lunny came back to tell me, "was about the +beauty o' the soul being everything and the beauty o' the face no worth +a snuff. What a scorn he has for bonny faces and toom souls! I dinna +deny but what a bonny face fell takes me, but Mr. Dishart wouldna gi'e a +blade o' grass for't. Ay, and I used to think that in their foolishness +about women there was dagont little differ atween the unlearned and the +highly edicated." + + +THE MUTUAL DISCOVERY + +From 'The Little Minister': by permission of the American Publishers' +Corporation + +A young man thinks that he alone of mortals is impervious to love, and +so the discovery that he is in it suddenly alters his views of his own +mechanism. It is thus not unlike a rap on the funny-bone. Did Gavin make +this discovery when the Egyptian left him? Apparently he only came to +the brink of it and stood blind. He had driven her from him for ever, +and his sense of loss was so acute that his soul cried out for the cure +rather than for the name of the malady. + +In time he would have realized what had happened, but time was denied +him, for just as he was starting for the mudhouse Babbie saved his +dignity by returning to him.... She looked up surprised, or seemingly +surprised, to find him still there. + +"I thought you had gone away long ago," she said stiffly. + +"Otherwise," asked Gavin the dejected, "you would not have came back to +the well?" + +"Certainly not." + +"I am very sorry. Had you waited another moment I should have been +gone." + +This was said in apology, but the willful Egyptian chose to change its +meaning. + +"You have no right to blame me for disturbing you," she declared with +warmth. + +"I did not. I only--" + +"You could have been a mile away by this time. Nanny wanted more water." + +Babbie scrutinized the minister sharply as she made this statement. +Surely her conscience troubled her, for on his not answering immediately +she said, "Do you presume to disbelieve me? What could have made me +return except to fill the pans again?" + +"Nothing," Gavin admitted eagerly, "and I assure you---" + +Babbie should have been grateful to his denseness, but it merely set her +mind at rest. + +"Say anything against me you choose," she told him. "Say it as brutally +as you like, for I won't listen." + +She stopped to hear his response to that, and she looked so cold that it +almost froze on Gavin's lips. + +"I had no right," he said dolefully, "to speak to you as I did." + +"You had not," answered the proud Egyptian. She was looking away from +him to show that his repentance was not even interesting to her. +However, she had forgotten already not to listen.... + +She was very near him, and the tears had not yet dried on her eyes. They +were laughing eyes, eyes in distress, imploring eyes. Her pale face, +smiling, sad, dimpled yet entreating forgiveness, was the one prominent +thing in the world to him just then. He wanted to kiss her. He would do +it as soon as her eyes rested on his, but she continued without +regarding him. + +"How mean that sounds! Oh, if I were a man I would wish to be everything +that I am not, and nothing that I am. I would scorn to be a liar, I +would choose to be open in all things, I would try to fight the world +honestly. But I am only a woman, and so--well, that is the kind of man I +would like to marry." + +"A minister may be all these things," said Gavin breathlessly. + +"The man I could love," Babbie went on, not heeding him, almost +forgetting that he was there, "must not spend his days in idleness as +the men I know do." + +"I do not." + +"He must be brave, no mere worker among others, but a leader of men." + +"All ministers are." + +"Who makes his influence felt." + +"Assuredly." + +"And takes the side of the weak against the strong, even though the +strong be in the right." + +"Always my tendency." + +"A man who has a mind of his own, and having once made it up stands to +it in defiance even of--" + +"Of his session." + +"Of the world. He must understand me." + +"I do." + +"And be my master." + +"It is his lawful position in the house." + +"He must not yield to my coaxing or tempers." + +"It would be weakness." + +"But compel me to do his bidding; yes, even thrash me if-" + +"If you won't listen to reason. Babbie," cried Gavin, "I am that man!" + +Here the inventory abruptly ended, and these two people found themselves +staring at each other, as if of a sudden they had heard something +dreadful. I do not know how long they stood thus motionless and +horrified. I cannot tell even which stirred first. All I know is that +almost simultaneously they turned from each other and hurried out of the +wood in opposite directions. + + +LOST ILLUSIONS + +From 'Sentimental Tommy' + +To-morrow came, and with it two eager little figures rose and gulped +their porridge, and set off to see Thrums. They were dressed in the +black clothes Aaron Latta had bought for them in London, and they had +agreed just to walk, but when they reached the door and saw the +tree-tops of the Den they--they ran. Would you not like to hold them +back? It is a child's tragedy. + +They went first into the Den, and the rocks were dripping wet, all the +trees save the firs were bare, and the mud round a tiny spring pulled +off one of Elspeth's boots. + +"Tommy," she cried, quaking, "that narsty puddle can't not be the Cuttle +Well, can it?" + +"No, it ain't," said Tommy, quickly, but he feared it was. + +"It's c-c-colder here than London," Elspeth said, shivering, and Tommy +was shivering too, but he answered, "I'm--I'm--I'm warm." + +The Den was strangely small, and soon they were on a shabby brae, where +women in short gowns came to their doors and men in night-caps sat down +on the shafts of their barrows to look at Jean Myles's bairns. + +"What does yer think?" Elspeth whispered, very doubtfully. + +"They're beauties," Tommy answered, determinedly. + +Presently Elspeth cried, "Oh, Tommy, what a ugly stair! Where is the +beauty stairs as it wore outside for show?" + +This was one of them, and Tommy knew it. "Wait till you see the west +town end," he said, bravely: "it's grand." But when they were in the +west town end, and he had to admit it, "Wait till you see the square," +he said, and when they were in the square, "Wait," he said, huskily, +"till you see the town-house." Alas, this was the town-house facing +them, and when they knew it, he said, hurriedly, "Wait till you see the +Auld Licht kirk." + +They stood long in front of the Auld Licht kirk, which he had sworn was +bigger and lovelier than St. Paul's, but--well, it is a different style +of architecture, and had Elspeth not been there with tears in waiting, +Tommy would have blubbered. "It's--it's littler than I thought," he +said, desperately, "but--the minister, oh, what a wonderful big man +he is!" + +"Are you sure?" Elspeth squeaked. + +"I swear he is." + +The church door opened and a gentleman came out, a little man, boyish in +the back, with the eager face of those who live too quickly. But it was +not at him that Tommy pointed reassuringly; it was at the monster church +key, half of which protruded from his tail pocket and waggled as he +moved, like the hilt of a sword. + +Speaking like an old residenter, Tommy explained that he had brought his +sister to see the church. "She's ta'en aback," he said, picking out +Scotch words carefully, "because it's littler than the London kirks, but +I telled her--I telled her that the preaching is better." + +This seemed to please the stranger, for he patted Tommy on the head +while inquiring, "How do you know that the preaching is better?" + +"Tell him, Elspeth," replied Tommy, modestly. + +"There ain't nuthin' as Tommy don't know," Elspeth explained. "He knows +what the minister is like, too." + +"He's a noble sight," said Tommy. + +"He can get anything from God he likes," said Elspeth. + +"He's a terrible big man," said Tommy. + +This seemed to please the little gentleman less. "Big!" he exclaimed, +irritably; "why should he be big?" + +"He is big," Elspeth almost screamed, for the minister was her last +hope. + +"Nonsense!" said the little gentleman. "He is--well, I am the minister." + +"You!" roared Tommy, wrathfully. + +"Oh, oh, oh!" sobbed Elspeth. + +For a moment the Rev. Mr. Dishart looked as if he would like to knock +two little heads together, but he walked away without doing it. + +"Never mind," whispered Tommy hoarsely to Elspeth. "Never mind, Elspeth, +you have me yet." + +This consolation seldom failed to gladden her, but her disappointment +was so sharp to-day that she would not even look up. + +"Come away to the cemetery, it's grand," he said; but still she would +not be comforted. + +"And I'll let you hold my hand--as soon as we're past the houses," he +added. + +"I'll let you hold it now," he said, eventually; but even then Elspeth +cried dismally, and her sobs were hurting him more than her. + +He knew all the ways of getting round Elspeth, and when next he spoke it +was with a sorrowful dignity. "I didna think," he said, "as yer wanted +me never to be able to speak again; no, I didna think it, Elspeth." + +She took her hands from her face and looked at him inquiringly. + +"One of the stories mamma telled me and Reddy," he said, "were a man +what saw such a beauty thing that he was struck dumb with admiration. +Struck dumb is never to be able to speak again, and I wish I had been +struck dumb when you wanted it." + +"But I didn't want it!" Elspeth cried. + +"If Thrums had been one little bit beautier than it is," he went on, +solemnly, "it would have struck me dumb. It would have hurt me sore, but +what about that, if it pleased you!" + +Then did Elspeth see what a wicked girl she had been, and when next the +two were seen by the curious (it was on the cemetery road), they were +once more looking cheerful. At the smallest provocation they exchanged +notes of admiration, such as, "O Tommy, what a bonny barrel!" or "O +Elspeth, I tell yer that's a dike, and there's just walls in London;" +but sometimes Elspeth would stoop hastily, pretending that she wanted to +tie her boot-lace, but really to brush away a tear, and there were +moments when Tommy hung very limp. Each was trying to deceive the other +for the other's sake, and one of them was never good at deception. They +saw through each other, yet kept up the chilly game, because they could +think of nothing better; and perhaps the game was worth playing, for +love invented it. + +Scribner's Magazine. Copyrighted by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. + + +SINS OF CIRCUMSTANCE + +From 'Sentimental Tommy' + +With the darkness, too, crept into the Muckley certain devils in the +color of the night who spoke thickly and rolled braw lads in the mire, +and egged on friends to fight, and cast lewd thoughts into the minds of +the women. At first the men had been bashful swains. To the women's "Gie +me my faring, Jock," they had replied, "Wait, Jean, till I'm fee'd," but +by night most had got their arles, with a dram above it, and he who +could only guffaw at Jean a few hours ago had her round the waist now, +and still an arm free for rough play with other kimmers. The Jeans were +as boisterous as the Jocks, giving them leer for leer, running from them +with a giggle, waiting to be caught and rudely kissed. Grand, patient, +long-suffering fellows these men were, up at five, summer and winter, +foddering their horses, maybe, hours before there would be food for +themselves, miserably paid, housed like cattle, and when the rheumatism +seized them, liable to be flung aside like a broken graip. As hard was +the life of the women: coarse food, chaff beds, damp clothes their +portion; their sweethearts in the service of masters who were loth to +fee a married man. Is it to be wondered that these lads who could be +faithful unto death drank soddenly on their one free day; that these +girls, starved of opportunities for womanliness, of which they could +make as much as the finest lady, sometimes woke after a Muckley to wish +that they might wake no more? + +Scribner's Magazine. Copyrighted by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. + + + + +FREDERIC BASTIAT + +(1801-1850) + + +Political economy has been called the "dismal science"; and probably the +majority think of it as either merely a matter of words and phrases, or +as something too abstruse for the common mind to comprehend. It was the +distinction of Bastiat that he was able to write economic tracts in such +a language that he that ran might read, and to clothe the apparently dry +bones with such integuments as manifested vitality. Under his pen, +questions of finance, of tax, of exchange, became questions which +concern the lives of individual men and women, with sentiments, hopes, +and aspirations. + +[Illustration: FREDERIC BASTIAT] + +He was born at Bayonne in France, June 19th, 1801. At nine years of age +he was left an orphan, but he was cared for by his grandfather and aunt. +He received his schooling at the college of St. Sever and at Soreze, +where he was noted as a diligent student. When about twenty years of age +he was taken into the commercial house of his uncle at Bayonne. His +leisure was employed in cultivating art and literature, and he became +accomplished in languages and in instrumental and vocal music. He was +early interested in political and social economy through the writings of +Adam Smith, J.B. Say, Comte, and others; and having inherited +considerable landed property at Mugron on the death of his grandfather +in 1827, he undertook the personal charge of it, at the same time +continuing his economic studies. His experiment in farming did not prove +successful; but he rapidly developed clear ideas upon economical +problems, being much assisted in their consideration by frequent +conferences with his neighbor, M. Felix Coudroy. These two worked much +together, and cherished a close sympathy in thought and heart. + +The bourgeois revolution of 1830 was welcomed enthusiastically by +Bastiat. It was a revolution of prosperous and well-instructed men, +willing to make sacrifices to attain an orderly and systematic method of +government. To him the form of the administration did not greatly +matter: the right to vote taxes was the right which governed the +governors. "There is always a tendency on the part of governments to +extend their powers," he said; "the administration therefore must be +under constant surveillance." His motto was "Foi systematiqtie a la +libre activite de I'individu; defiance systematique vis-a-vis de l'Etat +concu abstraitement,--c'est-a-dire, defiance parfaitement pure de toute +hostilite de parti." [Systematic faith in the free activity of the +individual; systematic distrust of the State conceived abstractly,--that +is, a distrust entirely free from prejudice.] + +His work with his pen seems to have been begun about 1830, and from the +first was concerned with matters of economy and government. A year later +he was chosen to local office, and every opportunity which offered was +seized upon to bring before the common people the true milk of the +economic word, as he conceived it. The germ of his theory of values +appeared in a pamphlet of 1834, and the line of his development was a +steady one; his leading principles being the importance of restricting +the functions of government to the maintenance of order, and of removing +all shackles from the freedom of production and exchange. Through +subscription to an English periodical he became familiar with Cobden and +the Anti-Corn-Law League, and his subsequent intimacy with Cobden +contributed much to broaden his horizon. In 1844-5 appeared his +brilliant 'Sophismes economiques', which in their kind have never been +equaled; and his reputation rapidly expanded. He enthusiastically +espoused the cause of Free Trade, and issued a work entitled 'Cobden et +la Ligue, ou l'Agitation anglaise pour la liberte des echanges' (Cobden +and the League, or the English Agitation for Liberty of Exchange), which +attracted great attention, and won for its author the title of +corresponding member of the Institute. A movement for organization in +favor of tariff reform was begun, of which he naturally became a leader; +and feeling that Paris was the centre from which influence should flow, +to Paris he removed. M. de Molinari gives an account of his debut:--"We +still seem to see him making his first round among the journals which +had shown themselves favorable to cause of the freedom of commerce. He +had not yet had time to call upon a Parisian tailor or hatter, and in +truth it had not occurred to him to do so. With his long hair and his +small hat, his large surtout and his family umbrella, he would naturally +be taken for a reputable countryman looking at the sights of the +metropolis. But his countryman's-face was at the same time roguish and +spirituelle, his large black eyes were bright and luminous, and his +forehead, of medium breadth but squarely formed, bore the imprint of +thought. At a glance one could see that he was a peasant of the country +of Montaigne, and in listening to him one realized that here was a +disciple of Franklin." + +He plunged at once into work, and his activity was prodigious. He +contributed to numerous journals, maintained an active correspondence +with Cobden, kept up communications with organizations throughout the +country, and was always ready to meet his opponents in debate. + +The Republic of 1848 was accepted in good faith; but he was strongly +impressed by the extravagant schemes which accompanied the Republican +movement, as well as by the thirst for peace which animated multitudes. +The Provisional government had made solemn promises: it must pile on +taxes to enable it to keep its promises. "Poor people! How they have +deceived themselves! It would have been so easy and so just to have +eased matters by reducing the taxes; instead, this is to be done by +profusion of expenditure, and people do not see that all this machinery +amounts to taking away ten in order to return eight, _without counting +the fact that liberty will succumb under the operation_." He tried to +stem the tide of extravagance; he published a journal, the Republique +Francaise, for the express purpose of promulgating his views; he entered +the Constituent and then the Legislative Assembly, as a member for the +department of Landes, and spoke eloquently from the tribune. He was a +constitutional "Mugwump": he cared for neither parties nor men, but for +ideas. He was equally opposed to the domination of arbitrary power and +to the tyranny of Socialism. He voted with the right against the left on +extravagant Utopian schemes, and with the left against the right when he +felt that the legitimate complaints of the poor and suffering +were unheeded. + +In the midst of his activity he was overcome by a trouble in the throat, +which induced his physicians to send him to Italy. The effort for relief +was a vain one, however, and he died in Rome December 24th, 1850. His +complete works, mostly composed of occasional essays, were printed in +1855. Besides those mentioned, the most important are 'Propriete et Loi' +(Property and Law), 'Justice et Fraternite,' 'Protectionisme et +Communisme,' and 'Harmonies economiques.' The 'Harmonies economiques' +and 'Sophismes economiques' have been translated and published +in English. + + +PETITION + +OF THE MANUFACTURERS OF CANDLES, WAX-LIGHTS, LAMPS, CANDLE-STICKS, +STREET LAMPS, SNUFFERS, EXTINGUISHERS, AND OF THE PRODUCERS OF OIL, +TALLOW, ROSIN, ALCOHOL, AND GENERALLY OF EVERYTHING CONNECTED +WITH LIGHTING. + +_To Messieurs the Members of the Chamber of Deputies: + +Gentlemen_:--You are on the right road. You reject abstract theories, +and have little consideration for cheapness and plenty. Your chief care +is the interest of the producer. You desire to emancipate him from +external competition, and reserve the _national market_ for _national +industry_. + +We are about to offer you an admirable opportunity of applying +your--what shall we call it? your theory? no: nothing is more deceptive +than theory. Your doctrine? your system? your principle? but you dislike +doctrines, you abhor systems, and as for principles, you deny that there +are any in social economy. We shall say, then, your practice, your +practice without theory and without principle. + +We are suffering from the intolerable competition of a foreign rival, +placed, it would seem, in a condition so far superior to ours for the +production of light, that he absolutely _inundates_ our _national +market_ with it at a price fabulously reduced. The moment he shows +himself, our trade leaves us--all consumers apply to him; and a branch +of native industry, having countless ramifications, is all at once +rendered completely stagnant. This rival, who is no other than the Sun, +wages war to the knife against us, and we suspect that he has been +raised up by _perfidious Albion_ (good policy as times go); inasmuch as +he displays towards that haughty island a circumspection with which he +dispenses in our case. + +What we pray for is, that it may please you to pass a law ordering the +shutting up of all windows, skylights, dormer windows, outside and +inside shutters, curtains, blinds, bull's-eyes; in a word, of all +openings, holes, chinks, clefts, and fissures, by or through which the +light of the sun has been in use to enter houses, to the prejudice of +the meritorious manufactures with which we flatter ourselves we have +accommodated our country,--a country which, in gratitude, ought not to +abandon us now to a strife so unequal. + +We trust, gentlemen, that you will not regard this our request as a +satire, or refuse it without at least previously hearing the reasons +which we have to urge in its support. + +And first, if you shut up as much as possible all access to natural +light, and create a demand for artificial light, which of our French +manufactures will not be encouraged by it? + +If more tallow is consumed, then there must be more oxen and sheep; and +consequently, we shall behold the multiplication of artificial meadows, +meat, wool, hides, and above all manure, which is the basis and +foundation of all agricultural wealth. + +If more oil is consumed, then we shall have an extended cultivation of +the poppy, of the olive, and of rape. These rich and exhausting plants +will come at the right time to enable us to avail ourselves of the +increased fertility which the rearing of additional cattle will impart +to our lands. + +Our heaths will be covered with resinous trees. Numerous swarms of bees +will, on the mountains, gather perfumed treasures, now wasting their +fragrance on the desert air, like the flowers from which they emanate. +No branch of agriculture but will then exhibit a cheering development. + +The same remark applies to navigation. Thousands of vessels will proceed +to the whale fishery; and in a short time we shall possess a navy +capable of maintaining the honor of France, and gratifying the patriotic +aspirations of your petitioners, the under-signed candle-makers +and others. + +But what shall we say of the manufacture of _articles de Paris?_ +Henceforth you will behold gildings, bronzes, crystals, in candlesticks, +in lamps, in lustres, in candelabra, shining forth in spacious +warerooms, compared with which those of the present day can be regarded +but as mere shops. + +No poor _resinier_ from his heights on the sea-coast, no coal-miner from +the depth of his sable gallery, but will rejoice in higher wages and +increased prosperity. + +Only have the goodness to reflect, gentlemen, and you will be convinced +that there is perhaps no Frenchman, from the wealthy coal-master to the +humblest vender of lucifer matches, whose lot will not be ameliorated by +the success of this our petition. + +We foresee your objections, gentlemen, but we know that you can oppose +to us none but such as you have picked up from the effete works of the +partisans of Free Trade. We defy you to utter a single word against us +which will not instantly rebound against yourselves and your +entire policy. + +You will tell us that if we gain by the protection which we seek, the +country will lose by it, because the consumer must bear the loss. + +We answer:-- + +You have ceased to have any right to invoke the interest of the +consumer; for whenever his interest is found opposed to that of the +producer, you sacrifice the former. You have done so for the purpose of +_encouraging labor and increasing employment_. For the same reason you +should do so again. + +You have yourself refuted this objection. When you are told that the +consumer is interested in the free importation of iron, coal, corn, +textile fabrics--yes, you reply, but the producer is interested in their +exclusion. Well, be it so;--if consumers are interested in the free +admission of natural light, the producers of artificial light are +equally interested in its prohibition. + +But again, you may say that the producer and consumer are identical. If +the manufacturer gain by protection, he will make the agriculturist also +a gainer; and if agriculture prosper, it will open a vent to +manufactures. Very well: if you confer upon us the monopoly of +furnishing light during the day,--first of all, we shall purchase +quantities of tallow, coals, oils, resinous substances, wax, +alcohol--besides silver, iron, bronze, crystal--to carry on our +manufactures; and then we, and those who furnish us with such +commodities, having become rich, will consume a great deal, and impart +prosperity to all the other branches of our national industry. + +If you urge that the light of the sun is a gratuitous gift of nature, +and that to reject such gifts is to reject wealth itself under pretense +of encouraging the means of acquiring it, we would caution you against +giving a death-blow to your own policy. Remember that hitherto you have +always repelled foreign products, _because_ they approximate more nearly +than home products to the character of gratuitous gifts. To comply with +the exactions of other monopolists, you have only _half a motive_; and +to repulse us simply because we stand on a stronger vantage-ground than +others would be to adopt the equation, +X+=--; in other words, it would +be to heap _absurdity_ upon _absurdity_. + +Nature and human labor co-operate in various proportions (depending on +countries and climates) in the production of commodities. The part +which nature executes is always gratuitous; it is the part executed by +human labor which constitutes value, and is paid for. + +If a Lisbon orange sells for half the price of a Paris orange, it is +because natural and consequently gratuitous heat does for the one what +artificial and therefore expensive heat must do for the other. + +When an orange comes to us from Portugal, we may conclude that it is +furnished in part gratuitously, in part for an onerous consideration; in +other words, it comes to us at _half-price_ as compared with those +of Paris. + +Now, it is precisely the _gratuitous half_ (pardon the word) which we +contend should be excluded. You say, How can natural labor sustain +competition with foreign labor, when the former has all the work to do, +and the latter only does one-half, the sun supplying the remainder? But +if this _half_, being _gratuitous_, determines you to exclude +competition, how should the _whole_, being _gratuitous_, induce you to +admit competition? If you were consistent, you would, while excluding as +hurtful to native industry what is half gratuitous, exclude _a fortiori_ +and with double zeal that which is altogether gratuitous. + +Once more, when products such as coal, iron, corn, or textile fabrics +are sent us from abroad, and we can acquire them with less labor than if +we made them ourselves, the difference is a free gift conferred upon us. +The gift is more or less considerable in proportion as the difference is +more or less great. It amounts to a quarter, a half, or three-quarters +of the value of the product, when the foreigner only asks us for +three-fourths, a half, or a quarter of the price we should otherwise +pay. It is as perfect and complete as it can be, when the donor (like +the sun in furnishing us with light) asks us for nothing. The question, +and we ask it formally, is this, Do you desire for our country the +benefit of gratuitous consumption, or the pretended advantages of +onerous production? Make your choice, but be logical; for as long as you +exclude, as you do, coal, iron, corn, foreign fabrics, _in proportion_ +as their price approximates to _zero_, what inconsistency would it be to +admit the light of the sun, the price of which is already at _zero_ +during the entire day! + + +STULTA AND PUERA + +There were, no matter where, two towns called Fooltown and Babytown. +They completed at great cost a highway from the one town to the other. +When this was done, Fooltown said to herself, "See how Babytown +inundates us with her products; we must see to it." In consequence, they +created and paid a body of _obstructives_, so called because their +business was to place _obstacles_ in the way of traffic coming from +Babytown. Soon afterwards Babytown did the same. + +At the end of some centuries, knowledge having in the interim made great +progress, the common sense of Babytown enabled her to see that such +reciprocal obstacles could only be reciprocally hurtful. She therefore +sent a diplomatist to Fooltown, who, laying aside official phraseology, +spoke to this effect: + +"We have made a highway, and now we throw obstacles in the way of using +it. This is absurd. It would have been better to have left things as +they were. We should not, in that case, have had to pay for making the +road in the first place, nor afterwards have incurred the expense of +maintaining _obstructives_. In the name of Babytown, I come to propose +to you, not to give up opposing each other all at once,--that would be +to act upon a principle, and we despise principles as much as you +do,--but to lessen somewhat the present obstacles, taking care to +estimate equitably the respective _sacrifices_ we make for +this purpose." + +So spoke the diplomatist. Fooltown asked for time to consider the +proposal, and proceeded to consult in succession her manufacturers and +agriculturists. At length, after the lapse of some years, she declared +that the negotiations were broken off. On receiving this intimation, the +inhabitants of Babytown held a meeting. An old gentleman (they always +suspected he had been secretly bought by Fooltown) rose and said:--"The +obstacles created by Fooltown injure our sales, which is a misfortune. +Those which we have ourselves created injure our purchases, which is +another misfortune. With reference to the first, we are powerless; but +the second rests with ourselves. Let us at least get quit of one, since +we cannot rid ourselves of both evils. Let us suppress our +_obstructives_ without requiring Fooltown to do the same. Some day, no +doubt, she will come to know her own interests better." + +A second counselor, a practical, matter-of-fact man, guiltless of any +acquaintance with principles, and brought up in the ways of his +forefathers, replied-- + +"Don't listen to that Utopian dreamer, that theorist, that innovator, +that economist; that _Stultomaniac_. We shall all be undone if the +stoppages of the road are not equalized, weighed, and balanced between +Fooltown and Babytown. There would be greater difficulty in _going_ than +in _coming_, in _exporting_ than in _importing_. We should find +ourselves in the same condition of inferiority relatively to Fooltown, +as Havre, Nantes, Bordeaux, Lisbon, London, Hamburg, and New Orleans, +are with relation to the towns situated at the sources of the Seine, the +Loire, the Garonne, the Tagus, the Thames, the Elbe, and the +Mississippi; for it is more difficult for a ship to ascend than to +descend a river. [_A Voice_--'Towns at the _embouchures_ of rivers +prosper more than towns at their source.'] This is impossible. [_Same +Voice_--'But it is so.'] Well, if it be so, they have prospered +_contrary to rules_." + +Reasoning so conclusive convinced the assembly, and the orator followed +up his victory by talking largely of national independence, national +honor, national dignity, national labor, inundation of products, +tributes, murderous competition. In short, he carried the vote in favor +of the maintenance of obstacles; and if you are at all curious on the +subject, I can point out to you countries, where you will see with your +own eyes Roadmakers and Obstructives working together on the most +friendly terms possible, under the orders of the same legislative +assembly, and at the expense of the same taxpayers, the one set +endeavoring to clear the road, and the other set doing their utmost to +render it impassable. + + +INAPPLICABLE TERMS + +From 'Economic Sophisms' + +Let us give up ... the puerility of applying to industrial competition +phrases applicable to war,--a way of speaking which is only specious +when applied to competition between two rival trades. The moment we come +to take into account the effect produced on the general prosperity, the +analogy disappears. + +In a battle, every one who is killed diminishes by so much the strength +of the army. In industry, a workshop is shut up only when what it +produced is obtained by the public from another source and in _greater +abundance_. Figure a state of things where for one man killed on the +spot two should rise up full of life and vigor. Were such a state of +things possible, war would no longer merit its name. + +This, however, is the distinctive character of what is so absurdly +called _industrial war_. + +Let the Belgians and the English lower the price of their iron ever so +much; let them, if they will, send it to us for nothing: this might +extinguish some of our blast-furnaces; but immediately, and as a +_necessary_ consequence of this very cheapness, there would rise up a +thousand other branches of industry more profitable than the one which +had been superseded. + +We arrive, then, at the conclusion that domination by labor is +impossible, and a contradiction in terms, seeing that all superiority +which manifests itself among a people means cheapness, and tends only to +impart force to all other nations. Let us banish, then, from political +economy all terms borrowed from the military vocabulary: _to fight with +equal weapons, to conquer, to crush, to stifle, to be beaten, invasion, +tribute_, etc. What do such phrases mean? Squeeze them, and you obtain +nothing. Yes, you do obtain something; for from such words proceed +absurd errors, and fatal and pestilent prejudices. Such phrases tend to +arrest the fusion of nations, are inimical to their peaceful, universal, +and indissoluble alliance, and retard the progress of the human race. + + + + +CHARLES BAUDELAIRE + +(1821-1867) + +BY GRACE KING + + +Charles Baudelaire was born in Paris in 1821; he died there in 1867. +Between these dates lies the evolution of one of the most striking +personalities in French literature, and the development of an influence +which affected not only the literature of the poet's own country, but +that of all Europe and America. The genuineness of both personality and +influence was one of the first critical issues raised after Baudelaire's +advent into literature; it is still one of the main issues in all +critical consideration of him. A question which involves by implication +the whole relation of poetry, and of art as such, to life, is obviously +one that furnishes more than literary issues, and engages other than +literary interests. And thus, by easy and natural corollaries, +Baudelaire has been made a subject of appeal not only to judgment, but +even to conscience. At first sight, therefore, he appears surrounded +either by an intricate moral maze, or by a no less troublesome confusion +of contradictory theories from opposing camps rather than schools of +criticism. But no author--no dead author--is more accessible, or more +communicable in his way; his poems, his theories, and a goodly portion +of his life, lie at the disposition of any reader who cares to know him. + +[Illustration: CHARLES BAUDELAIRE] + +The Baudelaire legend, as it is called by French critics, is one of the +blooms of that romantic period of French literature which is presided +over by the genius of Theophile Gautier. Indeed; it is against the +golden background of Gautier's imagination that the picture of the +youthful poet is best preserved for us, appearing in all the delicate +and illusive radiance of the youth and beauty of legendary saints on the +gilded canvases of mediaeval art. The radiant youth and beauty may be no +more truthful to nature than the gilded background, but the fact of the +impression sought to be conveyed is not on that account to be +disbelieved. + +Baudelaire, Gautier writes, was born in the Rue Hautefeuille, in one of +those old houses with a pepper-pot turret at the corner which have +disappeared from the city under the advancing improvement of straight +lines and clear openings. His father, a gentleman of learning, retained +all the eighteenth-century courtesy and distinction of manner, which, +like the pepper-pot turret, has also disappeared under the advance of +Republican enlightenment. An absent-minded, reserved child, Baudelaire +attracted no especial attention during his school days. When they were +over, his predilection for a literary vocation became known. From this +his parents sought to divert him by sending him to travel. He voyaged +through the Indian Ocean, visiting the great islands: Madagascar, +Ceylon, Mauritius, Bourbon. Had there been a chance for irresolution in +the mind of the youth, this voyage destroyed it forever. His +imagination, essentially exotic, succumbed to the passionate charm of a +new, strange, and splendidly glowing form of nature; the stars, the +skies, the gigantic vegetation, the color, the perfumes, the +dark-skinned figures in white draperies, formed for him at that time a +heaven, for which his senses unceasingly yearned afterwards amid the +charms and enchantments of civilization, in the world's capital of +pleasure and luxury. Returning to Paris, of age and master of his +fortune, he established himself in his independence, openly adopting his +chosen career. + +He and Theophile Gautier met for the first time in 1849, in the Hotel +Pimodau, where were held the meetings of the Hashish Club. Here in the +great Louis XIV. saloon, with its wood-work relieved with dull gold; its +corbeled ceiling, painted after the manner of Lesueur and Poussin, with +satyrs pursuing nymphs through reeds and foliage; its great red and +white spotted marble mantel, with gilded elephant harnessed like the +elephant of Porus in Lebrun's picture, bearing an enameled clock with +blue ciphers; its antique chairs and sofas, covered with faded tapestry +representing hunting scenes, holding the reclining figures of the +members of the club; women celebrated in the world of beauty, men in the +world of letters, meeting not only for the enjoyment of the artificial +ecstasies of the drug, but to talk of art, literature, and love, as in +the days of the Decameron--here Baudelaire made what might be called his +historic impression upon literature. He was at that time twenty-eight +years of age; and even in that assemblage, in those surroundings, his +personality was striking. His black hair, worn close to the head, grew +in regular scallops over a forehead of dazzling whiteness; his eyes, the +color of Spanish tobacco, were spiritual, deep, penetrating, perhaps too +insistently so, in expression; the mobile sinuous mouth had the ironical +voluptuous lips that Leonardo da Vinci loved to paint; the nose was +delicate and sensitive, with quivering nostrils; a deep dimple +accentuated the chin; the bluish-black tint of the shaven skin, softened +with rice-powder, contrasted with the clear rose and white of the upper +part of his cheeks. Always dressed with meticulous neatness and +simplicity, following English rather than French taste; in manner +punctiliously observant of the strictest conventionality, scrupulously, +even excessively polite; in talk measuring his phrases, using only the +most select terms, and pronouncing certain words as if the sound itself +possessed a certain subtle, mystical value,--throwing his voice into +capitals and italics;--in contrast with the dress and manners about him, +he, according to Gautier, looked like a dandy who had strayed +into Bohemia. + +The contrast was no less violent between Baudelaire's form and the +substance of his conversation. With a simple, natural, and perfectly +impartial manner, as if he were conveying commonplace information about +every-day life, he would advance some axiom monstrously Satanic, or +sustain, with the utmost grace and coolness, some mathematical +extravagance in the way of a theory. And no one could so inflexibly push +a paradox to the uttermost limits, regardless of consequences to +received notions of morality or religion; always employing the most +rigorous methods of logic and reason. His wit was found to lie neither +in words nor thoughts, but in the peculiar standpoint from which he +regarded things, a standpoint which altered their outlines,--like those +of objects looked down upon from a bird's flight, or looked up to on a +ceiling. In this way, to continue the exposition of Gautier, Baudelaire +saw relations inappreciable to others, whose logical bizarrerie was +startling. + +His first productions were critical articles for the Parisian journals; +articles that at the time passed unperceived, but which to-day furnish +perhaps the best evidences of that keen artistic insight and foresight +of the poet, which was at once his greatest good and evil genius. In +1856 appeared his translation of the works of Edgar Allan Poe; a +translation which may be said to have naturalized Poe in French +literature, where he has played a role curiously like that of Baudelaire +in Poe's native literature. The natural predisposition of Baudelaire, +which fitted him to be the French interpreter of Poe, rendered him also +peculiarly sensitive to Poe's mysteriously subtle yet rankly vigorous +charms; and he showed himself as sensitively responsive to these as he +had been to the exotic charms of the East. The influence upon his +intellectual development was decisive and final. His indebtedness to +Poe, or it might better be said, his identification with Poe, is visible +not only in his paradoxical manias, but in his poetry, and in his +theories of art and poetry set forth in his various essays and fugitive +prose expressions, and notably in his introduction to his translations +of the American author's works. + +In 1857 appeared the "Fleurs du Mal" (Flowers of Evil), the volume of +poems upon which Baudelaire's fame as a poet is founded. It was the +result of his thirty years' devotion to the study of his art and +meditation upon it. Six of the poems were suppressed by the censor of +the Second Empire. This action called out, in form of protest, that fine +appreciation and defense of Baudelaire's genius and best defense of his +methods, by four of the foremost critics and keenest artists in poetry +of Paris, which form, with the letters from Sainte-Beuve, de Custine, +and Deschamps, a precious appendix to the third edition of the poems. + +The name 'Flowers of Evil' is a sufficient indication of the intentions +and aim of the author. Their companions in the volume are: 'Spleen and +Ideal,' 'Parisian Pictures,' 'Wine,' 'Revolt,' 'Death.' The simplest +description of them is that they are indescribable. They must not only +be read, they must be studied repeatedly to be understood as they +deserve. The paradox of their most exquisite art, and their at times +most revolting revelations of the degradations and perversities of +humanity, can be accepted with full appreciation of the author's meaning +only by granting the same paradox to his genuine nature; by crediting +him with being not only an ardent idealist of art for art's sake, but an +idealist of humanity for humanity's sake; one to whom humanity, even in +its lowest degradations and vilest perversions, is sublimely +sacred;--one to whom life offered but one tragedy, that of human souls +flying like Cain from a guilt-stricken paradise, but pursued by the +remorse of innocence, and scourged by the consciousness of their own +infinitude. + +But the poet's own words are the best explanation of his aim and +intention:-- + + "Poetry, though one delve ever so little into his own self, + interrogate his own soul, recall his memories of enthusiasms, + has no other end than itself; it cannot have any other aim, + and no poem will be so great, so noble, so truly worthy of + the name of poem, as that which shall have been written + solely for the pleasure of writing a poem. I do not wish to + say that poetry should not ennoble manners--that its final + result should not be to raise man above vulgar interests. + That would be an evident absurdity. I say that if the poet + has pursued a moral end, he has diminished his poetic force, + and it would not be imprudent to wager that his work would be + bad. Poetry cannot, under penalty of death or forfeiture, + assimilate itself to science or morality. It has not Truth + for object, it has only itself. Truth's modes of + demonstration are different and elsewhere. Truth has nothing + to do with ballads; all that constitutes the charm, the + irresistible grace of a ballad, would strip Truth of its + authority and power. Cold, calm, impassive, the demonstrative + temperament rejects the diamonds and flowers of the muse; it + is, therefore, the absolute inverse of the poetic + temperament. Pure Intellect aims at Truth, Taste shows us + Beauty, and the Moral Sense teaches us Duty. It is true that + the middle term has intimate connection with the two + extremes, and only separates itself from Moral Sense by a + difference so slight that Aristotle did not hesitate to + class some of its delicate operations amongst the virtues. + And accordingly what, above all, exasperates the man of taste + is the spectacle of vice, is its deformity, its + disproportions. Vice threatens the just and true, and revolts + intellect and conscience; but as an outrage upon harmony, as + dissonance, it would particularly wound certain poetic minds, + and I do not think it would be scandal to consider all + infractions of moral beauty as a species of sin against + rhythm and universal prosody. + + "It is this admirable, this immortal instinct of the + Beautiful which makes us consider the earth and its spectacle + as a sketch, as a correspondent of Heaven. The insatiable + thirst for all that is beyond that which life veils is the + most living proof of our immortality. It is at once by poetry + and across it, across and through music, that the soul gets a + glimpse of the splendors that lie beyond the tomb. And when + an exquisite poem causes tears to rise in the eye, these + tears are not the proof of excessive enjoyment, but rather + the testimony of a moved melancholy, of a postulation of the + nerves, of a nature exiled in the imperfect, which wishes to + take immediate possession, even on earth, of a + revealed paradise. + + "Thus the principle of poetry is strictly and simply human + aspiration toward superior beauty; and the manifestation of + this principle is enthusiasm and uplifting of the + soul,--enthusiasm entirely independent of passion,--which is + the intoxication of heart, and of truth which is the food of + reason. For passion is a natural thing, even too natural not + to introduce a wounding, discordant tone into the domain of + pure beauty; too familiar, too violent, not to shock the pure + Desires, the gracious Melancholies, and the noble Despairs + which inhabit the supernatural regions of poetry." + +Baudelaire saw himself as the poet of a decadent epoch, an epoch in +which art had arrived at the over-ripened maturity of an aging +civilization; a glowing, savorous, fragrant over-ripeness, that is +already softening into decomposition. And to be the fitting poet of such +an epoch, he modeled his style on that of the poets of the Latin +decadence; for, as he expressed it for himself and for the modern school +of "decadents" in French poetry founded upon his name:-- + + "Does it not seem to the reader, as to me, that the language + of the last Latin decadence--that supreme sigh of a robust + person already transformed and prepared for spiritual + life--is singularly fitted to express passion as it is + understood and felt by the modern world? Mysticism is the + other end of the magnet of which Catullus and his band, + brutal and purely epidermic poets, knew only the sensual + pole. In this wonderful language, solecisms and barbarisms + seem to express the forced carelessness of a passion which + forgets itself, and mocks at rules. The words, used in a + novel sense, reveal the charming awkwardness of a barbarian + from the North, kneeling before Roman Beauty." + +Nature, the nature of Wordsworth and Tennyson, did not exist for +Baudelaire; inspiration he denied; simplicity he scouted as an +anachronism in a decadent period of perfected art, whose last word in +poetry should be the apotheosis of the Artificial. "A little +charlatanism is permitted even to genius," he wrote: "it is like fard on +the cheeks of a naturally beautiful woman; an appetizer for the mind." +Again he expresses himself: + + "It seems to me, two women are presented to me, one a rustic + matron, repulsive in health and virtue, without manners, + without expression; in short, owing nothing except to simple + nature;--the other, one of those beauties that dominate and + oppress memory, uniting to her original and unfathomable + charms all the eloquence of dress; who is mistress of her + part, conscious of and queen of herself, speaking like an + instrument well tuned; with looks freighted with thought, yet + letting flow only what she would. My choice would not be + doubtful; and yet there are pedagogic sphinxes who would + reproach me as recreant to classical honor." + +In music it was the same choice. He saw the consummate art and +artificiality of Wagner, and preferred it to all other music, at a time +when the German master was ignored and despised by a classicized musical +world. In perfumes it was not the simple fragrance of the rose or violet +that he loved, but musk and amber; and he said, "my soul hovers over +perfumes as the souls of other men hover over music." + +Besides his essays and sketches, Baudelaire published in prose a +novelette; 'Fanfarlo,' 'Artificial Paradises,' opium and hashish, +imitations of De Quincey's 'Confessions of an Opium Eater'; and 'Little +Prose Poems,' also inspired by a book, the 'Gaspard de la Nuit' of +Aloysius Bertrand, and which Baudelaire thus describes:-- + + "The idea came to me to attempt something analogous, and to + apply to the description of modern life, or rather a modern + and more abstract life, the methods he had applied to the + painting of ancient life, so strangely picturesque. Which one + of us in his ambitious days has not dreamed of a miracle of + poetic prose, musical, without rhythm and without rhyme, + supple enough and rugged enough to adapt itself to the + lyrical movements of the soul, to the undulations of reverie, + and to the assaults of conscience?" + +Failing health induced Baudelaire to quit Paris and establish himself in +Brussels; but he received no benefit from the change of climate, and the +first symptoms of his terrible malady manifested themselves--a slowness +of speech, and hesitation over words. As a slow and sententious +enunciation was characteristic of him, the symptoms attracted no +attention, until he fell under a sudden and violent attack. He was +brought back to Paris and conveyed to a "maison de sante," where he +died, after lingering several months in a paralyzed condition, +motionless, speechless; nothing alive in him but thought, seeking to +express itself through his eyes. + +The nature of Baudelaire's malady and death was, by the public at large, +accepted as confirmation of the suspicion that he was in the habit of +seeking his inspiration in the excitation of hashish and opium. His +friends, however, recall the fact of his incessant work, and intense +striving after his ideal in art; his fatigue of body and mind, and his +increasing weariness of spirit under the accumulating worries and griefs +of a life for which his very genius unfitted him. He was also known to +be sober in his tastes, as all great workers are. That he had lent +himself more than once to the physiological and psychological experiment +of hashish was admitted; but he was a rare visitor at the seances in the +saloon of the Hotel Pimodau, and came as a simple observer of others. +His masterly description of the hallucinations produced by hashish is +accompanied by analytical and moral commentaries which unmistakably +express repugnance to and condemnation of the drug:-- + + "Admitting for the moment," he writes, "the hypothesis of a + constitution tempered enough and strong enough to resist the + evil effects of the perfidious drug, another, a fatal and + terrible danger, must be thought of,--that of habit. He who + has recourse to a poison to enable him to think, will soon + not be able to think without the poison. Imagine the horrible + fate of a man whose paralyzed imagination is unable to work + without the aid of hashish or opium.... But man is not so + deprived of honest means of gaining heaven, that he is + obliged to invoke the aid of pharmacy or witchcraft; he need + not sell his soul in order to pay for the intoxicating + caresses and the love of houris. What is a paradise that one + purchases at the expense of one's own soul?... Unfortunate + wretches who have neither fasted nor prayed, and who have + refused the redemption of labor, ask from black magic the + means to elevate themselves at a single stroke to a + supernatural existence. Magic dupes them, and lights for them + a false happiness and a false light; while we, poets and + philosophers, who have regenerated our souls by incessant + work and contemplation, by the assiduous exercise of the will + and permanent nobility of intention, we have created for our + use a garden of true beauty. Confiding in the words that + 'faith will remove mountains,' we have accomplished the one + miracle for which God has given us license." + +The perfect art-form of Baudelaire's poems makes translation of them +indeed a literal impossibility. The 'Little Old Women,' 'The Voyage,' +'The Voyage to Cytherea,' 'A Red-haired Beggar-girl,' 'The Seven Old +Men,' and sonnet after sonnet in 'Spleen and Ideal,' seem to rise only +more and more ineffable from every attempt to filter them through +another language, or through another mind than that of their original, +and, it would seem, one possible creator. + +[Illustration: Manuscript signature here: Grace King] + + + MEDITATION + + Be pitiful, my sorrow--be thou still: + For night thy thirst was--lo, it falleth down, + Slowly darkening it veils the town, + Bringing its peace to some, to some its ill. + + While the dull herd in its mad career + Under the pitiless scourge, the lash of unclean desire, + Goes culling remorse with fingers that never tire:-- + My sorrow,--thy hand! Come, sit thou by me here. + + Here, far from them all. From heaven's high balconies + See! in their threadbare robes the dead years cast their eyes: + And from the depths below regret's wan smiles appear. + + The sun, about to set, under the arch sinks low, + Trailing its weltering pall far through the East aglow. + Hark, dear one, hark! Sweet night's approach is near. + + Translated for the 'Library of the World's Best Literature.' + + + THE DEATH OF THE POOR + + This is death the consoler--death that bids live again; + Here life its aim: here is our hope to be found, + Making, like magic elixir, our poor weak heads to swim round, + And giving us heart for the struggle till night makes end of the pain. + + Athwart the hurricane--athwart the snow and the sleet, + Afar there twinkles over the black earth's waste, + The light of the Scriptural inn where the weary and the faint may + taste + The sweets of welcome, the plenteous feast and the secure retreat. + + It is an angel, in whose soothing palms + Are held the boon of sleep and dreamy balms, + Who makes a bed for poor unclothed men; + It is the pride of the gods--the all-mysterious room, + The pauper's purse--this fatherland of gloom, + The open gate to heaven, and heavens beyond our ken. + + Translated for the 'Library of the World's Best Literature.' + +[Illustration: _Copyright 1895, by the Photographische Gesellschaft_] +_MUSIC_. Photogravure from a Painting by J.M. Strudwick. + + + MUSIC + + Sweet music sweeps me like the sea + Toward my pale star, + Whether the clouds be there or all the air be free + I sail afar. + With front outspread and swelling breasts, + On swifter sail + I bound through the steep waves' foamy crests + Under night's veil. + Vibrate within me I feel all the passions that lash + A bark in distress: + By the blast I am lulled--by the tempest's wild crash + On the salt wilderness. + Then comes the dead calm--mirrored there + I behold my despair. + + Translated for the 'Library of the World's Best Literature.' + + + THE BROKEN BELL + + Bitter and sweet, when wintry evenings fall + Across the quivering, smoking hearth, to hear + Old memory's notes sway softly far and near, + While ring the chimes across the gray fog's pall. + + Thrice blessed bell, that, to time insolent, + Still calls afar its old and pious song, + Responding faithfully in accents strong, + Like some old sentinel before his tent. + + I too--my soul is shattered;--when at times + It would beguile the wintry nights with rhymes + Of old, its weak old voice at moments seems + Like gasps some poor, forgotten soldier heaves + Beside the blood-pools--'neath the human sheaves + Gasping in anguish toward their fixed dreams. + + Translated for the 'Library of the World's Best Literature.' + +The two poems following are used by permission of the J.B. Lippincott +Company. + + + THE ENEMY + + My youth swept by in storm and cloudy gloom, + Lit here and there by glimpses of the sun; + But in my garden, now the storm is done, + Few fruits are left to gather purple bloom. + + Here have I touched the autumn of the mind; + And now the careful spade to labor comes, + Smoothing the earth torn by the waves and wind, + Full of great holes, like open mouths of tombs. + + And who knows if the flowers whereof I dream + Shall find, beneath this soil washed like the stream, + The force that bids them into beauty start? + O grief! O grief! Time eats our life away, + And the dark Enemy that gnaws our heart + Grows with the ebbing life-blood of his prey! + + Translation of Miss Katharine Hillard. + + + BEAUTY + + Beautiful am I as a dream in stone; + And for my breast, where each falls bruised in turn, + The poet with an endless love must yearn-- + Endless as Matter, silent and alone. + + A sphinx unguessed, enthroned in azure skies, + White as the swan, my heart is cold as snow; + No hated motion breaks my lines' pure flow, + Nor tears nor laughter ever dim mine eyes. + + Poets, before the attitudes sublime + I seem to steal from proudest monuments, + In austere studies waste the ling'ring time; + For I possess, to charm my lover's sight, + Mirrors wherein all things are fair and bright-- + My eyes, my large eyes of eternal light! + + Translation of Miss Katharine Hillard. + + + DEATH + + Ho, Death, Boatman Death, it is time we set sail; + Up anchor, away from this region of blight: + Though ocean and sky are like ink for the gale, + Thou knowest our hearts are consoled with the light. + + Thy poison pour out--it will comfort us well; + Yea--for the fire that burns in our brain + We would plunge through the depth, be it heaven or hell, + Through the fathomless gulf--the new vision to gain. + + Translated for the 'Library of the World's Best Literature.' + + +THE PAINTER OF MODERN LIFE + +From 'L'Art Romantique' + +The crowd is his domain, as the air is that of the bird and the water +that of the fish. His passion and his profession is "to wed the crowd." +For the perfect _flaneur_, for the passionate observer, it is an immense +pleasure to choose his home in number, change, motion, in the fleeting +and the infinite. To be away from one's home and yet to be always at +home; to be in the midst of the world, to see it, and yet to be hidden +from it; such are some of the least pleasures of these independent, +passionate, impartial minds which language can but awkwardly define. The +observer is a prince who everywhere enjoys his incognito. The amateur of +life makes the world his family, as the lover of the fair sex makes his +family of all beauties, discovered, discoverable, and indiscoverable, as +the lover of painting lives in an enchanted dreamland painted on canvas. +Thus the man who is in love with all life goes into a crowd as into an +immense electric battery. One might also compare him to a mirror as +immense as the crowd; to a conscious kaleidoscope which in each movement +represents the multiform life and the moving grace of all life's +elements. He is an ego insatiably hungry for the non-ego, every moment +rendering it and expressing it in images more vital than life itself, +which is always unstable and fugitive. "Any man," said Mr. G---- one +day, in one of those conversations which he lights up with intense look +and vivid gesture, "any man, not overcome by a sorrow so heavy that it +absorbs all the faculties, who is bored in the midst of a crowd is a +fool, a fool, and I despise him." + +When Mr. G---- awakens and sees the blustering sun attacking the +window-panes, he says with remorse, with regret:--"What imperial order! +What a trumpet flourish of light! For hours already there has been light +everywhere, light lost by my sleep! How many lighted objects I might +have seen and have not seen!" And then he starts off, he watches in its +flow the river of vitality, so majestic and so brilliant. He admires the +eternal beauty and the astonishing harmony of life in great cities, a +harmony maintained in so providential a way in the tumult of human +liberty. He contemplates the landscapes of the great city, landscapes of +stone caressed by the mist or struck by the blows of the sun. He enjoys +the fine carriages, the fiery horses, the shining neatness of the +grooms, the dexterity of the valets, the walk of the gliding women, of +the beautiful children, happy that they are alive and dressed; in a +word, he enjoys the universal life. If a fashion, the cut of a piece of +clothing has been slightly changed, if bunches of ribbon or buckles have +been displaced by cockades, if the bonnet is larger and the back hair a +notch lower on the neck, if the waist is higher and the skirt fuller, be +sure that his eagle eye will see it at an enormous distance. A regiment +passes, going perhaps to the end of the earth, throwing into the air of +the boulevards the flourish of trumpets compelling and light as hope; +the eye of Mr. G---- has already seen, studied, analyzed the arms, the +gait, the physiognomy of the troop. Trappings, scintillations, music, +firm looks, heavy and serious mustaches, all enters pell-mell into him, +and in a few moments the resulting poem will be virtually composed. His +soul is alive with the soul of this regiment which is marching like a +single animal, the proud image of joy in obedience! + +But evening has come. It is the strange, uncertain hour at which the +curtains of the sky are drawn and the cities are lighted. The gas throws +spots on the purple of the sunset. Honest or dishonest, sane or mad, men +say to themselves, "At last the day is at an end!" The wise and the +good-for-nothing think of pleasure, and each hurries to the place of his +choice to drink the cup of pleasure. Mr. G---- will be the last to leave +any place where the light may blaze, where poetry may throb, where life +may tingle, where music may vibrate, where a passion may strike an +attitude for his eye, where the man of nature and the man of convention +show themselves in a strange light, where the sun lights up the rapid +joys of fallen creatures! "A day well spent," says a kind of reader whom +we all know, "any one of us has genius enough to spend a day that way." +No! Few men are gifted with the power to see; still fewer have the power +of expression. Now, at the hour when others are asleep, this man is bent +over his table, darting on his paper the same look which a short time +ago he was casting on the world, battling with his pencil, his pen, his +brush, throwing the water out of his glass against the ceiling, wiping +his pen on his shirt,--driven, violent, active, as if he fears that his +images will escape him, a quarreler although alone,--a cudgeler of +himself. And the things he has seen are born again upon the paper, +natural and more than natural, beautiful and more than beautiful, +singular and endowed with an enthusiastic life like the soul of the +author. The phantasmagoria have been distilled from nature. All the +materials with which his memory is crowded become classified, orderly, +harmonious, and undergo that compulsory idealization which is the result +of a childlike perception, that is to say, of a perception that is keen, +magical by force of ingenuousness. + + +MODERNNESS + +Thus he goes, he runs, he seeks. What does he seek? Certainly this man, +such as I have portrayed him, this solitary, gifted with an active +imagination, always traveling through the great desert of mankind, has a +higher end than that of a mere observer, an end more general than the +fugitive pleasure of the passing event. He seeks this thing which we may +call modernness, for no better word to express the idea presents itself. +His object is to detach from fashion whatever it may contain of the +poetry in history, to draw the eternal from the transitory. If we glance +at the exhibitions of modern pictures, we are struck with the general +tendency of the artists to dress all their subjects in ancient costumes. +That is obviously the sign of great laziness, for it is much easier to +declare that everything in the costume of a certain period is ugly than +to undertake the work of extracting from it the mysterious beauty which +may be contained in it, however slight or light it may be. The modern is +the transitory, the fleeting, the contingent, the half of art, whose +other half is the unchanging and the eternal. There was a modernness for +every ancient painter; most of the beautiful portraits which remain to +us from earlier times are dressed in the costumes of their times. They +are perfectly harmonious, because the costumes, the hair, even the +gesture, the look and the smile (every epoch has its look and its +smile), form a whole that is entirely lifelike. You have no right to +despise or neglect this transitory, fleeting element, of which the +changes are so frequent. In suppressing it you fall by necessity into +the void of an abstract and undefinable beauty, like that of the only +woman before the fall. If instead of the costume of the epoch, which is +a necessary element, you substitute another, you create an anomaly which +can have no excuse unless it is a burlesque called for by the vogue of +the moment. Thus, the goddesses, the nymphs, the sultans of the +eighteenth century are portraits morally accurate. + + +FROM 'LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE' + +EVERY ONE HIS OWN CHIMERA + +Under a great gray sky, in a great powdery plain without roads, without +grass, without a thistle, without a nettle, I met several men who were +walking with heads bowed down. + +Each one bore upon his back an enormous Chimera, as heavy as a bag of +flour or coal, or the accoutrements of a Roman soldier. + +But the monstrous beast was not an inert weight; on the contrary, it +enveloped and oppressed the man with its elastic and mighty muscles; it +fastened with its two vast claws to the breast of the bearer, and its +fabulous head surmounted the brow of the man, like one of those horrible +helmets by which the ancient warriors hoped to increase the terror of +the enemy. + +I questioned one of these men, and I asked him whither they were bound +thus. He answered that he knew not, neither he nor the others; but that +evidently they were bound somewhere, since they were impelled by an +irresistible desire to go forward. + +It is curious to note that not one of these travelers looked irritated +at the ferocious beast suspended from his neck and glued against his +back; it seemed as though he considered it as making part of himself. +None of these weary and serious faces bore witness to any despair; under +the sullen cupola of the sky, their feet plunging into the dust of a +soil as desolate as that sky, they went their way with the resigned +countenances of those who have condemned themselves to hope forever. + +The procession passed by me and sank into the horizon's atmosphere, +where the rounded surface of the planet slips from the curiosity of +human sight, and for a few moments I obstinately persisted in wishing to +fathom the mystery; but soon an irresistible indifference fell upon me, +and I felt more heavily oppressed by it than even they were by their +crushing Chimeras. + + +HUMANITY + +At the feet of a colossal Venus, one of those artificial fools, those +voluntary buffoons whose duty was to make kings laugh when Remorse or +Ennui possessed their souls, muffled in a glaring ridiculous costume, +crowned with horns and bells, and crouched against the pedestal, raised +his eyes full of tears toward the immortal goddess. And his eyes +said:--"I am the least and the most solitary of human beings, deprived +of love and of friendship, and therefore far below the most imperfect of +the animals. Nevertheless, I am made, even I, to feel and comprehend the +immortal Beauty! Ah, goddess! have pity on my sorrow and my despair!" +But the implacable Venus gazed into the distance, at I know not what, +with her marble eyes. + + +WINDOWS + +He who looks from without through an open window never sees as many +things as he who looks at a closed window. There is no object more +profound, more mysterious, more rich, more shadowy, more dazzling than a +window lighted by a candle. What one can see in the sunlight is always +less interesting than what takes place behind a blind. In that dark or +luminous hole life lives, dreams, suffers. + +Over the sea of roofs I see a woman, mature, already wrinkled, always +bent over something, never going out. From her clothes, her movement, +from almost nothing, I have reconstructed the history of this woman, or +rather her legend, and sometimes I tell it over to myself in tears. + +If it had been a poor old man I could have reconstructed his story as +easily. + +And I go to bed, proud of having lived and suffered in lives not my own. + +Perhaps you may say, "Are you sure that this story is the true one?" +What difference does it make what is the reality outside of me, if it +has helped me to live, to know who I am and what I am? + + +DRINK + +One should be always drunk. That is all, the whole question. In order +not to feel the horrible burden of Time, which is breaking your +shoulders and bearing you to earth, you must be drunk without cease. + +But drunk on what? On wine, poetry, or virtue, as you choose. But get +drunk. + +And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass of a +moat, in the dull solitude of your chamber, you awake with your +intoxication already lessened or gone, ask of the wind, the wave, the +star, the clock, of everything that flies, sobs, rolls, sings, talks, +what is the hour? and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock +will answer, "It is the hour to get drunk!" Not to be the martyred slave +of Time, get drunk; get drunk unceasingly. Wine, poetry, or virtue, as +you choose. + + +FROM A JOURNAL + +I swear to myself henceforth to adopt the following rules as the +everlasting rules of my life.... To pray every morning to God, the +Fountain of all strength and of all justice; to my father, to Mariette, +and to Poe. To pray to them to give me necessary strength to accomplish +all my tasks, and to grant my mother a life long enough to enjoy my +reformation. To work all day, or at least as long as my strength lasts. +To trust to God--that is to say, to Justice itself--for the success of +my projects. To pray again every evening to God to ask Him for life and +strength, for my mother and myself. To divide all my earnings into four +parts--one for my daily expenses, one for my creditors, one for my +friends, and one for my mother. To keep to principles of strict +sobriety, and to banish all and every stimulant. + + + + +LORD BEACONSFIELD + +(1804-1881) + +BY ISA CARRINGTON CABELL + + +Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, born in London, December, 1804; +died there April 19th, 1881. His paternal ancestors were of the house of +Lara, and held high rank among Hebrew-Spanish nobles till the tribunal +of Torquemada drove them from Spain to Venice. There, proud of their +race and origin, they styled themselves, "Sons of Israel," and became +merchant princes. But the city's commerce failing, the grandfather of +Benjamin Disraeli removed to London with a diminished but comfortable +fortune. His son, Isaac Disraeli, was a well-known literary man, and the +author of 'The Curiosities of Literature.' On account of the political +and social ostracism of the Jews in England, he had all his family +baptized into the Church of England; but with Benjamin Disraeli +especially, Christianity was never more than Judaism developed. His +belief and his affections were in his own race. + +[Illustration: Lord Beaconsfield] + +Benjamin, like most Jewish youths, was educated in private schools, and +at seventeen entered a solicitor's office. At twenty-two he published +'Vivian Grey' (London, 1826), which readable and amusing take-off of +London society gave him great and instantaneous notoriety. Its minute +descriptions of the great world, its caricatures of well-known social +and political personages, its magnificent diction,--too magnificent to +be taken quite seriously,--excited inquiry; and the great world was +amazed to discover that the impertinent observer was not one of +themselves, but a boy in a lawyer's office. To add to the audacity, he +had conceived himself the hero of these diverting situations, and by his +cleverness had outwitted age, beauty, rank, diplomacy itself. + +Statesmen, poets, fine ladies, were all genuinely amused; and the author +bade fair to become a lion, when he fell ill, and was compelled to leave +England for a year or more, which he spent in travel on the Continent +and in Egypt, Nubia, and Palestine. His visit to the birthplace of his +race made an impression on him that lasted through his life and +literature. It is embodied in his 'Letters to His Sister' (London, +1843), and the autobiographical novel 'Contarini Fleming' (1833), in +which he turned his adventures into fervid English, at a guinea a +volume. But although the spirit of poesy, in the form of a Childe +Harold, stalks rampant through the romance, there is both feeling and +fidelity to nature whenever he describes the Orient and its people. Then +the bizarre, brilliant _poseur_ forgets his role, and reveals his +highest aspirations. + +When Disraeli returned to London he became the fashion. Everybody, from +the prime minister to Count D'Orsay, had read his clever novels. The +poets praised them, Lady Blessington invited him to dine, Sir Robert +Peel was "most gracious." + +But literary success could never satisfy Disraeli's ambition: a seat in +Parliament was at the end of his rainbow. He professed himself a +radical, but he was a radical in his own sense of the term; and like his +own Sidonia, half foreigner, half looker-on, he felt himself endowed +with an insight only possible to, an outsider, an observer without +inherited prepossessions. + +Several contemporary sketches of Disraeli at this time have been +preserved. His dress was purposed affectation; it led the beholder to +look for folly only: and when the brilliant flash came, it was the more +startling as unexpected from such a figure. Lady Dufferin told Mr. +Motley that when she met Disraeli at dinner, he wore a black-velvet coat +lined with satin, purple trousers with a gold band running down the +outside seam, a scarlet waistcoat, long lace ruffles falling down to the +tips of his fingers, white gloves with several rings outside, and long +black ringlets rippling down his shoulders. She told him he had made a +fool of himself by appearing in such a dress, but she did not guess why +it had been adopted. Another contemporary says of him, "When duly +excited, his command of language was wonderful, his power of sarcasm +unsurpassed." + +He was busy making speeches and writing political squibs for the next +two years; for Parliament was before his eyes. "He knew," says Froude, +"he had a devil of a tongue, and was unincumbered by the foolish form of +vanity called modesty." 'Ixion in Heaven,' 'The Infernal Marriage,' and +'Popanilla' were attempts to rival both Lucian and Swift on their own +ground. It is doubtful, however, whether he would have risked writing +'Henrietta Temple' (1837) and 'Venetia' (1837), two ardent love stories, +had he not been in debt; for notoriety as a novelist is not always a +recommendation to a constituency. + +In 'Henrietta' he found an opportunity to write the biography of a lover +oppressed by duns. It is a most entertaining novel even to a reader who +does not read for a new light on the great statesman, and is remarkable +as the beginning of what is now known as the "natural" manner; a revolt, +his admirers tell us, from the stilted fashion of making love that then +prevailed in novels. + +'Venetia' is founded on the characters of Byron and Shelley, and is +amusing reading. The high-flown language incrusted with the gems of +rhetoric excites our risibilities, but it is not safe to laugh at +Disraeli; in his most diverting aspects he has a deep sense of humor, +and he who would mock at him is apt to get a whip across the face at an +unguarded moment. Mr. Disraeli laughs in his sleeve at many things, but +first of all at the reader. + +He failed in his canvass for his seat at High Wycombe, but he turned his +failure to good account, and established a reputation for pluck and +influence. "A mighty independent personage," observed Charles Greville, +and his famous quarrel with O'Connell did him so little harm that in +1837 he was returned for Maidstone. His first speech was a failure. The +word had gone out that he was to be put down. At last, finding it +useless to persist, he said he was not surprised at the reception he had +experienced. He had begun several things many times and had succeeded at +last. Then pausing, and looking indignantly across the house, he +exclaimed in a loud and remarkable tone, "I will sit down now, but the +time will come when you will hear me." + +He married the widow of his patron, Wyndham Lewis, in 1838. This put him +in possession of a fortune, and gave him the power to continue his +political career. His radicalism was a thing of the past. He had drifted +from Conservatism, with Peel for a leader, to aristocratic socialism; +and in 1844, 1845, and 1847 appeared the Trilogy, as he styled the +novels 'Coningsby,' 'Tancred,' and 'Sibyl.' Of the three, 'Coningsby' +will prove the most entertaining to the modern reader. The hero is a +gentleman, and in this respect is an improvement on Vivian Grey, for his +audacity is tempered by good breeding. The plot is slight, but the +scenes are entertaining. The famous Sidonia, the Jew financier, is a +favorite with the author, and betrays his affection and respect for +race. Lord Monmouth, the wild peer, is a rival of the "Marquis of +Steyne" and worthy of a place in 'Vanity Fair'; the political intriguers +are photographed from life, the pictures of fashionable London tickle +both the vanity and the fancy of the reader. + +'Sibyl' is too clearly a novel with a motive to give so much pleasure. +It is a study of the contrasts between the lives of the very rich and +the hopelessly poor, and an attempt to show the superior condition of +the latter when the Catholic Church was all-powerful in England and the +king an absolute monarch. + +'Tancred' was composed when Disraeli was under "the illusion of a +possibly regenerated aristocracy." He sends Tancred, the hero, the heir +of a ducal house, to Palestine to find the inspiration to a true +religious belief, and details his adventures with a power of sarcasm +that is seldom equaled. In certain scenes in this novel the author rises +from a mere mocker to a genuine satirist. Tancred's interview with the +bishop, in which he takes that dignitary's religious tenets seriously; +that with Lady Constance, when she explains the "Mystery of Chaos" and +shows how "the stars are formed out of the cream of the Milky Way, a +sort of celestial cheese churned into light" the vision of the angels on +Mt. Sinai, and the celestial Sidonia who talks about the "Sublime and +Solacing Doctrine of Theocratic Equality,"--all these are passages where +we wonder whether the author sneered or blushed when he wrote. Certainly +what has since been known as the Disraelian irony stings as we turn +each page. + +Meanwhile Disraeli had become a power in Parliament, and the bitter +opponent of Peel, under whom Catholic emancipation, parliamentary +reform, and the abrogation of the commercial system, had been carried +without conditions and almost without mitigations. + +Disraeli's assaults on his leader delighted the Liberals; the country +members felt indignant satisfaction at the deserved chastisement of +their betrayer. With malicious skill, Disraeli touched one after another +the weak points in a character that was superficially vulnerable. +Finally the point before the House became Peel's general conduct. He was +beaten by an overwhelming majority, and to the hand that dethroned him +descended the task of building up the ruins of the Conservative party. +Disraeli's best friends felt this a welcome necessity. There is no +example of a rise so sudden under such conditions. His politics were as +much distrusted as his serious literary passages. But Disraeli was the +single person equal to the task. For the next twenty-five years he led +the Conservative opposition in the House of Commons, varied by short +intervals of power. He was three times Chancellor of the Exchequer, +1853, 1858, and 1859; and on Lord Derby's retirement in 1868 he became +Prime Minister. + +In 1870, having laid aside novel-writing for twenty years, he published +'Lothair.' It is a politico-religious romance aimed at the Jesuits, the +Fenians, and the Communists. It had an instantaneous success, for its +author was the most conspicuous figure in Europe, but its popularity is +also due to its own merits. We are all of us snobs after a fashion and +love high society. The glory of entering the splendid portals of the +real English dukes and duchesses seems to be ours when Disraeli throws +open the magic door and ushers the reader in. The decorations do not +seem tawdry, nor the tinsel other than real. We move with pleasurable +excitement with Lothair from palace to castle, and thence to +battle-field and scenes of dark intrigue. The hint of the love affair +with the Olympian Theodora appeals to our romance; the circumventing of +the wily Cardinal and his accomplices is agreeable to the Anglo-Saxon +Protestant mind; their discomfiture, and the crowning of virtue in the +shape of a rescued Lothair married to the English Duke's daughter with +the fixed Church of England views, is what the reader expects and prays +for, and is the last privilege of the real story-teller. That the author +has thrown aside his proclivities for Romanism as he showed them in +'Sibyl,' no more disturbs us than the eccentricities of his politics. We +do not quite give him our faith when he is most in earnest, talking +Semitic Arianism on Mt. Sinai. + +A peerage was offered to him in 1868. He refused it for himself, but +asked Queen Victoria to grant the honor to his wife, who became the +Countess of Beaconsfield. But in 1876 he accepted the rank and title of +Earl of Beaconsfield. The author of 'Vivian Grey' received the title +that Burke had refused. + +His last novel, 'Endymion,' was written for the L10,000 its publishers +paid for it. It adds nothing to his fame, but is an agreeable picture of +fashionable London life and the struggles of a youth to gain power +and place. + +Lord Beaconsfield put more dukes, earls, lords and ladies, more gold and +jewels, more splendor and wealth into his books than any one else ever +tried to do. But beside his Oriental delight in the display of luxury, +it is interesting to see the effect of that Orientalism when he +describes the people from whom he sprang. His rare tenderness and +genuine respect are for those of the race "that is the aristocracy of +nature, the purest race, the chosen people." He sends all his heroes to +Palestine for inspiration; wisdom dwells in her gates. Another +aristocracy, that of talent, he recognizes and applauds. No dullard ever +succeeds, no genius goes unrewarded. + +It is the part of the story-teller to make his story a probable one to +the listener, no matter how impossible both character and situation. Mr. +Disraeli was accredited with the faculty of persuading himself to +believe or disbelieve whatever he liked; and did he possess the same +power over his readers, these entertaining volumes would lift him to the +highest rank the novelist attains. As it is, he does not quite succeed +in creating an illusion, and we are conscious of two lobes in the +author's brain; in one sits a sentimentalist, in the other a +mocking devil. + +[Illustration: Signature: Isa Carrington Cabell.] + + +A DAY AT EMS + +From 'Vivian Grey' + +"I think we'd better take a little coffee now; and then, if you like, +we'll just stroll into the REDOUTE" [continued Baron de Konigstein]. + +In a brilliantly illuminated saloon, adorned with Corinthian columns, +and casts from some of the most famous antique statues, assembled +between nine and ten o'clock in the evening many of the visitors at Ems. +On each side of the room was placed a long, narrow table, one of which +was covered with green baize, and unattended, while the variously +colored leather surface of the other was very closely surrounded by an +interested crowd. Behind this table stood two individuals of very +different appearance. The first was a short, thick man, whose only +business was dealing certain portions of playing cards with quick +succession, one after the other; and as the fate of the table was +decided by this process, did his companion, an extremely tall, thin man, +throw various pieces of money upon certain stakes, which were deposited +by the bystanders on different parts of the table; or, which was more +often the case, with a silver rake with a long ebony handle, sweep into +a large inclosure near him the scattered sums. This inclosure was called +the bank, and the mysterious ceremony in which these persons were +assisting was the celebrated game of _rouge-et-noir._ A deep silence was +strictly observed by those who immediately surrounded the table; no +voice was heard save that of the little, short, stout dealer, when, +without an expression of the least interest, he seemed mechanically to +announce the fate of the different colors. No other sound was heard save +the jingle of the dollars and napoleons, and the ominous rake of the +tall, thin banker. The countenances of those who were hazarding their +money were grave and gloomy their eyes were fixed, their brows +contracted, and their lips projected; and yet there was an evident +effort visible to show that they were both easy and unconcerned. Each +player held in his hand a small piece of pasteboard, on which, with a +steel pricker, he marked the run of the cards, in order, from his +observations, to regulate his own play: the _rouge-et-noir_ player +imagines that chance is not capricious. Those who were not interested in +the game promenaded in two lines within the tables; or, seated in +recesses between the pillars, formed small parties for conversation. + +As Vivian and the baron entered, Lady Madeleine Trevor, leaning on the +arm of an elderly man, left the room; but as she was in earnest +conversation, she did not observe them. + +"I suppose we must throw away a dollar or two, Grey!" said the baron, as +he walked up to the table. + +"My dear De Konigstein--one pinch--one pinch!" + +"Ah! marquis, what fortune to-night?" + +"Bad--bad! I have lost my napoleon: I never risk further. There's that +cursed crusty old De Trumpetson, persisting, as usual, in his run of bad +luck, because he will never give in. Trust me, my dear De Konigstein, +it'll end in his ruin; and then, if there's a sale of his effects, I +shall perhaps get the snuff-box--a-a-h!" + +"Come, Grey; shall I throw down a couple of napoleons on joint account? +I don't care much for play myself; but I suppose at Ems we must make up +our minds to lose a few louis. Here! now for the red--joint +account, mind!" + +"Done." + +"There's the archduke! Let us go and make our bow; we needn't stick at +the table as if our whole soul were staked with our crown pieces--we'll +make our bow, and then return in time to know our fate." So saying, the +gentlemen walked up to the top of the room. + +"Why, Grey!--surely no--it cannot be--and yet it is. De Boeffleurs, how +d'ye do?" said the baron, with a face beaming with joy, and a hearty +shake of the hand. "My dear, dear fellow, how the devil did you manage +to get off so soon? I thought you were not to be here for a fortnight: +we only arrived ourselves to-day." + +"Yes--but I've made an arrangement which I did not anticipate; and so I +posted after you immediately. Whom do you think I have brought with me?" + +"Who?" + +"Salvinski." + +"Ah! And the count?" + +"Follows immediately. I expect him to-morrow or next day. Salvinski is +talking to the archduke; and see, he beckons to me. I suppose I am going +to be presented." + +The chevalier moved forward, followed by the baron and Vivian. + +"Any friend of Prince Salvinski I shall always have great pleasure in +having presented to me. Chevalier, I feel great pleasure in having you +presented to me! Chevalier, you ought to be proud of the name of +Frenchman. Chevalier, the French are a grand nation. Chevalier, I have +the highest respect for the French nation." + +"The most subtle diplomatist," thought Vivian, as he recalled to mind +his own introduction, "would be puzzled to decide to which interest his +imperial highness leans." + +The archduke now entered into conversation with the prince, and most of +the circle who surrounded him. As his highness was addressing Vivian, +the baron let slip our hero's arm, and seizing hold of the Chevalier de +Boeffleurs, began walking up and down the room with him, and was soon +engaged in very animated conversation. In a few minutes the archduke, +bowing to his circle, made a move and regained the side of a Saxon lady, +from whose interesting company he had been disturbed by the arrival of +Prince Salvinski--an individual of whose long stories and dull romances +the archduke had, from experience, a particular dread; but his highness +was always very courteous to the Poles. + +"Grey, I've dispatched De Boeffleurs to the house to instruct the +servant and Ernstorff to do the impossible, in order that our rooms may +be all together. You'll be delighted with De Boeffleurs when you know +him, and I expect you to be great friends. Oh! by the by, his unexpected +arrival has quite made us forget our venture at _rouge-et-noir._ Of +course we're too late now for anything; even if we had been fortunate, +our doubled stake, remaining on the table, is of course lost; we may as +well, however, walk up." So saying, the baron reached the table. + +"That is your excellency's stake!--that is your excellency's stake!" +exclaimed many voices as he came up. + +"What's the matter, my friends? what's the matter?" asked the baron, +very calmly. + +"There's been a run on the red! there's been a run on the red! +and your excellency's stake has doubled each time. It has been +4--8--16--32--64--128--256; and now it's 512!" quickly rattled a little +thin man in spectacles, pointing at the same time to his unparalleled +line of punctures. This was one of those officious, noisy little men, +who are always ready to give you unasked information on every possible +subject, and who are never so happy as when they are watching over the +interest of some stranger, who never thanks them for their unnecessary +solicitude. + +Vivian, in spite of his philosophy, felt the excitement and wonder of +the moment. He looked very earnestly at the baron, whose countenance, +however, remained perfectly unmoved. + +"Grey," said he, very coolly, "it seems we're in luck." + +"The stake's then not all your own?" very eagerly asked the little man +in spectacles. + +"No, part of it is yours, sir," answered the baron, very dryly. + +"I'm going to deal," said the short, thick man behind. "Is the board +cleared?" + +"Your excellency then allows the stake to remain?" inquired the tall, +thin banker, with affected nonchalance. + +"Oh! certainly," said the baron, with real nonchalance. + +"Three--eight--fourteen--twenty-four--thirty-four, Rouge 34--" + +All crowded nearer; the table was surrounded five or six deep, for the +wonderful run of luck had got wind, and nearly the whole room were round +the table. Indeed, the archduke and Saxon lady, and of course the silent +suite, were left alone at the upper part of the room. The tall banker +did not conceal his agitation. Even the short, stout dealer ceased to be +a machine. All looked anxious except the baron. Vivian looked at the +table; his excellency watched, with a keen eye, the little dealer. No +one even breathed as the cards descended. "Ten--twenty--" here the +countenance of the banker brightened--"twenty-two--twenty-five-- +twenty-eight--thirty-one'--Noir 31. The bank's broke; no +more play to-night. The roulette table opens immediately." + +In spite of the great interest which had been excited, nearly the whole +crowd, without waiting to congratulate the baron, rushed to the opposite +side of the room in order to secure places at the roulette table. + +"Put these five hundred and twelve Napoleons into a bag," said the +baron; "Grey, this is your share, and I congratulate you. With regard to +the other half, Mr. Hermann, what bills have you got?" + +"Two on Gogel's house of Frankfort--accepted of course--for two hundred +and fifty each, and these twelve napoleons will make it right," said the +tall banker, as he opened a large black pocket-book, from which he took +out two small bits of paper. The baron examined them, and after having +seen them indorsed, put them calmly into his pocket, not forgetting the +twelve napoleons; and then taking Vivian's arm, and regretting extremely +that he should have the trouble of carrying such a weight, he wished Mr. +Hermann a very good-night and success at his roulette, and walked with +his companion quietly home. Thus passed a day at Ems! + + +THE FESTA IN THE "ALHAMBRA" + +From 'The Young Duke' + +You entered the Alhambra by a Saracenic cloister, from the ceiling of +which an occasional lamp threw a gleam upon some Eastern arms hung up +against the wall. This passage led to the armory, a room of moderate +dimensions, but hung with rich contents. Many an inlaid +breastplate--many a Mameluke scimitar and Damascus blade--many a gemmed +pistol and pearl embroided saddle might there be seen, though viewed in +a subdued and quiet light. All seemed hushed and still, and shrouded in +what had the reputation of being a palace of pleasure. + +In this chamber assembled the expected guests. His Grace and the Bird of +Paradise arrived first, with their foreign friends. Lord Squib and Lord +Darrell, Sir Lucius Grafton, Mr. Annesley, and Mr. Peacock Piggott +followed, but not alone. There were two ladies who, by courtesy if no +other right, bore the titles of Lady Squib and Mrs. Annesley. There was +also a pseudo Lady Aphrodite Grafton. There was Mrs. Montfort, the +famous _blonde_, of a beauty which was quite ravishing, and dignified +as beautiful. Some said (but really people say such things) that there +was a talk (I never believe anything I hear) that had not the Bird of +Paradise flown in (these foreigners pick up everything), Mrs. Montfort +would have been the Duchess of St. James. How this may be I know not; +certain, however, this superb and stately donna did not openly evince +any spleen at her more fortunate rival. Although she found herself a +guest at the Alhambra instead of being the mistress of the palace, +probably, like many other ladies, she looked upon this affair of the +singing-bird as a freak that must end--and then perhaps his Grace, who +was a charming young man, would return to his senses. There also was +her sister, a long, fair girl, who looked sentimental, but was only +silly. There was a little French actress, like a highly finished +miniature; and a Spanish _danseuse_, tall, dusky, and lithe, glancing +like a lynx, and graceful as a jennet. + +Having all arrived, they proceeded down a small gallery to the +banqueting-room. The doors were thrown open. Pardon me if for a moment I +do not describe the chamber; but really, the blaze affects my sight. The +room was large and lofty. It was fitted up as an Eastern tent. The walls +were hung with scarlet cloth tied up with ropes of gold. Round the room +crouched recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paw a lance, +the top of which was a colored lamp. The ceiling was emblazoned with the +Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished gold. A cresset lamp was +suspended from the centre of the shield, and not only emitted an equable +flow of soft though brilliant light, but also, as the aromatic oil +wasted away, distilled an exquisite perfume. + +The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise loved +splendor. At the end of the room, under a canopy and upon a throne, the +shield and vases lately executed for his Grace now appeared. Everything +was gorgeous, costly, and imposing; but there was no pretense, save in +the original outline, at maintaining the Oriental character. The +furniture was French; and opposite the throne Canova's Hebe, by +Bertolini, bounded with a golden cup from a pedestal of _ormolu_. + +The guests are seated; but after a few minutes the servants withdraw. +Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb-waiters of ivory and gold, +conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion never leaves the room. +The repast was most refined, most exquisite, and most various. It was +one of those meetings where all eat. When a few persons, easy and +unconstrained, unincumbered with cares, and of dispositions addicted to +enjoyment, get together at past midnight, it is extraordinary what an +appetite they evince. Singers also are proverbially prone to gormandize; +and though the Bird of Paradise unfortunately possessed the smallest +mouth in all Singingland, it is astonishing how she pecked! But they +talked as well as feasted, and were really gay. It was amusing to +observe--that is to say, if you had been a dumb-waiter, and had time for +observation--how characteristic was the affectation of the women. Lady +Squib was witty, Mrs. Annesley refined, and the pseudo Lady Afy +fashionable. As for Mrs. Montfort, she was, as her wont, somewhat +silent but excessively sublime. The Spaniard said nothing, but no doubt +indicated the possession of Cervantic humor by the sly calmness with +which she exhausted her own waiter and pillaged her neighbors. The +little Frenchwoman scarcely ate anything, but drank champagne and +chatted, with equal rapidity and equal composure. + +"Prince," said the duke, "I hope Madame de Harestein approves of your +trip to England?" + +The prince only smiled, for he was of a silent disposition, and +therefore wonderfully well suited his traveling companion. + +"Poor Madame de Harestein!" exclaimed Count Frill. "What despair she was +in when you left Vienna, my dear duke. Ah! _mon Dieu!_ I did what I +could to amuse her. I used to take my guitar, and sing to her morning +and night, but without the least effect. She certainly would have died +of a broken heart, if it had not been for the dancing-dogs." + +"The dancing-dogs!" minced the pseudo Lady Aphrodite. "How shocking!" + +"Did they bite her?" asked Lady Squib, "and so inoculate her with +gayety?" + +"Oh! the dancing-dogs, my dear ladies! everybody was mad about the +dancing-dogs. They came from Peru, and danced the mazurka in green +jackets with a _jabot!_ Oh! what a _jabot!_" + +"I dislike animals excessively," remarked Mrs. Annesley. + +"Dislike the dancing-dogs!" said Count Frill. "Ah, my good lady, you +would have been enchanted. Even the kaiser fed them with pistachio nuts. +Oh, so pretty! delicate leetle things, soft shining little legs, and +pretty little faces! so sensible, and with such _jabots!_" + +"I assure you, they were excessively amusing," said the prince, in a +soft, confidential undertone to his neighbor, Mrs. Montfort, who, +admiring his silence, which she took for state, smiled and bowed with +fascinating condescension. + +"And what else has happened very remarkable, count, since I left you?" +asked Lord Darrell. + +"Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This _betise_ of a war has made us +all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that gipsy little +Dugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to Belgrade." + +"You should not eat so much, poppet," drawled Charles Annesley to the +Spaniard. + +"Why not?" said the little French lady, with great animation, always +ready to fight anybody's battle, provided she could get an opportunity +to talk. "Why not, Mr. Annesley? You never will let anybody eat--I never +eat myself, because every night, having to talk so much, I am dry, dry, +dry--so I drink, drink, drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there +is no language which makes you so thirsty as French. I always have heard +that all the southern languages, Spanish and Italian, make you hungry." + +"What can be the reason?" seriously asked the pseudo Lady Afy. + +"Because there is so much salt in it," said Lord Squib. + +"Delia," drawled Mr. Annesley, "you look very pretty to-night!" + +"I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you what Lord Bon +Mot said of you?" + +"No, _ma mignonne_! I never wish to hear my own good things." + +"_Spoiled_, you should add," said Lady Squib, "if Bon Mot be in the +case." + +"Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanly man," said Delia, indignant at an +admirer being attacked. "He always wants to be amusing. Whenever he +dines out, he comes and sits with me half an hour to catch the air of +Parisian badinage." + +"And you tell him a variety of little things?" asked Lord Squib, +insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot. + +"_Beaucoup, beaucoup_," said Delia, extending two little white hands +sparkling with gems. "If he come in ever so--how do you call it? +heavy--not that--in the domps--ah! it is that--if ever he come in the +domps, he goes out always like a _soufflee._" + +"As empty, I have no doubt," said Lady Squib. + +"And as sweet, I have no doubt," said Lord Squib; "for Delcroix +complains sadly of your excesses, Delia." + +"Mr. Delcroix complain of me! That, indeed, is too bad. Just because I +recommended Montmorency de Versailles to him for an excellent customer, +ever since he abuses me, merely because Montmorency has forgot, in the +hurry of going off, to pay his little account." + +"But he says you have got all the things," said Lord Squib, whose great +amusement was to put Delia in a passion. + +"What of that?" screamed the little lady. "Montmorency gave them to +me." + +"Don't make such a noise," said the Bird of Paradise. "I never can eat +when there is a noise. St. James," continued she, in a fretful tone, +"they make such a noise!" + +"Annesley, keep Squib quiet." + +"Delia, leave that young man alone. If Isidora would talk a little more, +and you eat a little more, I think you would be the most agreeable +little ladies I know. Poppet! put those _bonbons_ in your pocket. You +should never eat sugar-plums in company." + +Thus talking agreeable nonsense, tasting agreeable dishes, and sipping +agreeable wines, an hour ran on. Sweetest music from an unseen source +ever and anon sounded, and Spiridion swung a censer full of perfumes +around the chamber. At length the duke requested Count Frill to give +them a song. The Bird of Paradise would never sing for pleasure, only +for fame and a slight check. The count begged to decline, and at the +same time asked for a guitar. The signora sent for hers; and his +Excellency, preluding with a beautiful simper, gave them some slight +thing to this effect:-- + + Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! + What a gay little girl is charming Bignetta! + She dances, she prattles, + She rides and she rattles; + But she always is charming--that charming Bignetta! + + Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! + What a wild little witch is charming Bignetta! + When she smiles I'm all madness; + When she frowns I'm all sadness; + But she always is smiling--that charming Bignetta! + + Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! + What a wicked young rogue is charming Bignetta! + She laughs at my shyness, + And flirts with his highness; + Yet still she is charming--that charming Bignetta! + + Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! + What a dear little girl is charming Bignetta! + "Think me only a sister," + Said she trembling; I kissed her. + What a charming young sister is--charming Bignetta! + +He ceased; and although + + "--the Ferrarese + To choicer music chimed his gay guitar + In Este's halls," + +as Casti himself, or rather Mr. Rose, choicely sings, yet still his song +served its purpose, for it raised a smile. + +"I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Verona," said +Count Frill. "It has been thought amusing." + +"Madame Sapiepha!" exclaimed the Bird of Paradise. "What! that pretty +little woman who has such pretty caps?" + +"The same! Ah! what caps! _Mon Dieu!_ what taste! what taste!" + +"You like caps, then?" asked the Bird of Paradise, with a sparkling eye. + +"Oh! if there be anything more than other that I know most, it is the +cap. Here, _voici!_" said he, rather oddly unbuttoning his waistcoat, +"you see what lace I have got. _Voici! voici!_" + +"Ah! me! what lace! what lace!" exclaimed the Bird in rapture. "St. +James, look at his lace. Come here, come here, sit next me. Let me look +at that lace." She examined it with great attention, then turned up her +beautiful eyes with a fascinating smile. "_Ah! c'est jolie, n'est-ce +pas?_ But you like caps. I tell you what, you shall see my caps. +Spiridion, go, _mon cher,_ and tell ma'amselle to bring my caps--all my +caps, one of each set." + +In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps--all the caps--one of each +set. As she handed them in turn to her mistress, the Bird chirped a +panegyric upon each. + +"That is pretty, is it not--and this also? but this is my favorite. What +do you think of this border? _c'est belle, cette garniture? et ce jabot, +c'est tres seduisant, n'est-ce pas? Mais voici,_ the cap of Princess +Lichtenstein. _C'est superb, c'est mon favori._ But I also love very +much this of the Duchesse de Berri. She gave me the pattern herself. And +after all, this _cornette a petite sante_ of Lady Blaze is a dear little +thing; then, again, this _coiffe a dentelle_ of Lady Macaroni is quite +a pet." + +"Pass them down," said Lord Squib, "we want to look at them." +Accordingly they were passed down. Lord Squib put one on. + +"Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty?" asked his lordship. +The example was contagious, and most of the caps were appropriated. No +one laughed more than their mistress, who, not having the slightest idea +of the value of money, would have given them all away on the spot; not +from any good-natured feeling, but from the remembrance that to-morrow +she might amuse half an hour buying others. + +While some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the duke clapped his +hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the apartment was +immediately withdrawn and the ball-room stood revealed. + +It was of the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls exhibited a +long perspective of gilt pilasters, the frequent piers of which were +entirely of plate looking-glass, save where occasionally a picture had +been, as it were, inlaid in its rich frame. Here was the Titian Venus of +the Tribune, deliciously copied by a French artist; there, the Roman +Fornarina, with her delicate grace, beamed like the personification of +Raphael's genius. Here Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that +magician Guercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming Hebrew; +and there Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour, proved by +what we saw that Guido had been a lover. + +The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted and richly gilt; from +it were suspended three lustres by golden cords, which threw a softened +light upon the floor of polished and curiously inlaid woods. At the end +of the apartment was an orchestra, and here the pages, under the +direction of Carlstein, offered a very efficient domestic band. + +Round the room waltzed the elegant revelers. Softly and slowly, led by +their host, they glided along like spirits of air; but each time that +the duke passed the musicians, the music became livelier, and the motion +more brisk, till at length you might have mistaken them for a college of +spinning dervishes. One by one, an exhausted couple slunk away. Some +threw themselves on a sofa, some monopolized an easy-chair; but in +twenty minutes all the dancers had disappeared. At length Peacock +Piggott gave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and raised a +stretching leg in air, bringing up, though most unwittingly, on his foot +one of the Bird's sublime and beautiful caps. + +"Halloo! Piggott, armed _cap au pied_, I see," said Lord Squib. This +joke was a signal for general resuscitation.... + +Here they lounged in different parties, 'talking on such subjects as +idlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower--now and then +listening to the fountain--now and then lingering over the distant +music--and now and then strolling through a small apartment which opened +to their walks, and which bore the title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here +Canova's Venus breathed an atmosphere of perfume and of light--that +wonderful statue whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to be +sure--but then, how true! + +Lord Squib proposed a visit to the theatre, which he had ordered to be +lit up. To the theatre they repaired. They rambled over every part of +the house, amused themselves, to the horror of Mr. Annesley, with a +visit to the gallery, and then collected behind the scenes. They were +excessively amused with the properties; and Lord Squib proposed they +should dress themselves. Enough champagne had been quaffed to render any +proposition palatable, and in a few minutes they were all in costume. A +crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and chimney-sweeps, lawyers and +charleys, Spanish dons and Irish officers, rushed upon the stage. The +little Spaniard was Almaviva, and fell into magnificent attitudes, with +her sword and plume. Lord Squib was the old woman of Brentford, and very +funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell, Grimaldi. The prince +and the count, without knowing it, figured as watchmen. Squib whispered +Annesley that Sir Lucius O'Trigger might appear in character, but was +prudent enough to suppress the joke. + +The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with infinite spirit, +and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord Squib, by breakfasting +on the stage. By the time this meal was dispatched, the purple light of +morn had broken into the building, and the ladies proposed an immediate +departure. Mrs. Montfort and her sister were sent home in one of the +duke's carriages; and the foreign guests were requested by him to be +their escort. The respective parties drove off. Two cabriolets lingered +to the last, and finally carried away the French actress and the Spanish +dancer, Lord Darrell, and Peacock Piggott; but whether the two gentlemen +went in one and two ladies in the other I cannot aver. I hope not. + +There was at length a dead silence, and the young duke was left to +solitude and the signora! + + +SQUIBS PROM 'THE YOUNG DUKE' + +CHARLES ANNESLEY + +Dandy has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. I doubt whether +the revival will stand; and as for the exploded title, though it had its +faults at first, the muse or Byron has made it not only English, but +classical. However, I dare say I can do without either of these words at +present. Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy or a beau. +There was nothing in his dress, though some mysterious arrangement in +his costume--some rare simplicity--some curious happiness--always made +it distinguished; there was nothing, however, in his dress which could +account for the influence which he exercised over the manners of his +contemporaries. Charles Annesley was about thirty. He had inherited from +his father, a younger brother, a small estate; and though heir to a +wealthy earldom, he had never abused what the world called "his +prospects." Yet his establishments--his little house in Mayfair--his +horses--his moderate stud at Melton--were all unique, and everything +connected with him was unparalleled for its elegance, its invention, and +its refinement. But his manner was his magic. His natural and subdued +nonchalance, so different from the assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy; +his coldness of heart, which was hereditary, not acquired; his cautious +courage, and his unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to mingle +much with mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of their +passions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly revealed +those weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did not spare, even +while it refrained from wounding. All feared, many admired, and none +hated him. He was too powerful not to dread, too dexterous not to +admire, too superior to hate. Perhaps the great secret of his manner was +his exquisite superciliousness; a quality which, of all, is the most +difficult to manage. Even with his intimates he was never confidential, +and perpetually assumed his public character with the private coterie +which he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the leading +men of modern days, and rather reminded one of the fine gentlemen of our +old brilliant comedy--the Dorimants, the Bellairs, and the Mirabels. + + +THE FUSSY HOSTESS + +Men shrink from a fussy woman. And few can aspire to regulate the +destinies of their species, even in so slight a point as an hour's +amusement, without rare powers. There is no greater sin than to be _trop +prononcee_. A want of tact is worse than a want of virtue. Some women, +it is said, work on pretty well against the tide without the last. I +never knew one who did not sink who ever dared to sail without +the first. + +Loud when they should be low, quoting the wrong person, talking on the +wrong subject, teasing with notice, excruciating with attentions, +disturbing a _tete-a-tete_ in order to make up a dance; wasting +eloquence in persuading a man to participate in amusement whose +reputation depends on his social sullenness; exacting homage with a +restless eye, and not permitting the least worthy knot to be untwined +without their divinityships' interference; patronizing the meek, +anticipating the slow, intoxicating with compliment, plastering with +praise that you in return may gild with flattery; in short, energetic +without elegance, active without grace, and loquacious without wit; +mistaking bustle for style, raillery for badinage, and noise for +gayety--these are the characters who mar the very career they think they +are creating, and who exercise a fatal influence on the destinies of all +those who have the misfortune to be connected with them. + + +PUBLIC SPEAKING + +Eloquence is the child of Knowledge. When a mind is full, like a +wholesome river, it is also clear. Confusion and obscurity are much +oftener the results of ignorance than of inefficiency. Few are the men +who cannot express their meaning when the occasion demands the energy; +as the lowest will defend their lives with acuteness, and sometimes even +with eloquence. They are masters of their subject. Knowledge must be +gained by ourselves. Mankind may supply us with facts; but the results, +even if they agree with previous ones, must be the work of our own mind. +To make others feel, we must feel ourselves; and to feel ourselves, we +must be natural. This we can never be when we are vomiting forth the +dogmas of the schools. Knowledge is not a mere collection of words; and +it is a delusion to suppose that thought can be obtained by the aid of +any other intellect than our own. What is repetition, by a curious +mystery, ceases to be truth, even if it were truth when it was first +heard; as the shadow in a mirror, though it move and mimic all the +actions of vitality, is not life. When a man is not speaking or writing +from his own mind, he is as insipid company as a looking-glass. Before a +man can address a popular assembly with command, he must know something +of mankind, and he can know nothing of mankind without he knows +something of himself. Self-knowledge is the property of that man whose +passions have their play, but who ponders over their results. Such a man +sympathizes by inspiration with his kind. He has a key to every heart. +He can divine, in the flash of a single thought, all that they require, +all that they wish. Such a man speaks to their very core. All feel that +a master hand tears off the veil of cant, with which, from necessity, +they have enveloped their souls; for cant is nothing more than the +sophistry which results from attempting to account for what is +unintelligible, or to defend what is improper. + + +FEMALE BEAUTY + +There are some sorts of beauty which defy description, and almost +scrutiny. Some faces rise upon us in the tumult of life, like stars from +out the sea, or as if they had moved out of a picture. Our first +impression is anything but fleshly. We are struck dumb--we gasp for +breath--our limbs quiver--a faintness glides over our frame--we are +awed; instead of gazing upon the apparition, we avert the eyes, which +yet will feed upon its beauty. A strange sort of unearthly pain mixes +with the intense pleasure. And not till, with a struggle, we call back +to our memory the commonplaces of existence, can we recover our +commonplace demeanor. These, indeed, are rare visions--these, indeed, +are early feelings, when our young existence leaps with its mountain +torrents; but as the river of our life rolls on, our eyes grow dimmer, +or our blood more cold. + + +LOTHAIR IN PALESTINE + +From 'Lothair' + +A person approached Lothair by the pathway from Bethany. It was the +Syrian gentleman whom he had met at the consulate. As he was passing +Lothair, he saluted him with the grace which had been before remarked; +and Lothair, who was by nature courteous, and even inclined a little to +ceremony in his manners, especially with those with whom he was not +intimate, immediately rose, as he would not receive such a salutation in +a reclining posture. + +"Let me not disturb you," said the stranger; "or, if we must be on equal +terms, let me also be seated, for this is a view that never palls." + +"It is perhaps familiar to you," said Lothair; "but with me, only a +pilgrim, its effect is fascinating, almost overwhelming." + +"The view of Jerusalem never becomes familiar," said the Syrian; "for +its associations are so transcendent, so various, so inexhaustible, that +the mind can never anticipate its course of thought and feeling, when +one sits, as we do now, on this immortal mount." ... + +"I have often wished to visit the Sea of Galilee," said Lothair. + +"Well, you have now an opportunity," said the Syrian: "the north of +Palestine, though it has no tropical splendor, has much variety and a +peculiar natural charm. The burst and brightness of spring have not yet +quite vanished; you would find our plains radiant with wild-flowers, and +our hills green with young crops, and though we cannot rival Lebanon, we +have forest glades among our famous hills that when once seen are +remembered." + +"But there is something to me more interesting than the splendor of +tropical scenery," said Lothair, "even if Galilee could offer it. I wish +to visit the cradle of my faith." + +"And you would do wisely," said the Syrian, "for there is no doubt the +spiritual nature of man is developed in this land." + +"And yet there are persons at the present day who doubt--even deny--the +spiritual nature of man," said Lothair. "I do not, I could not--there +are reasons why I could not." + +"There are some things I know, and some things I believe," said the +Syrian. "I know that I have a soul, and I believe that it is immortal." + +"It is science that, by demonstrating the insignificance of this globe +in the vast scale of creation, has led to this infidelity," +said Lothair. + +"Science may prove the insignificance of this globe in the scale of +creation," said the stranger, "but it cannot prove the insignificance of +man. What is the earth compared with the sun? a molehill by a mountain; +yet the inhabitants of this earth can discover the elements of which the +great orb consists, and will probably ere long ascertain all the +conditions of its being. Nay, the human mind can penetrate far beyond +the sun. There is no relation, therefore, between the faculties of man +and the scale in creation of the planet which he inhabits." + +"I was glad to hear you assert the other night the spiritual nature of +man in opposition to Mr. Phoebus." + +"Ah, Mr. Phoebus!" said the stranger, with a smile. "He is an old +acquaintance of mine. And I must say he is very consistent--except in +paying a visit to Jerusalem. That does surprise me. He said to me the +other night the same things as he said to me at Rome many years ago. He +would revive the worship of Nature. The deities whom he so eloquently +describes and so exquisitely delineates are the ideal personifications +of the most eminent human qualities, and chiefly the physical. Physical +beauty is his standard of excellence, and he has a fanciful theory that +moral order would be the consequence of the worship of physical beauty; +for without moral order he holds physical beauty cannot be maintained. +But the answer to Mr. Phoebus is, that his system has been tried and has +failed, and under conditions more favorable than are likely to exist +again; the worship of Nature ended in the degradation of the +human race." + +"But Mr. Phoebus cannot really believe in Apollo and Venus," said +Lothair. "These are phrases. He is, I suppose, what is called a +Pantheist." + +"No doubt the Olympus of Mr. Phoebus is the creation of his easel," +replied the Syrian. "I should not, however, describe him as a Pantheist, +whose creed requires more abstraction than Mr. Phoebus, the worshiper of +Nature, would tolerate. His school never care to pursue any +investigation which cannot be followed by the eye--and the worship of +the beautiful always ends in an orgy. As for Pantheism, it is Atheism in +domino. The belief in a Creator who is unconscious of creating is more +monstrous than any dogma of any of the churches in this city, and we +have them all here." + +"But there are people now who tell you that there never was any +creation, and therefore there never could have been a Creator," +said Lothair. + +"And which is now advanced with the confidence of novelty," said the +Syrian, "though all of it has been urged, and vainly urged, thousands of +years ago. There must be design, or all we see would be without sense, +and I do not believe in the unmeaning. As for the natural forces to +which all creation is now attributed, we know they are unconscious, +while consciousness is as inevitable a portion of our existence as the +eye or the hand. The conscious cannot be derived from the unconscious. +Man is divine." + +"I wish I could assure myself of the personality of the Creator," said +Lothair. "I cling to that, but they say it is unphilosophical." + +"In what sense?" asked the Syrian. "Is it more unphilosophical to +believe in a personal God, omnipotent and omniscient, than in natural +forces unconscious and irresistible? Is it unphilosophical to combine +power with intelligence? Goethe, a Spinozist who did not believe in +Spinoza, said that he could bring his mind to the conception that in the +centre of space we might meet with a monad of pure intelligence. What +may be the centre of space I leave to the daedal imagination of the +author of 'Faust'; but a monad of pure intelligence--is that more +philosophical than the truth first revealed to man amid these +everlasting hills," said the Syrian, "that God made man in his +own image?" + +"I have often found in that assurance a source of sublime consolation," +said Lothair. + +"It is the charter of the nobility of man," said the Syrian, "one of the +divine dogmas revealed in this land; not the invention of councils, not +one of which was held on this sacred soil, confused assemblies first got +together by the Greeks, and then by barbarous nations in +barbarous times." + +"Yet the divine land no longer tells us divine things," said Lothair. + +"It may or may not have fulfilled its destiny," said the Syrian. "'In my +Father's house are many mansions,' and by the various families of +nations the designs of the Creator are accomplished. God works by races, +and one was appointed in due season and after many developments to +reveal and expound in this land the spiritual nature of man. The Aryan +and the Semite are of the same blood and origin, but when they quitted +their central land they were ordained to follow opposite courses. Each +division of the great race has developed one portion of the double +nature of humanity, till, after all their wanderings, they met again, +and, represented by their two choicest families, the Hellenes and the +Hebrews, brought together the treasures of their accumulated wisdom, and +secured the civilization of man." + +"Those among whom I have lived of late," said Lothair, "have taught me +to trust much in councils, and to believe that without them there could +be no foundation for the Church. I observe you do not speak in that +vein, though, like myself, you find solace in those dogmas which +recognize the relations between the created and the Creator." + +"There can be no religion without that recognition," said the Syrian, +"and no creed can possibly be devised without such a recognition that +would satisfy man. Why we are here, whence we come, whither we go--these +are questions which man is organically framed and forced to ask himself, +and that would not be the case if they could not be answered. As for +churches depending on councils, the first council was held more than +three centuries after the Sermon on the Mount. We Syrians had churches +in the interval; no one can deny that. I bow before the divine decree +that swept them away from Antioch to Jerusalem, but I am not yet +prepared to transfer my spiritual allegiance to Italian popes and Greek +patriarchs. We believe that our family were among the first followers of +Jesus, and that we then held lands in Bashan which we hold now. We had a +gospel once in our district where there was some allusion to this, and +being written by neighbors, and probably at the time, I dare say it was +accurate; but the Western Churches declared our gospel was not +authentic, though why I cannot tell, and they succeeded in extirpating +it. It was not an additional reason why we should enter into their fold. +So I am content to dwell in Galilee and trace the footsteps of my Divine +Master, musing over his life and pregnant sayings amid the mounts he +sanctified and the waters he loved so well." + + + + +BEAUMARCHAIS + +(1732-1799) + +BY BRANDER MATTHEWS + + +Pierre Augustin Caron was born in Paris, January 24th, 1732. He was the +son of a watchmaker, and learned his father's trade. He invented a new +escapement, and was allowed to call himself "Clockmaker to the +King"--Louis XV. At twenty-four he married a widow, and took the name of +Beaumarchais from a small fief belonging to her. Within a year his wife +died. Being a fine musician, he was appointed instructor of the King's +daughters; and he was quick to turn to good account the influence thus +acquired. In 1764 he made a sudden trip to Spain to vindicate a sister +of his, who had been betrothed to a man called Clavijo and whom this +Spaniard had refused to marry. He succeeded in his mission, and his own +brilliant account of this characteristic episode in his career suggested +to Goethe the play of 'Clavigo.' Beaumarchais himself brought back from +Madrid a liking for things Spanish and a knowledge of Iberian customs +and character. + +[Illustration: Beaumarchais] + +He had been a watchmaker, a musician, a court official, a speculator, +and it was only when he was thirty-five that he turned dramatist. +Various French authors, Diderot especially, weary of confinement to +tragedy and comedy, the only two forms then admitted on the French +stage, were seeking a new dramatic formula in which they might treat +pathetic situations of modern life; and it is due largely to their +efforts that the modern "play" or "drama," the story of every-day +existence, has been evolved. The first dramatic attempt of Beaumarchais +was a drama called 'Eugenie,' acted at the Theatre Francais in 1767, and +succeeding just enough to encourage him to try again. The second, 'The +Two Friends,' acted in 1770, was a frank failure. For the pathetic, +Beaumarchais had little aptitude; and these two serious efforts were of +use to him only so far as their performance may have helped him to +master the many technical difficulties of the theatre. + +Beaumarchais had married a second time in 1768, and he had been engaged +in various speculations with the financier Paris-Duverney. In 1770 his +wife died, and so did his associate; and he found himself soon involved +in lawsuits, into the details of which it is needless to go, but in the +course of which he published a series of memoirs, or statements of his +case for the public at large. These memoirs are among the most vigorous +of all polemical writings; they were very clever and very witty; they +were vivacious and audacious; they were unfailingly interesting; and +they were read as eagerly as the 'Letters of Junius.' Personal at first, +the suits soon became political; and part of the public approval given +to the attack of Beaumarchais on judicial injustice was due no doubt to +the general discontent with the existing order in France. His daring +conduct of his own cause made him a personality. He was intrusted with +one secret mission by Louis XV; and when Louis XVI came to the throne, +he managed to get him again employed confidentially. + +Not long after his two attempts at the serious drama, he had tried to +turn to account his musical faculty by writing both the book and the +score of a comic opera, which had, however, been rejected by the +Comedie-Italienne (the predecessor of the present Opera Comique). After +a while Beaumarchais cut out his music and worked over his plot into a +five-act comedy in prose, 'The Barber of Seville.' It was produced by +the Theatre Francais in 1775, and like the contemporary 'Rivals' of +Sheridan,--the one English author with whom Beaumarchais must always be +compared,--it was a failure on the first night and a lasting success +after the author had reduced it and rearranged it. 'The Barber of +Seville' was like the 'Gil Blas' of Lesage in that, while it was +seemingly Spanish in its scenes, it was in reality essentially French. +It contained one of the strongest characters in literature,--Figaro, a +reincarnation of the intriguing servant of Menander and Plautus and +Moliere. Simple in plot, ingenious in incident, brisk in dialogue, +broadly effective in character-drawing, 'The Barber of Seville' is the +most famous French comedy of the eighteenth century, with the single +exception of its successor from the same pen, which appeared nine +years later. + +During those years Beaumarchais was not idle. Like Defoe, he was always +devising projects for money-making. A few months after 'The Barber of +Seville' had been acted, the American Revolution began, and Beaumarchais +was a chief agent in supplying the Americans with arms, ammunition, and +supplies. He had a cruiser of his own, Le Fier Roderigue, which was in +D'Estaing's fleet. When the independence of the United States was +recognized at last, Beaumarchais had a pecuniary claim against the young +nation which long remained unsettled. + +Not content with making war on his own account almost, Beaumarchais +also undertook the immense task of publishing a complete edition of +Voltaire. He also prepared a sequel to the 'Barber,' in which Figaro +should be even more important, and should serve as a mouthpiece for +declamatory criticism of the social order. But his 'Marriage of Figaro' +was so full of the revolutionary ferment that its performance was +forbidden. Following the example of Moliere under the similar +interdiction of 'Tartuffe,' Beaumarchais was untiring in arousing +interest in his unacted play, reading it himself in the houses of the +great. Finally it was authorized, and when the first performance took +place at the Theatre Francais in 1784, the crush to see it was so great +that three persons were stifled to death. The new comedy was as amusing +and as adroit as its predecessor, and the hits at the times were sharper +and swifter and more frequent. How demoralized society was then may be +gauged by the fact that this disintegrating satire was soon acted by the +amateurs of the court, a chief character being impersonated by Marie +Antoinette herself. + +The career of Beaumarchais reached its climax with the production of the +second of the Figaro plays. Afterward he wrote the libretto for an +opera, 'Tarare,' produced with Salieri's music in 1787; the year before +he had married for the third time. In a heavy play called 'The Guilty +Mother,' acted with slight success in 1790, he brought in Figaro yet +once more. During the Terror he emigrated to Holland, returning to Paris +in 1796 to find his sumptuous mansion despoiled. May 18th, 1799, he +died, leaving a fortune of $200,000, besides numerous claims against the +French nation and the United States. + +An interesting parallel could be drawn between 'The Rivals' and the +'School for Scandal' on the one side, and on the other 'The Barber of +Seville' and 'The Marriage of Figaro'; and there are also piquant points +of likeness between Sheridan and Beaumarchais. But Sheridan, with all +his failings, was of sterner stuff than Beaumarchais. He had a loftier +political morality, and he served the State more loyally. Yet the two +comedies of Beaumarchais are like the two comedies of Sheridan in their +incessant wit, in their dramaturgic effectiveness, and in the histrionic +opportunities they afford. Indeed, the French comedies have had a wider +audience than the English, thanks to an Italian and a German,--to +Rossini who set 'The Barber of Seville' to music, and to Mozart who did +a like service for 'The Marriage of Figaro.' + +[Illustration: Signature: Brander Matthews] + + +FROM 'THE BARBER OF SEVILLE' + +OUTWITTING A GUARDIAN + +[Rosina's lover, Count Almaviva, attempts to meet and converse with her +by hoodwinking Dr. Bartolo, her zealous guardian. He comes in disguise +to Bartolo's dwelling, in a room of which the scene is laid.] + +[_Enter Count Almaviva, dressed as a student_.] + +_Count [solemnly]_--May peace and joy abide here evermore! + +_Bartolo [brusquely]_--Never, young sir, was wish more apropos! What do +you want? + +_Count_--Sir, I am one Alonzo, a bachelor of arts-- + +_Bartolo_--Sir, I need no instructor. + +_Count_---- ---- a pupil of Don Basilio, the organist of the convent, +who teaches music to Madame your-- + +_Bartolo [suspiciously]_--Basilio! Organist! Yes, I know him. Well? + +_Count [aside]_--What a man! _[Aloud.]_ He's confined to his bed with a +sudden illness. + +_Bartolo_--Confined to his bed! Basilio! He's very good to send word, +for I've just seen him. + +_Count [aside]_--Oh, the devil! [_Aloud._] When I say to his bed, sir, +it's--I mean to his room. + +_Bartolo_--Whatever's the matter with him, go, if you please. + +_Count [embarrassed]_--Sir, I was asked--Can no one hear us? + +_Bartolo [aside]_--It's some rogue! _[Aloud.]_ What's that? No, Monsieur +Mysterious, no one can hear! Speak frankly--if you can. + +_Count [aside]_--Plague take the old rascal! _[Aloud.]_ Don Basilio +asked me to tell you-- + +_Bartolo_--Speak louder. I'm deaf in one ear. + +_Count [raising his voice_]--Ah! quite right: he asks me to say to you +that one Count Almaviva, who was lodging on the great square-- + +_Bartolo [frightened]_--Speak low, speak low. + +_Count [louder]_----moved away from there this morning. As it was I who +told him that this Count Almaviva-- + +_Bartolo_--Low, speak lower, I beg of you. + +_Count [in the same tone_]--Was in this city, and as I have discovered +that Senorita Rosina has been writing to him-- + +_Bartolo_--Has been writing to him? My dear friend, I implore you, _do_ +speak low! Come, let's sit down, let's have a friendly chat. You have +discovered, you say, that Rosina-- + +_Count_ [_angrily_]--Certainly. Basilio, anxious about this +correspondence on your account, asked me to show you her letter; but the +way you take things-- + +_Bartolo_--Good Lord! I take them well enough. But can't you possibly +speak a little lower? + +_Count_--You told me you were deaf in one ear. + +_Bartolo_--I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, if I've been surly and +suspicious, Signor Alonzo: I'm surrounded with spies--and then your +figure, your age, your whole air--I beg your pardon. Well? Have you +the letter? + +_Count_--I'm glad you're barely civil at last, sir. But are you quite +sure no one can overhear us? + +_Bartolo_--Not a soul. My servants are all tired out. Senorita Rosina +has shut herself up in a rage! The very devil's to pay in this house. +Still I'll go and make sure. [_He goes to peep into Rosina's room_.] + +_Count_ [_aside_]--Well, I've caught myself now in my own trap. Now what +shall I do about the letter? If I were to run off?--but then I might +just as well not have come. Shall I show it to him? If I could only warn +Rosina beforehand! To show it would be a master-stroke. + +_Bartolo_ [_returning on tiptoe_]--She's sitting by the window with her +back to the door, and re-reading a cousin's letter which I opened. Now, +now--let me see hers. + +_Count_ [_handing him Rosina's letter_]--Here it is. [_Aside._] She's +re-reading _my_ letter. + +_Bartolo_ [_reads quickly_]--"Since you have told me your name and +estate--" Ah, the little traitress! Yes, it's her writing. + +_Count_ [_frightened_]--Speak low yourself, won't you? + +_Bartolo_--What for, if you please? + +_Count_--When we've finished, you can do as you choose. But after all, +Don Basilio's negotiation with a lawyer-- + +_Bartolo_--With a lawyer? About my marriage? + +_Count_--Would I have stopped you for anything else? He told me to say +that all can be ready to-morrow. Then, if she resists-- + +_Bartolo_--She will. + +_Count_ [_wants to take back the letter; Bartolo clutches it_]--I'll +tell you what we'll do. We will show her her letter; and then, if +necessary, [_more mysteriously_] I'll even tell her that it was given to +me by a woman--to whom the Count is sacrificing her. Shame and rage may +bring her to terms on the spot. + +_Bartolo_ [_laughing_]--Calumny, eh? My dear fellow, I see very well now +that you come from Basilio. But lest we should seem to have planned this +together, don't you think it would be better if she'd met you before? + +_Count_ [_repressing a start of joy_]--Don Basilio thought so, I know. +But how can we manage it? It is late already. There's not much +time left. + +_Bartolo_--I will tell her you've come in his place. Couldn't you give +her a lesson? + +_Count_--I'll do anything you like. But take care she doesn't suspect. +All these dodges of pretended masters are rather old and theatrical. + +_Bartolo_--She won't suspect if I introduce you. But how you do look! +You've much more the air of a disguised lover than of a zealous +student-friend. + +_Count_--Really? Don't you think I can hoodwink her all the better for +that? + +_Bartolo_--She'll never guess. She's in a horrible temper this evening. +But if she'll only see you--Her harpsichord is in this room. Amuse +yourself while you're waiting. I'll do all I can to bring her here. + +_Count_--Don't say a word about the letter. + +_Bartolo_--Before the right moment? It would lose all effect if I did. +It's not necessary to tell me things twice; it's not necessary to tell +me things twice. [_He goes._] + +_Count_ [_alone, soliloquizes_]--At last I've won! Ouf! What a difficult +little old imp he is! Figaro understands him. I found myself lying, and +that made me awkward; and he has eyes for everything! On my honor, if +the letter hadn't inspired me he'd have thought me a fool!--Ah, how they +are disputing in there!--What if she refuses to come? Listen--If she +won't, my coming is all thrown away. There she is: I won't show +myself at first. + +[_Rosina enters_.] + +_Rosina_ [_angrily_]--There's no use talking about it, sir. I've made up +my mind. I don't want to hear anything more about music. + +_Bartolo_--But, my child, do listen! It is Senor Alonzo, the friend and +pupil of Don Basilio, whom he has chosen as one of our marriage +witnesses. I'm sure that music will calm you. + +_Rosina_--Oh! you needn't concern yourself about that; and as for +singing this evening--Where is this master you're so afraid of +dismissing? I'll settle him in a minute--and Senor Basilio too. [_She +sees her lover and exclaims_:] Ah! + +_Bartolo_--Eh, eh, what is the matter? + +_Rosina_ [_pressing her hands to her heart_]--Ah, sir! Ah, sir! + +_Bartolo_--She is ill again! Senor Alonzo! + +_Rosina_--No, I am not ill--but as I was turning--ah! + +_Count_--Did you sprain your foot, Madame? + +_Rosina_--Yes, yes, I sprained my foot! I--hurt myself dreadfully. + +_Count_--So I perceived. + +_Rosina_ [_looking at the Count_]--The pain really makes me feel faint. + +_Bartolo_--A chair--a chair there! And not a single chair here! [_He +goes to get one_.] + +_Count_--Ah, Rosina! + +_Rosina_--What imprudence! + +_Count_--There are a hundred things I must say to you. + +_Rosina_--He won't leave us alone. + +_Count_--Figaro will help us. + +_Bartolo_ [_bringing an arm-chair_]--Wait a minute, my child. Sit down +here. She can't take a lesson this evening, Senor: you must postpone +it. Good-by. + +_Rosina_ [_to the Count_]--No, wait; my pain is better. [_To Bartolo_.] +I feel that I've acted foolishly! I'll imitate you, and atone at once by +taking my lesson. + +_Bartolo_--Oh! Such a kind little woman at heart! But after so much +excitement, my child, I can't let you make any exertion. So good-bye, +Senor, good-bye. + +_Rosina_ [_to the Count_]--Do wait a minute! [_To Bartolo_.] I shall +think that you don't care to please me if you won't let me show my +regret by taking my lesson. + +_Count_ [_aside to Bartolo_]--I wouldn't oppose her, if I were you. + +_Bartolo_--That settles it, my love: I am so anxious to please you that +I shall stay here all the time you are practicing. + +_Rosina_--No, don't. I know you don't care for music. + +_Bartolo_--It _will_ charm me this evening, I'm sure. + +_Rosina [aside to the Count_]--I'm tormented to death! + +_Count [taking a sheet of music from the stand_]--Will you sing this, +Madame? + +_Rosina_--Yes, indeed--it's a very pretty thing out of the opera 'The +Useless Precaution.' + +_Bartolo_--Why do you _always_ sing from 'The Useless Precaution'? + +_Count_--There is nothing newer! It's a picture of spring in a very +bright style. So if Madame wants to try it-- + +_Rosina [looking at the Count_]--With pleasure. A picture of spring is +delightful! It is the youth of nature. It seems as if the heart always +feels more when winter's just over. It's like a slave who finds liberty +all the more charming after a long confinement. + +_Bartolo [to the Count_]--Always romantic ideas in her head! + +_Count [in a low tone_]--Did you notice the application? + +_Bartolo_--Zounds! + +_[He sits down in the chair which Rosina has been occupying. Rosina +sings, during which Bartolo goes to sleep. Under cover of the refrain +the Count seizes Rosina's hand and covers it with kisses. In her emotion +she sings brokenly, and finally breaks off altogether. The sudden +silence awakens Bartolo. The Count starts up, and Rosina quickly resumes +her song_.] + + * * * * * + +_[Don Basilio enters. Figaro in background_.] + +_Rosina [startled, to herself_]--Don Basilio! + +_Count [aside]_--Good Heaven! + +_Figaro_--The devil! + +_Bartolo [going to meet him_]--Ah! welcome, Basilio. So your accident +was not very serious? Alonzo quite alarmed me about you. He will tell +you that I was just going to see you, and if he had not detained me-- + +_Basilio [in astonishment_]--Senor Alonzo? + +_Figaro [stamping his foot_]--Well, well! How long must I wait? Two +hours wasted already over your beard--Miserable business! + +_Basilio [looking at every one in amazement_]--But, gentlemen, will you +please tell me-- + +_Figaro_--You can talk to him after I've gone. + +_Basilio_--But still, would-- + +_Count_--You'd better be quiet, Basilio. Do you think you can inform +him of anything new? I've told him that you sent me for the music lesson +instead of coming himself. + +_Basilio [still more astonished]_--The music lesson! Alonzo! + +_Rosina [aside to Basilio]--Do_ hold your tongue, can't you? + +_Basilio_--She, too! + +_Count [to Bartolo]_--Let him know what you and I have agreed upon. + +_Bartolo [aside to Basilio]_--Don't contradict, and say that he is not +your pupil, or you will spoil everything. + +_Basilio_--Ah! Ah! + +_Bartolo [aloud]_--Indeed, Basilio, your pupil has a great deal of +talent. + +_Basilio [stupefied]_--My pupil! [_In a low tone_.] I came to tell you +that the Count has moved. + +_Bartolo [low]_--I know it. Hush. + +_Basilio [low]_--Who told you? + +_Bartolo [low]_--He did, of course. + +_Count [low]_--It was I, naturally. Just listen, won't you? + +_Rosina [low to Basilio]_--Is it so hard to keep still? + +_Figaro [low to Basilio]_--Hum! The sharper! He is deaf! + +_Basilio [aside]_--Who the devil are they trying to deceive here? +Everybody seems to be in it! + +_Bartolo [aloud]_--Well, Basilio--about your lawyer--? + +_Figaro_--You have the whole evening to talk about the lawyer. + +_Bartolo [to Basilio]_--One word; only tell me if you are satisfied with +the lawyer. + +_Basilio [startled]_--With the lawyer? + +_Count [smiling]_--Haven't you seen the lawyer? + +_Basilio [impatient]_--Eh? No, I haven't seen the lawyer. + +_Count [aside to Bartolo]_--Do you want him to explain matters before +her? Send him away. + +_Bartolo [low to the Count]_--You are right. [_To Basilio_.] But what +made you ill, all of a sudden? + +_Basilio [angrily]_--I don't understand you. + +_Count [secretly slipping a purse into his hands]_--Yes: he wants to +know what you are doing here, when you are so far from well? + +_Figaro_--He's as pale as a ghost! + +_Basilio_--Ah! I understand. + +_Count_--Go to bed, dear Basilio. You are not at all well, and you make +us all anxious. Go to bed. + +_Figaro_--He looks quite upset. Go to bed. + +_Bartolo_--I'm sure he seems feverish. Go to bed. + +_Rosina_--Why did you come out? They say that it's catching. Go to bed. + +_Basilio [in the greatest amazement]_--I'm to go to bed! + +_All the others together_--Yes, you must. + +_Basilio [looking at them all]_--Indeed, I think I will have to +withdraw. I don't feel quite as well as usual. + +_Bartolo_--We'll look for you to-morrow, if you are better. + +_Count_--I'll see you soon, Basilio. + +_Basilio [aside]_--Devil take it if I understand all this! And if it +weren't for this purse-- + +_All_--Good-night, Basilio, good-night. + +_Basilio [going]_--Very well, then; good-night, _good-night_. + +[_The others, all laughing, push him civilly out of the room_.] + + +FROM 'THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO' + +OUTWITTING A HUSBAND + +[The scene is the boudoir of young Countess Almaviva, the Rosina of the +previous selection. She is seated alone, when her clever maid Susanna +ushers in the young page Cherubino, just banished from the house because +obnoxious to the jealous Count.] + +_Susanna_--Here's our young Captain, Madame. + +_Cherubino [timidly]_--The title is a sad reminder that--that I must +leave this delightful home and the godmother who has been so kind-- + +_Susanna--And_ so beautiful! + +_Cherubino [sighing]_--Ah, yes! + +_Susanna [mocking his sigh]_--Ah, yes! Just look at his hypocritical +eyelids! Madame, make him sing his new song. [_She gives it to him_.] +Come now, my beautiful bluebird, sing away. + +_Countess_--Does the manuscript say who wrote this--song? + +_Susanna_--The blushes of guilt betray him. + +_Cherubino_--Madame, I--I--tremble so. + +_Susanna_--Ta, ta, ta, ta--! Come, modest author--since you are so +commanded. Madame, I'll accompany him. + +_Countess [to Susanna]_--Take my guitar. + +_[Cherubino sings his ballad to the air of 'Malbrouck.' The Countess +reads the words of it from his manuscript, with an occasional glance at +him; he sometimes looks at her and sometimes lowers his eyes as he +sings. Susanna, accompanying him, watches them both, laughing.]_ + +_Countess [folding the song]_--Enough, my boy. Thank you. It is very +good--full of feeling-- + +_Susanna_--Ah! as for feeling--this is a young man who--well! + +_[Cherubino tries to stop her by catching hold of her dress. Susanna +whispers to him]_--Ah, you good-for-nothing! I'm going to tell her. +_[Aloud.]_ Well--Captain! We'll amuse ourselves by seeing how you look +in one of my dresses! + +_Countess_--Susanna, how _can_ you go on so? + +_Susanna [going up to Cherubino and measuring herself with him]_--He's +just the right height. Off with your coat. _[She draws it off.]_ + +_Countess_--But what if some one should come? + +_Susanna_--What if they do? We're doing no wrong. But I'll lock the +door, just the same. _[Locks it.]_ I want to see him in a woman's +head-dress! + +_Countess_--Well, you'll find my little cap in my dressing-room on the +toilet table. + +_[Susanna gets the cap, and then, sitting down on a stool, she makes +Cherubino kneel before her and arranges it on his hair.]_ + +_Susanna_--Goodness, isn't he a pretty girl? I'm jealous. Cherubino, +you're altogether _too_ pretty. + +_Countess_--Undo his collar a little; that will give a more feminine +air. [_Susanna loosens his collar so as to show his neck_.] Now push up +his sleeves, so that the under ones show more. [_While Susanna rolls up +Cherubino's sleeves, the Countess notices her lost ribbon around his +wrist_.] What is that? My ribbon? + +_Susanna_--Ah! I'm very glad you've seen it, for I told him I should +tell. I should certainly have taken it away from him if the Count hadn't +come just then; for I am almost as strong as he is. + +_Countess [with surprise, unrolling the ribbon]_--There's blood on it! + +_Cherubino_--Yes, I was tightening the curb of my horse this morning, he +curvetted and gave me a push with his head, and the bridle stud +grazed my arm. + +_Countess_--I never saw a ribbon used as a bandage before. + +_Susanna_--Especially a _stolen_ ribbon. What may all those things +be--the curb, the curvetting, the bridle stud? [_Glances at his arms_.] +What white arms he has! just like a woman's. Madame, they are whiter +than mine. + +_Countess_--Never mind that, but run and find me some oiled silk. + +[_Susanna goes out, after humorously pushing Cherubino over so that he +falls forward on his hands. He and the Countess look at each other for +some time; then she breaks the silence_.] + +_Countess_--I hope you are plucky enough. Don't show yourself before the +Count again to-day. We'll tell him to hurry up your commission in +his regiment. + +_Cherubino_--I already have it, Madame. Basilio brought it to me. [_He +draws the commission from his pocket and hands it to her_.] + +_Countess_--Already! They haven't lost any time. [_She opens it._] Oh, +in their hurry they've forgotten to add the seal to it. + +_Susanna [returning with the oiled silk]_--Seal what? + +_Countess_--His commission in the regiment. + +_Susanna_--Already? + +_Countess_--That's what I said. + +_Susanna_--And the bandage? + +_Countess_--Oh, when you are getting my things, take a ribbon from one +of _your_ caps. [_Susanna goes out again_] + +_Countess_--This ribbon is of my favorite color. I must tell you I was +greatly displeased at your taking it. + +_Cherubino_--That one would heal me quickest. + +_Countess_--And--why so? + +_Cherubino_--When a ribbon--has pressed the head, and--touched the skin +of one-- + +_Countess [hastily]_--Very strange--then it can cure wounds? I never +heard that before. I shall certainly try it on the first wound of any +of--my maids-- + +_Cherubino [sadly]_--I must go away from here! + +_Countess_--But not for always? [_Cherubino begins to weep._] And now +you are crying! At that prediction of Figaro? + +_Cherubino_--I'm just where he said I'd be. [_Some one knocks on the +door_]. + +_Countess_--Who can be knocking like that? + +_The Count [outside]_--Open the door! + +_Countess_--Heavens! It's my husband. Where can you hide? + +_The Count [outside]_--Open the door, I say. + +_Countess_--There's no one here, you see. + +_The Count_--But who are you talking to then? + +_Countess_--To you, I suppose. [_To Cherubino._] Hide yourself, +quick--in the dressing-room! + +_Cherubino_--Ah, after this morning, he'd kill me if he found me _here_. + +[_He runs into the dressing-room on the right, which is also Susanna's +room; the Countess, after locking him in and taking the key, admits +the Count._] + +_Count_--You don't usually lock yourself in, Madame. + +_Countess_--I--I--was gossiping with Susanna. She's gone. [_Pointing to +her maid's room._] + +_Count_--And you seem very much agitated, Madame. + +_Countess_--Not at all, I assure you! We were talking about you. She's +just gone--as I told you. + +_Count_--I must say, Madame, you and I seem to be surrounded by spiteful +people. Just as I'm starting for a ride, I'm handed a note which informs +me that a certain person whom I suppose far enough away is to visit you +this evening. + +_Countess_--The bold fellow, whoever he is, will have to come here, +then; for I don't intend to leave my room to-day. + +[_Something falls heavily in the dressing-room where Cherubino is._] + +_Count_--Ah, Madame, something dropped just then! + +_Countess_--I didn't hear anything. + +_Count_--You must be very absent-minded, then. Somebody is in that room! + +_Countess_--Who do you think could be there? + +_Count_--Madame, that is what I'm asking _you_. I have just come in. + +_Countess_--Probably it's Susanna wandering about. + +_Count [pointing]_--But you just told me that she went that way. + +_Countess_--This way or that--I don't know which. + +_Count_--Very well, Madame, I must see her.--Come here, Susanna. + +_Countess_--She cannot. Pray wait! She's but half dressed. She's trying +on things that I've given her for her wedding. + +_Count_--Dressed or not, I wish to see her at once. + +_Countess_--I can't prevent your doing so anywhere else, but here-- + +_Count_--You may say what you choose--I _will_ see her. + +_Countess_--I thoroughly believe you'd like to see her in that state! +but-- + +_Count_--Very well, Madame. If Susanna can't come out, at least she can +talk. [_Turning toward the dressing-room._] Susanna, are you there? +Answer, I command you. + +_Countess_ [_peremptorily_]--Don't answer, Susanna! I forbid you! Sir, +how can you be such a petty tyrant? Fine suspicions, indeed! + +[_Susanna slips by and hides behind the Countess's bed without being +noticed either by her or by the Count._] + +_Count_--They are all the easier to dispel. I can see that it would be +useless to ask you for the key, but it's easy enough to break in the +door. Here, somebody! + +_Countess_--Will you really make yourself the laughing-stock of the +chateau for such a silly suspicion? + +_Count_--- You are quite right. I shall simply force the door myself. I +am going for tools. + +_Countess_--Sir, if your conduct were prompted by love, I'd forgive your +jealousy for the sake of the motive. But its cause is only your vanity. + +_Count_--Love _or_ vanity, Madame, I mean to know who is in that room! +And to guard against any tricks, I am going to lock the door to your +maid's room. You, Madame, will kindly come with me, and without any +noise, if you please. [_He leads her away._] As for the Susanna in the +dressing-room, she will please wait a few minutes. + +_Countess_ [_going out with him_]--Sir, I assure you-- + +_Susanna_ [_coming out from behind the bed and running to the +dressing-room_]--Cherubino! Open quick! It's Susanna. [_Cherubino +hurries out of the dressing-room._] Escape--you haven't a minute +to lose! + +_Cherubino_--Where can I go? + +_Susanna_--I don't know, I don't know at all! but do go somewhere! + +_Cherubino_ [_running to the window, then coming back_]--The window +isn't so very high. + +_Susanna_ [_frightened and holding him back_]--He'll kill himself! + +_Cherubino_--Ah, Susie, I'd rather jump into a gulf than put the +Countess in danger. [_He snatches a kiss, then runs to the window, +hesitates, and finally jumps down into the garden._] + +_Susanna_--Ah! [_She falls fainting into an arm-chair. Recovering +slowly, she rises, and seeing Cherubino running through the garden she +comes forward panting._] He's far away already! ... Little scamp! as +nimble as he is handsome! [_She next runs to the dressing-room._] Now, +Count Almaviva, knock as hard as you like, break down the door. Plague +take me if I answer you. [_Goes into the dressing-room and shuts +the door._] + +[_Count and Countess return._] + +_Count_--Now, Madame, consider well before you drive me to extremes. + +_Countess_--I--I beg of you--! + +_Count_ [_preparing to burst open the door_]--You can't cajole me now. + +_Countess_ [_throwing herself on her knees_]--Then I will open it! Here +is the key. + +_Count_--So it is _not_ Susanna? + +_Countess_--No, but it's no one who should offend you. + +_Count_--If it's a man I kill him! Unworthy wife! You wish to stay shut +up in your room--you shall stay in it long enough, I promise you. _Now_ +I understand the note--my suspicions are justified! + +_Countess_--Will you listen to me one minute? + +_Count_--Who is in that room? + +_Countess_--Your page. + +_Count_--Cherubino! The little scoundrel!--just let me catch him! I +don't wonder you were so agitated. + +_Countess_--I--I assure you we were only planning an innocent joke. + +[_The Count snatches the key, and goes to the dressing-room door; the +Countess throws herself at his feet._] + +_Countess_--Have mercy, Count! Spare this poor child; and although the +disorder in which you will find him-- + +_Count_--What, Madame? What do you mean? What disorder? + +_Countess_--He was just changing his coat--his neck and arms are bare-- + +[_The Countess throws herself into a chair and turns away her head._] + +_Count_ [_running to the dressing-room_]--Come out here, you young +villain! + +_Count_ [_seeing Susanna come out of the dressing-room_]--Eh! Why, it +_is_ Susanna! [_Aside._] What, a lesson! + +_Susanna_ [_mocking him_]--"I will kill him! I will kill him!" Well, +then, why don't you kill this mischievous page? + +_Count_ [_to the Countess, who at the sight of Susanna shows the +greatest surprise_]--So _you_ also play astonishment, Madame? + +_Countess_--Why shouldn't I? + +_Count_--But perhaps she wasn't alone in there. I'll find out. [_He goes +into the dressing-room._] + +_Countess_--- Susanna, I'm nearly dead. + +_Count_ [_aside, as he returns_]--No one there! So this time I really am +wrong. [_To the Countess, coldly._] You excel at comedy, Madame. + +_Susanna_--And what about me, sir? + +_Count_--And so do you. + +_Countess_--Aren't you glad you found her instead of Cherubino? +[_Meaningly._] You are generally pleased to come across her. + +_Susanna_--Madame ought to have let you break in the doors, call the +servants-- + +_Count_--Yes, it's quite true--I'm at fault--I'm humiliated enough! But +why didn't you answer, you cruel girl, when I called you? + +_Susanna_--I was dressing as well as I could--with the aid of pins, and +Madame knew why she forbade me to answer. She had her lessons. + +_Count_--Why don't you help me get pardon, instead of making me out as +bad as you can? + +_Countess_--Did I marry you to be eternally subjected to jealousy and +neglect? I mean to join the Ursulines, and-- + +_Count_--But, Rosina! + +_Countess_--I am no longer the Rosina whom you loved so well. I am only +poor Countess Almaviva, deserted wife of a madly jealous husband. + +_Count_--I assure you, Rosina, this man, this letter, had excited me +so-- + +_Countess_--I never gave my consent. + +_Count_--What, you knew about it? + +_Countess_--This rattlepate Figaro, without my sanction-- + +_Count_--He did it, eh! and Basilio pretended that a peasant brought it. +Crafty wag, ready to impose on everybody! + +_Countess_--You beg pardon, but you never grant pardon. If I grant it, +it shall only be on condition of a general amnesty. + +_Count_--Well, then, so be it. I agree. But I don't understand how your +sex can adapt itself to circumstances so quickly and so nicely. You were +certainly much agitated; and for that matter, you are yet. + +_Countess_--Men aren't sharp enough to distinguish between honest +indignation at unjust suspicion, and the confusion of guilt. + +_Count_--We men think we know something of politics, but we are only +children. Madame, the King ought to name you his ambassador to +London.--And now pray forget this unfortunate business, so +humiliating for me. + +_Countess_--For us both. + +_Count_--Won't you tell me again that you forgive me? + +_Countess_--Have I said _that_, Susanna? + +_Count_--Ah, say it now. + +_Countess_--Do you deserve it, culprit? + +_Count_--Yes, honestly, for my repentance. + +_Countess [giving him her hand_]--How weak I am! What an example I set +you, Susanna! He'll never believe in a woman's anger. + +_Susanna_--You are prisoner on parole; and you shall see we are +honorable. + + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT and JOHN FLETCHER + +(1584-1616) (1579-1625) + + +"The names of Beaumont and Fletcher," says Lowell, in his lectures on +'Old English Dramatists,' "are as inseparably linked together as those +of Castor and Pollux. They are the double star of our poetical +firmament, and their beams are so indissolubly mingled that it is vain +to attempt any division of them that shall assign to each his rightful +share." Theirs was not that dramatic collaboration all too common among +the lesser Elizabethan dramatists, at a time when managers, eager to +satisfy a restless public incessantly clamoring for novelty, parceled +out single acts or even scenes of a play among two or three playwrights, +to put together a more or less congruous piece of work. Beaumont and +Fletcher joined partnership, not from any outward necessity, but +inspired by a common love of their art and true congeniality of mind. +Unlike many of their brother dramatists, whom the necessities of a lowly +origin drove to seek a livelihood in writing for the theatres, Beaumont +and Fletcher were of gentle birth, and sprung from families eminent at +the bar and in the Church. + +[Illustration: Francis Beaumont] + +Beaumont was born at Grace-Dieu in Leicestershire, 1584, the son of a +chief justice. His name is first mentioned as a gentleman commoner at +Broadgate Hall, now Pembroke College, Oxford. At sixteen he was entered +a member of the Inner Temple, but the dry facts of the law did not +appeal to his romantic imagination. Nowhere in his work does he draw +upon his barrister's experience to the extent that makes the plays of +Middleton, who also knew the Inner Temple at first hand, a storehouse of +information in things legal. His feet soon strayed, therefore, into the +more congenial fields of dramatic invention. + +Fletcher was born in Rye, Sussex, the son of a minister who later became +Bishop of London. Giles Fletcher the Younger, and Phineas Fletcher, both +well-known poets in their day, were his cousins. His early life is as +little known as that of Beaumont, and indeed as the lives of most of the +other Elizabethan dramatists. He was a pensioner at Benet College, now +Corpus Christi, Cambridge, in 1591, and in 1593 he was "Bible-clerk" +there. Then we hear nothing of him until 'The Woman Hater' was brought +out in 1607. The play has been ascribed to Beaumont alone, to Fletcher +alone, and to the two jointly. Whoever may be the author, it is the +firstling of his dramatic muse, and worth merely a passing mention. How +or when their literary friendship began is not known; but since both +were friends of Jonson, both prefixing commendatory verses to the great +realist's play of 'The Fox,' it is fair to assume that through him they +were brought together, and that both belonged to that brilliant circle +of wits, poets, and dramatists who made famous the gatherings at the +Mermaid Inn. + +They lived in the closest intimacy on the Bankside, near the Globe +Theatre in Southwark, sharing everything in common, even the bed, and +some say their clothing,--which is likely enough, as it can be +paralleled without going back three centuries. It is certain that the +more affluent circumstances of Beaumont tided his less fortunate friend +over many a difficulty; and the astonishing dramatic productivity of +Fletcher's later period was probably due to Beaumont's untimely death, +making it necessary for Fletcher to rely on his pen for support. + +In 1613 Beaumont's marriage to a Kentish heiress put an end to the +communistic bachelor establishment. He died March 6th, 1616, not quite +six weeks before Shakespeare, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. +Fletcher survived him nine years, dying of the plague in 1625. He was +buried, not by the side of the poet with whose name his own is forever +linked, but at St. Saviour's, Southwark. + +"A student of physiognomy," says Swinburne, "will not fail to mark the +points of likeness and of difference between the faces of the two +friends; both models of noble manhood.... Beaumont the statelier and +serener of the two, with clear, thoughtful eyes, full arched brows, and +strong aquiline nose, with a little cleft at the tip; a grave and +beautiful mouth, with full and finely curved lips; the form of face a +very pure oval, and the imperial head, with its 'fair large front' and +clustering hair, set firm and carried high with an aspect of quiet +command and knightly observation. Fletcher with more keen and fervid +face, sharper in outline every way, with an air of bright ardor and +glad, fiery impatience; sanguine and nervous, suiting the complexion and +color of hair; the expression of the eager eyes and lips almost rivaling +that of a noble hound in act to break the leash it strains at;--two +heads as lordly of feature and as expressive of aspect as any gallery of +great men can show." + +It may not be altogether fanciful to transfer this description of their +physical bearing to their mental equipment, and draw some conclusions as +to their several endowments and their respective share in the work that +goes under their common name. Of course it is impossible to draw hard +and fast lines of demarkation, and assign to each poet his own words. +They, above all others, would probably have resented so dogmatic a +procedure, and affirmed the dramas to be their joint offspring,--even as +a child partakes of the nature of both its parents. + +Their plays are organic structures, with well worked-out plots and for +the most part well-sustained characters. They present a complete fusion +of the different elements contributed by each author; never showing that +agglomeration of incongruous matter so often found among the work of the +lesser playwrights, where each hand can be singled out and held +responsible for its share. Elaborate attempts, based on verse tests, +have been made to disentangle the two threads of their poetic fabric. +These attempts show much patient analysis, and are interesting as +evidences of ingenuity; but they appeal more to the scholar than to the +lover of poetry. Yet a sympathetic reading and a comparison of the plays +professedly written by Fletcher alone, after Beaumont's death, with +those jointly produced by them in the early part of Fletcher's career, +shows the different qualities of mind that went to the making of the +work, and the individual characteristics of the men that wrote it. Here +Swinburne's eloquence gives concreteness to the picture. + +In the joint plays there is a surer touch, a deeper, more pathetic note, +a greater intensity of emotion; there is more tragic pathos and passion, +more strong genuine humor, nobler sentiments. The predominance of these +graver, sweeter qualities may well be attributed to Beaumont's +influence. Although a disciple of Jonson in comedy, he was a close +follower of Shakespeare in tragedy, and a student of the rhythms and +metres of Shakespeare's second manner,--of the period that saw 'Hamlet,' +'Macbeth,' and the plays clustering around them. Too great a poet +himself merely to imitate, Beaumont yet felt the influence of that still +greater poet who swayed every one of the later dramatists, with the +single exception perhaps of Jonson. But in pure comedy, mixed with farce +and mock-heroic parody, he belongs to the school of "rare Ben." + +Fletcher, on the other hand, is more brilliant, more rapid and supple, +readier in his resources, of more startling invention. He has an +extraordinary swiftness and fluency of speech; and no other dramatist, +not even Shakespeare, equals him in the remarkable facility with which +he reproduces in light, airy verse the bantering conversations of the +young beaux and court-gentlemen of the time of James I. His peculiar +trick of the redundant syllable at the end of many of his lines is +largely responsible in producing this effect of ordinary speech, that +yet is verse without being prosy. There is a flavor about Fletcher's +work peculiarly its own. He created a new form of mixed comedy and +dramatic romance, dealing with the humors and mischances of men, yet +possessing a romantic coloring. He had great skill in combining his +effects, and threw a fresh charm and vividness over his fanciful world. +The quality of his genius is essentially bright and sunny, and therefore +he is best in his comic and romantic work. His tragedy, although it has +great pathos and passion, does not compel tears, nor does it subdue by +its terror. It lacks the note of inevitableness which is the final +touchstone of tragic greatness. + +Their first joint play, 'Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding,' acted in +1608, is in its detached passages the most famous. Among the others, +'The Maid's Tragedy,' produced about the same time, is their finest play +on its purely tragic side, although the plot is disagreeable. 'King and +No King' attracts because of the tender character-drawing of Panthea. +'The Scornful Lady' is noteworthy as the best exponent, outside his own +work, of the school of Jonson on its grosser side. 'The Knight of the +Burning Pestle' is at once a burlesque on knight-errantry and a comedy +of manners. + +Among the tragedies presumably produced by Fletcher alone, 'Bonduca' is +one of the best, followed closely by 'The False One,' 'Valentinian,' and +'Thierry and Theodoret.' 'The Chances' and 'The Wild Goose Chase' may be +taken as examples of the whole work on its comic side. 'The Humorous +Lieutenant' is the best expression of the faults and merits of Fletcher, +whose comedies Swinburne has divided into three groups: pure comedies, +heroic or romantic dramas, and mixed comedy and romance. To the first +group belong 'Rule a Wife and Have a Wife,' Fletcher's comic +masterpiece, 'Wit without Money,' 'The Wild Goose Chase,' 'The Chances,' +'The Noble Gentleman.' The second group includes 'The Knight of Malta,' +full of heroic passion and Catholic devotion, 'The Pilgrim,' 'The Loyal +Subject,' 'A Wife for a Month,' 'Love's Pilgrimage,' 'The Lover's +Progress.' The third group comprises 'The Spanish Curate,' 'Monsieur +Thomas,' 'The Custom of the Country,' 'The Elder Brother,' 'The Little +French Lawyer,' 'The Humorous Lieutenant,' 'Women Pleased,' 'Beggar's +Bush,' 'The Fair Maid of the Inn.' + +Fletcher had a part with Shakespeare in the 'Two Noble Kinsmen,' and he +wrote also in conjunction with Massinger, Rowley, and others; Shirley, +too, is believed to have finished some of his plays. + +Leaving aside Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher's plays are the best +dramatic expression of the romantic spirit of Elizabethan England. Their +luxurious, playful fancy delighted in the highly colored, spicy tales of +the Southern imagination which the Renaissance was then bringing into +England. They drew especially upon Spanish material, and their plays are +rightly interpreted only when studied in reference to this Spanish +foundation. But they are at the same time true Englishmen, and above all +true Elizabethans; which is as much as to say that, borne along by the +eager, strenuous spirit of their time, reaching out toward new +sensations and impressions, new countries and customs, and dazzled by +the romanesque and fantastic, they took up this exotic material and made +it acceptable to the English mind. They satisfied the curiosity of their +time, and expressed its surface ideas and longings. This accounts for +their great popularity, which in their day eclipsed even Shakespeare's, +as it accounts also for their shortcomings. They skimmed over the +surface of passion, they saw the pathos and the pity of it but not the +terror; they lacked Shakespeare's profound insight into the well-springs +of human action, and sacrificed truth of life to stage effect. They +shared with him one grave fault which is indeed the besetting sin of +dramatists, resulting in part from the necessarily curt and outline +action of the drama, in part from the love of audiences for strong +emotional effects; namely, the abrupt and unexplained moral revolutions +of their characters. Effects are too often produced without apparent +causes; a novelist has space to fill in the blanks. The sudden +contrition of the usurper in 'As You Like It' is a familiar instance; +Beaumont and Fletcher have plenty as bad. Probably there was more of +this in real life during the Middle Ages, when most people still had +much barbaric instability of feeling and were liable to sudden +revulsions of purpose, than in our more equable society. On the other +hand, virtue often suffers needlessly and acquiescingly. + +In their speech they indulged in much license, Fletcher especially; he +was prone to confuse right and wrong. The strenuousness of the earlier +Elizabethan age was passing away, and the relaxing morality of Jacobean +society was making its way into literature, culminating in the entire +disintegration of the time of Charles II., which it is very shallow to +lay entirely to the Puritans. There would have been a time of great +laxity had Cromwell or the Puritan ascendancy never existed. Beaumont +and Fletcher, in their eagerness to please, took no thought of the +after-effects of their plays; morality did not enter into their scheme +of life. Yet they were not immoral, but merely unmoral. They lacked the +high seriousness that gives its permanent value to Shakespeare's tragic +work. They wrote not to embody the everlasting truths of life, as he +did; not because they were oppressed with the weight of a new message +striving for utterance; not because they were aflame with the passion +for the unattainable, as Marlowe; not to lash with the stings of bitter +mockery the follies and vices of their fellow-men, as Ben Jonson; not +primarily to make us shudder at the terrible tragedies enacted by +corrupted hearts, and the needless unending sufferings of persecuted +virtue, as Webster; nor yet to give us a faithful picture of the +different phases of life in Jacobean London, as Dekker, Heywood, +Middleton, and others. They wrote for the very joy of writing, to give +vent to their over-bubbling fancy and their tender feeling. + +They are lyrical and descriptive poets of the first order, with a +wonderful ease and grace of expression. The songs scattered throughout +their plays are second only to Shakespeare's. The volume and variety of +their work is astonishing. They left more than fifty-two printed plays, +and all of these show an extraordinary power of invention; the most +diverse passions, characters, and situations enter into the work, their +stories stimulate our curiosity, and their characters appeal to our +sympathies. Especially in half-farcical, half-pathetic comedy they have +no superior; their wit and spirit here find freest play. Despite much +coarseness, their work is full of delicate sensibility, and suffused +with a romantic grace of form and a tenderness of expression that +endears them to our hearts, and makes them more lovable than any of +their brother dramatists, with the possible exception of genial Dekker. +The spirit of chivalry breathes through their work, and the gentleman +and scholar is always present. For in contradiction to most of their +fellow-workers, they were not on the stage; they never took part in its +more practical affairs either as actors or managers; they derived the +technical knowledge necessary to a successful playwright from their +intimacy with stage folk. + +As poets, aside from their dramatic work, they occupy a secondary place. +Beaumont especially has left, beyond one or two exquisite lyrics, little +that is noteworthy, except some commendatory verses addressed to Jonson. +On the other hand, Fletcher's 'Faithful Shepherdess,' with Jonson's 'Sad +Shepherd' and Milton's 'Comus,' form that delightful trilogy of the +first pastoral poems in the English language. + +The popularity of Beaumont and Fletcher in the seventeenth century, as +compared to that of Shakespeare, has been over-emphasized; for between +1623 and 1685 they have only two folio editions, those of 1647 and 1679, +as against four of Shakespeare. Their position among the Elizabethans is +unique. They did not found a school either in comedy or tragedy. +Massinger, who had more in common with them than any other of the +leading dramatists, cannot be called their disciple; for though he +worked in the same field, he is more sober and severe, more careful in +the construction of his plots, more of a satirist and stern judge of +society. With the succeeding playwrights the decadence of the +Elizabethan drama began. + + +THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS + +BY FLETCHER + +[Clorin, a shepherdess, watching by the grave of her lover, is found by +a Satyr.] + + CLORIN--Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace + The truest man that ever fed his flocks + By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly. + Thus I salute thy grave, thus do I pay + My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes, + To thy still loved ashes: thus I free + Myself from all ensuing heats and fires + Of love: all sports, delights, and jolly games, + That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off. + Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt + With youthful coronals, and lead the dance. + No more the company of fresh fair maids + And wanton shepherds be to me delightful: + Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes + Under some shady dell, when the cool wind + Plays on the leaves: all be far away, + Since thou art far away, by whose dear side + How often have I sat, crowned with fresh flowers + For summer's queen, whilst every shepherd's boy + Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, + And hanging script of finest cordevan! + But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, + And all are dead but thy dear memory; + That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring, + Whilst there are pipes, or jolly shepherds sing. + And here will I, in honor of thy love, + Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys + That former times made precious to mine eyes, + Only remembering what my youth did gain + In the dark hidden virtuous use of herbs. + That will I practice, and as freely give + All my endeavors, as I gained them free. + Of all green wounds I know the remedies + In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes, + Or charmed with powerful words of wicked art; + Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat + Grown wild, or lunatic; their eyes, or ears, + Thickened with misty film of dulling rheum: + + These I can cure, such secret virtue lies + In herbs applied by a virgin's hand. + My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, + Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks + The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit + Pulled from the fair head of the straight-grown pine. + On these I'll feed with free content and rest, + When night shall blind the world, by thy side blessed + + + [_A Satyr enters_.] + + _Satyr_--Through yon same bending plain + That flings his arms down to the main, + And through these thick woods have I run, + Whose bottom never kissed the sun. + Since the lusty spring began, + All to please my master Pan, + Have I trotted without rest + To get him fruit; for at a feast + He entertains this coming night + His paramour the Syrinx bright: + But behold a fairer sight! + By that heavenly form of thine, + Brightest fair, thou art divine, + Sprung from great immortal race + Of the gods, for in thy face + Shines more awful majesty + Than dull weak mortality + Dare with misty eyes behold, + And live: therefore on this mold + Lowly do I bend my knee + In worship of thy deity. + Deign it, goddess, from my hand + To receive whate'er this land + From her fertile womb doth send + Of her choice fruits; and--but lend + Belief to that the Satyr tells-- + Fairer by the famous wells + To this present day ne'er grew, + Never better, nor more true. + Here be grapes, whose lusty blood + Is the learned poet's good; + Sweeter yet did never crown + The head of Bacchus: nuts more brown + Than the squirrels' teeth that crack them; + Deign, O fairest fair, to take them. + For these, black-eyed Driope + Hath oftentimes commanded me + With my clasped knee to climb. + See how well the lusty time + Hath decked their rising cheeks in red, + Such as on your lips is spread. + Here be berries for a queen; + Some be red, some be green; + These are of that luscious meat + The great god Pan himself doth eat: + All these, and what the woods can yield, + The hanging mountain, or the field, + I freely offer, and ere long + Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; + Till when humbly leave I take, + Lest the great Pan do awake, + That sleeping lies in a deep glade, + Under a broad beech's shade. + I must go, I must run, + Swifter than the fiery sun. + + _Clorin_--And all my fears go with thee. + What greatness, or what private hidden power, + Is there in me to draw submission + From this rude man and beast? sure. I am mortal, + The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal, + And she that bore me mortal; prick my hand + And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and + The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink, + Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal: + Yet I have heard (my mother told it me) + And now I do believe it, if I keep + My virgin flower uncropped, pure, chaste, and fair, + No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, + Satyr, or other power that haunts the groves, + Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion + Draw me to wander after idle fires, + Or voices calling me in dead of night + To make me follow, and so tole me on + Through mire, and standing pools, to find my ruin. + Else why should this rough thing, who never knew + Manners nor smooth humanity, whose heats + Are rougher than himself, and more misshapen, + Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there's a power + In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast + All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites + That break their confines. Then, strong Chastity, + Be thou my strongest guard; for here I'll dwell + In opposition against fate and hell. + + + SONG + + Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, + Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose + On this afflicted prince; fall, like a cloud, + In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud + Or painful to his slumbers; easy, light, + And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, + Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain, + Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain; + Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide, + And kiss him into slumbers like a bride! + + + SONG + + God Lyaeus, ever young, + Ever honored, ever sung, + Stained with blood of lusty grapes, + In a thousand lusty shapes, + Dance upon the mazer's brim, + In the crimson liquor swim; + From thy plenteous hand divine, + Let a river run with wine. + God of youth, let this day here + Enter neither care nor fear! + + + ASPATIA'S SONG + + Lay a garland on my hearse + Of the dismal yew; + Maidens, willow-branches bear; + Say I died true. + + My love was false, but I was firm + From my hour of birth: + Upon my buried body lie + Lightly, gentle earth! + + + LEANDRO'S SONG + + BY FLETCHER + + Dearest, do not you delay me, + Since thou know'st I must be gone; + Wind and tide, 'tis thought, doth stay me, + But 'tis wind that must be blown + From that breath, whose native smell + Indian odors far excel. + + Oh then speak, thou fairest fair! + Kill not him that vows to serve thee; + But perfume this neighboring air, + Else dull silence, sure, will starve me: + 'Tis a word that's quickly spoken, + Which being restrained, a heart is broken. + + + TRUE BEAUTY + + May I find a woman fair, + And her mind as clear as air: + If her beauty go alone, + 'Tis to me as if 'twere none. + + May I find a woman rich, + And not of too high a pitch: + If that pride should cause disdain, + Tell me, lover, where's thy gain? + + May I find a woman wise, + And her falsehood not disguise: + Hath she wit as she hath will, + Double armed she is to ill. + + May I find a woman kind, + And not wavering like the wind: + How should I call that love mine, + When 'tis his, and his, and thine? + + May I find a woman true, + There is beauty's fairest hue, + There is beauty, love, and wit: + Happy he can compass it! + + + ODE TO MELANCHOLY + + By Fletcher + + Hence, all you vain delights, + As short as are the nights + Wherein you spend your folly! + There's naught in this life sweet, + If man were wise to see 't, + But only melancholy; + Oh, sweetest melancholy! + Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, + A sigh that piercing mortifies, + A look that's fastened to the ground, + A tongue chained up without a sound! + + Fountain heads, and pathless groves, + Places which pale passion loves! + Moonlight walks when all the fowls + Are warmly housed, save bats and owls! + A midnight bell, a parting groan! + These are the sounds we feed upon; + Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; + Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. + + + TO MY DEAR FRIEND, MASTER BENJAMIN JONSON, + + UPON HIS 'FOX' + + By Beaumont + + If it might stand with justice to allow + The swift conversion of all follies, now + Such is my mercy, that I could admit + All sorts should equally approve the wit + Of this thy even work, whose growing fame + Shall raise thee high, and thou it, with thy name; + And did not manners and my love command + Me to forbear to make those understand + Whom thou, perhaps, hast in thy wiser doom + Long since firmly resolved, shall never come + To know more than they do,--I would have shown + To all the world the art which thou alone + Hast taught our tongue, the rules of time, of place, + And other rites, delivered with the grace + + Of comic style, which only is fat more + Than any English stage hath known before. + But since our subtle gallants think it good + To like of naught that may be understood, + Lest they should be disproved, or have, at best, + Stomachs so raw, that nothing can digest + But what's obscene, or barks,--let us desire + They may continue, simply to admire + Fine clothes and strange words, and may live, in age + To see themselves ill brought upon the stage, + And like it; whilst thy bold and knowing Muse + Contemns all praise, but such as thou wouldst choose. + + + ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER + + BY BEAUMONT + + Mortality, behold, and fear! + What a change of flesh is here! + Think how many royal bones + Sleep within this heap of stones: + Here they lie had realms and lands, + Who now want strength to stir their hands; + Where from their pulpits, soiled with dust, + They preach, "In greatness is no trust." + Here's an acre sown indeed + With the richest, royal'st seed, + That, the earth did e'er suck in + Since the first man died for sin: + Here the bones of birth have cried, + "Though gods they were, as men they died:" + Here are sands, ignoble things, + Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: + Here's a world of pomp and state + Buried in dust, once dead by fate. + + + FROM 'PHILASTER, OR LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING' + + ARETHUSA'S DECLARATION + + Lady--Here is my Lord Philaster. + + _Arethusa_--Oh, 'tis well. + Withdraw yourself. _Exit Lady_. + + _Philaster_--Madam, your messenger + Made me believe you wished to speak with me. + + _Arethusa_--'Tis true, Philaster, but the words are such + I have to say, and do so ill beseem + The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, + And yet am loath to speak them. Have you known + That I have aught detracted from your worth? + Have I in person wronged you? or have set + My baser instruments to throw disgrace + Upon your virtues? + + _Philaster_--Never, madam, you. + + _Arethusa_--Why then should you, in such a public place, + Injure a princess, and a scandal lay + Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great, + Calling a great part of my dowry in question? + + _Philaster_--Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be + Foolish: but, for your fair and virtuous self, + I could afford myself to have no right + To any thing you wished. + + _Arethusa_--Philaster, know, + I must enjoy these kingdoms. + + _Philaster_--Madam, both? + + _Arethusa_--Both, or I die; by fate, I die, Philaster, + If I not calmly may enjoy them both. + + _Philaster_--I would do much to save that noble life, + Yet would be loath to have posterity + Find in our stories, that Philaster gave + His right unto a sceptre and a crown + To save a lady's longing. + + _Arethusa_--Nay, then, hear: + I must and will have them, and more-- + + _Philaster_--What more? + + _Arethusa_--Or lose that little life the gods prepared + To trouble this poor piece of earth withal. + + _Philaster_--Madam, what more? + + _Arethusa_--Turn, then, away thy face. + + _Philaster_--No. + + _Arethusa_--Do. + + _Philaster_--I can endure it. Turn away my face! + I never yet saw enemy that looked + So dreadfully, but that I thought myself + As great a basilisk as he; or spake + So horribly, but that I thought my tongue + Bore thunder underneath, as much as his; + Nor beast that I could turn from: shall I then + Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady's voice, + Whom I do love? Say, you would have my life: + Why, I will give it you; for 'tis to me + A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask + Of so poor use, that I shall make no price: + If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear. + + _Arethusa_--Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks. + + _Philaster_--I do. + + _Arethusa_--Then know, I must have them and thee. + + _Philaster_--And me? + + _Arethusa_--Thy love; without which, all the land + Discovered yet will serve me for no use + But to be buried in. + + _Philaster_--Is't possible? + + _Arethusa_--With it, it were too little to bestow + On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead, + (Which, know, it may,) I have unript my breast. + + _Philaster_--Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts + To lay a train for this contemned life, + Which you may have for asking: to suspect + Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you! + By all my hopes I do, above my life! + But how this passion should proceed from you + So violently, would amaze a man + That would be jealous. + + _Arethusa_--Another soul into my body shot + Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit + Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time + In seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods, + The gods, that make me so; and sure, our love + Will be the nobler and the better blest, + In that the secret justice of the gods + Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss: + Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, + And we should part without it. + + _Philaster_--'Twill be ill + I should abide here long. + + _Arethusa_--'Tis true: and worse + You should come often. How shall we devise + To hold intelligence, that our true loves, + On any new occasion, may agree + What path is best to tread? + + _Philaster_--I have a boy, + Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, + Yet not seen in the court. Hunting the buck, + I found him sitting by a fountain's side, + Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, + And paid the nymph again as much in tears. + A garland lay him by, made by himself + Of many several flowers bred in the vale, + Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness + Delighted me; but ever when he turned + His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, + As if he meant to make 'em grow again. + Seeing such pretty helpless innocence + Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story. + He told me that his parents gentle died, + Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, + Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs, + Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, + Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light. + Then took he up his garland, and did show + What every flower, as country-people hold, + Did signify, and how all, ordered thus, + Expressed his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read + The prettiest lecture of his country-art + That could be wished: so that methought I could + Have studied it. I gladly entertained + Him, who was glad to follow: and have got + The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy + That ever master kept. Him will I send + To wait on you, and bear our hidden love. + + + THE STORY OF BELLARIO + + PHILASTER--But, Bellario + (For I must call thee still so), tell me why + Thou didst conceal thy sex. It was a fault, + A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds + Of truth outweighed it: all these jealousies + Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered + What now we know. + + _Bellario_--My father oft would speak + Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow + More and more apprehensive, I did thirst + To see the man so praised. But yet all this + Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost + As soon as found; till, sitting in my window, + Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, + I thought (but it was you), enter our gates: + My blood flew out and back again, as fast + As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in + Like breath; then was I called away in haste + To entertain you. Never was a man + Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised + So high in thoughts as I. You left a kiss + Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep + From you for ever; I did hear you talk, + Far above singing. After you were gone, + I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched + What stirred it so: alas, I found it love! + Yet far from lust; for, could I but have lived + In presence of you, I had had my end. + For this I did delude my noble father + With a feigned pilgrimage, and dressed myself + In habit of a boy; and, for I knew + My birth no match for you, I was past hope + Of having you; and, understanding well + That when I made discovery of my sex + I could not stay with you, I made a vow, + By all the most religious things a maid + Could call together, never to be known, + Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes. + For other than I seemed, that I might ever + Abide with you. Then sat I by the fount, + Where first you took me up. + + _King_--Search out a match + Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, + And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself + Wilt well deserve him. + + _Bellario_--Never, sir, will I + Marry; it is a thing within my vow: + But if I may have leave to serve the princess, + To see the virtues of her lord and her, + I shall have hope to live. + + _Arethusa_--I, Philaster, + Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady + Drest like a page to serve you; nor will I + Suspect her living here.--Come, live with me; + Live free as I do. She that loves my lord, + Cursed be the wife that hates her! + + + FROM 'THE MAID'S TRAGEDY' + + CONFESSION OF EVADNE TO AMINTOR + + Evadne--Would I could say so [farewell] to my black disgrace! + Oh, where have I been all this time? how friended, + That I should lose myself thus desperately, + And none for pity show me how I wandered? + There is not in the compass of the light + A more unhappy creature: sure, I am monstrous; + For I have done those follies, those mad mischiefs, + Would dare a woman. Oh, my loaden soul, + Be not so cruel to me; choke not up + The way to my repentance! + + [_Enter Amintor._] + + O my lord! + + _Amintor_--How now? + + _Evadne_--My much-abused lord! [_Kneels._] + + _Amintor_--This cannot be! + + _Evadne_--I do not kneel to live; I dare not hope it; + The wrongs I did are greater. Look upon me, + Though I appear with all my faults. + + _Amintor_--Stand up. + This is a new way to beget more sorrows: + Heaven knows I have too many. Do not mock me: + + Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, + Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap, + Like a hand-wolf, into my natural wildness, + And do an outrage: prithee, do not mock me, + + _Evadne_--My whole life is so leprous, it infects + All my repentance. I would buy your pardon, + Though at the highest set, even with my life: + That slight contrition, that's no sacrifice + For what I have committed. + + _Amintor_--Sure, I dazzle: + There cannot be a faith in that foul woman, + That knows no God more mighty than her mischiefs. + Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults, + To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe + There's any seed of virtue in that woman + Left to shoot up that dares go on in sin + Known, and so known as thine is? O Evadne! + Would there were any safety in thy sex, + That I might put a thousand sorrows off, + And credit thy repentance! but I must not: + Thou hast brought me to that dull calamity, + To that strange misbelief of all the world + And all things that are in it, that I fear + I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave, + Only remembering that I grieve. + + _Evadne_--My lord, + Give me your griefs: you are an innocent, + A soul as white as Heaven; let not my sins + Perish your noble youth. I do not fall here + To shadow by dissembling with my tears, + (As all say women can,) or to make less + What my hot will hath done, which Heaven and you + Know to be tougher than the hand of time + Can cut from man's remembrances; no, I do not; + I do appear the same, the same Evadne, + Drest in the shames I lived in, the same monster. + But these are names of honor to what I am: + I do present myself the foulest creature, + Most poisonous, dangerous, and despised of men, + Lerna e'er bred, or Nilus. I am hell, + Till you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me, + The beams of your forgiveness; I am soul-sick, + And wither with the fear of one condemned, + Till I have got your pardon. + + _Amintor_--Rise, Evadne. + Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee + Grant a continuance of it! I forgive thee: + Make thyself worthy of it; and take heed, + Take heed, Evadne, this be serious. + Mock not the powers above, that can and dare + Give thee a great example of their justice + To all ensuing ages, if thou playest + With thy repentance, the best sacrifice. + + _Evadne_--I have done nothing good to win belief, + My life hath been so faithless. All the creatures + Made for Heaven's honors have their ends, and good ones, + All but the cozening crocodiles, false women: + They reign here like those plagues, those killing sores, + Men pray against; and when they die, like tales + Ill told and unbelieved, they pass away, + And go to dust forgotten. But, my lord, + Those short days I shall number to my rest + (As many must not see me) shall, though too late, + Though in my evening, yet perceive a will, + Since I can do no good, because a woman, + Reach constantly at something that is near it; + I will redeem one minute of my age, + Or, like another Niobe, I'll weep, + Till I am water. + + _Amintor_--I am now dissolved: + My frozen soul melts. May each sin thou hast, + Find a new mercy! Rise; I am at peace. + + [_Evadne rises_.] + + Hadst thou been thus, thus excellently good, + Before that devil-king tempted thy frailty, + Sure thou hadst made a star. Give me thy hand: + From this time I will know thee; and as far + As honor gives me leave, be thy Amintor. + When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly, + And pray the gods to give thee happy days: + My charity shall go along with thee, + Though my embraces must be far from thee. + I should have killed thee, but this sweet repentance + Locks up my vengeance: for which thus I kiss thee-- + + [_Kisses her_.] + + The last kiss we must take; and would to Heaven + The holy priest that gave our hands together + Had given us equal virtues! Go, Evadne; + The gods thus part our bodies. Have a care + My honor falls no farther: I am well, then. + + _Evadne_--All the dear joys here, and above hereafter, + Crown thy fair soul! Thus I take leave, my lord; + And never shall you see the foul Evadne, + Till she have tried all honored means, that may + Set her in rest and wash her stains away. + + + FROM 'BONDUCA' + + THE DEATH OF THE BOY HENGO + + [_Scene: A field between the British and the Roman camps._] + + + _Caratach_--How does my boy? + + _Hengo_--I would do well; my heart's well; + I do not fear. + + _Caratach_--My good boy! + + _Hengo_--I know, uncle, + We must all die: my little brother died; + I saw him die, and he died smiling; sure, + There's no great pain in't, uncle. But pray tell me, + Whither must we go when we are dead? + + _Caratach [aside]_--Strange questions! + Why, the blessed'st place, boy! ever sweetness + And happiness dwell there. + + _Hengo_--Will you come to me? + + _Caratach_--Yes, my sweet boy. + + _Hengo_--Mine aunt too, and my cousins? + + _Caratach_--All, my good child. + + _Hengo_--No Romans, uncle? + + _Caratach_--No, boy. + + _Hengo_--I should be loath to meet them there. + + _Caratach_--No ill men, + That live by violence and strong oppression, + Come thither: 'tis for those the gods love, good men. + + _Hengo_--Why, then, I care not when I go, for surely + I am persuaded they love me: I never + Blasphemed 'em, uncle, nor transgressed my parents; + I always said my prayers. + + _Caratach_--Thou shalt go, then; + Indeed thou shalt. + + _Hengo_--When they please. + + _Caratach_--That's my good boy! + Art thou not weary, Hengo? + + _Hengo_--Weary, uncle! + I have heard you say you have marched all day in armor. + + _Caratach_--I have, boy. + + _Hengo_--Am not I your kinsman? + + _Caratach_--Yes. + + _Hengo_--And am not I as fully allied unto you + In those brave things as blood? + + _Caratach_--Thou art too tender. + + _Hengo_--To go upon my legs? they were made to bear me. + I can play twenty miles a day; I see no reason + But, to preserve my country and myself, + I should march forty. + + _Caratach_--What wouldst thou be, living + To wear a man's strength! + + _Hengo_--Why, a Caratach, + A Roman-hater, a scourge sent from Heaven + To whip these proud thieves from our kingdom. Hark! + + [_Drum within._] + + * * * * * + + [_They are on a rock in the rear of a wood._] + + _Caratach_--Courage, my boy! I have found meat: look, Hengo, + Look where some blessed Briton, to preserve thee, + Has hung a little food and drink: cheer up, boy; + Do not forsake me now. + + _Hengo_--O uncle, uncle, + I feel I cannot stay long! yet I'll fetch it, + To keep your noble life. Uncle, I am heart-whole, + And would live. + + _Caratach_--Thou shalt, long, I hope. + + _Hengo_--But my head, uncle! + Methinks the rock goes round. + + [_Enter Macer and Judas, and remain at the side of the stage._] + + _Macer_--Mark 'em well, Judas. + + _Judas_--Peace, as you love your life. + + _Hengo_--Do not you hear + The noise of bells? + + _Caratach_--Of bells, boy! 'tis thy fancy; + Alas, thy body's full of wind! + + _Hengo_--Methinks, sir, + They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation + To some near funeral of state: nay, weep not, + Mine own sweet uncle; you will kill me sooner. + + _Caratach_--O my poor chicken! + + _Hengo_--Fie, faint-hearted uncle! + Come, tie me in your belt and let me down. + + _Caratach_--I'll go myself, boy. + + _Hengo_--No, as you love me, uncle: + I will not eat it, if I do not fetch it; + The danger only I desire: pray, tie me. + + _Caratach_--I will, and all my care hang o'er thee! Come, child, + My valiant child! + + _Hengo_--Let me down apace, uncle, + And you shall see how like a daw I'll whip it + From all their policies; for 'tis most certain + A Roman train: and you must hold me sure, too; + You'll spoil all else. When I have brought it, uncle, + We'll be as merry-- + + _Caratach_--Go, i' the name of Heaven, boy! + + [_Lets Hengo down by his belt._] + + _Hengo_--Quick, quick, uncle! I have it. + [_Judas shoots Hengo with an arrow_.] Oh! + + _Caratach_--What ail'st thou? + + _Hengo_--Oh, my best uncle, I am slain! + + _Caratach [to Judas]_--I see you, + And Heaven direct my hand! destruction + Go with thy coward soul! + + [_Kills Judas with a stone, and then draws up Hengo. Exit Macer._] + + How dost thou, boy?-- + O villain, pocky villain! + + _Hengo_--Oh, uncle, uncle, + Oh, how it pricks me!--am I preserved for this?-- + Extremely pricks me! + + _Caratach_--Coward, rascal coward! + Dogs eat thy flesh! + + _Hengo_--Oh, I bleed hard! I faint too; out upon't, + How sick I am!--The lean rogue, uncle! + + _Caratach_--Look, boy; + I have laid him sure enough. + + _Hengo_--Have you knocked his brains out? + + _Caratach_--I warrant thee, for stirring more: cheer up, child. + + _Hengo_--Hold my sides hard; stop, stop; oh, wretched fortune, + Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, uncle. + + _Caratach_--Heaven look upon this noble child! + + _Hengo_--I once hoped + I should have lived to have met these bloody Romans + At my sword's point, to have revenged my father, + To have beaten 'em,--oh, hold me hard!--but, uncle-- + + _Caratach_--Thou shalt live still, I hope, boy. Shall I draw it? + + _Hengo_--You draw away my soul, then. I would live + A little longer--spare me, Heavens!--but only + To thank you for your tender love: good uncle, + Good noble uncle, weep not. + + _Caratach_--O my chicken, + My dear boy, what shall I lose? + + _Hengo_--Why, a child, + That must have died however; had this 'scaped me, + Fever or famine--I was born to die, sir. + + _Caratach_--But thus unblown, my boy? + + _Hengo_--I go the straighter + My journey to the gods. Sure, I shall know you + When you come, uncle. + + _Caratach_--Yes, boy. + + _Hengo_--And I hope + We shall enjoy together that great blessedness + You told me of. + + _Caratach_--Most certain, child. + + _Hengo_--I grow cold; + Mine eyes are going. + + _Caratach_--Lift 'em up. + + _Hengo_--Pray for me; + And, noble uncle, when my bones are ashes, + Think of your little nephew!--Mercy! + + _Caratach_--Mercy! + You blessed angels, take him! + + _Hengo_--Kiss me: so. + Farewell, farewell! [_Dies._] + + _Caratach_--Farewell, the hopes of Britain! + Thou royal graft, farewell for ever!--Time and Death, + Ye have done your worst. Fortune, now see, now proudly + Pluck off thy veil and view thy triumph; look, + Look what thou hast brought this land to!--O fair flower, + How lovely yet thy ruins show, how sweetly + Even death embraces thee! the peace of Heaven, + The fellowship of all great souls, be with thee! + + + FROM 'THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN' + + BY SHAKESPEARE AND FLETCHER + + Roses, their sharp spines being gone, + Not royal in their smells alone, + But in their hue; + Maiden-pinks, of odor faint, + Daisies smell-less yet most quaint, + And sweet thyme true; + + Primrose, first-born child of Ver, + Merry spring-time's harbinger, + With her bells dim; + Oxlips in their cradles growing, + Marigolds on death-beds blowing, + Larks'-heels trim. + + All, dear Nature's children sweet, + Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, + Blessing their sense! + Not an angel of the air, + Bird melodious or bird fair, + Be absent hence! + + The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor + The boding raven, nor chough hoar, + Nor chattering pie, + May on our bride-house perch or sing, + Or with them any discord bring, + But from it fly! + + + + +WILLIAM BECKFORD + +(1759-1844) + + +The translation from a defective Arabic manuscript of the 'Book of the +Thousand Nights and A Night,' first into the French by Galland, about +1705, and presently into various English versions, exerted an immediate +influence on French, German, and English romance. The pseudo-Oriental or +semi-Oriental tale of home-manufacture sprang into existence right and +left with the publishers of London and Paris, and in German centres of +letters. Hope's 'Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Modern Greek,' Lewis's 'The +Monk,' the German Hauff's admirable 'Stories of the Caravan, the Inn, +and the Palace,' Rueckert's 'Tales of the Genii,' and William Beckford's +'History of the Caliph Vathek,' are among the finest performances of the +sort: productions more or less Eastern in sentiment and in their details +of local color, but independent of direct originals in the Persian or +Arabic, so far as is conclusively known. + +[Illustration: WILLIAM BECKFORD] + +William Beckford, born at London in 1759 (of a strong line which +included a governor of Jamaica), dying in 1844, is a figure of +distinction merely as an Englishman of his time, aside from his one +claim to literary remembrance. His father's death left him the richest +untitled citizen of England. He was not sent to a university, but +immense care was given to his education, in which Lord Chatham +personally interested himself; and he traveled widely. The result of +this, on a very receptive mind with varied natural gifts, was to make +Beckford an ideal dilettante. His tastes in literature, painting, music +(in which Mozart was his tutor), sculpture, architecture, and what not, +were refined to the highest nicety. He was able to gratify each of them +as such a man can rarely have the means to do. He built palaces and +towers of splendor instead of merely a beautiful country seat. He tried +to reproduce Vathek's halls in stone and stucco, employing relays of +workmen by day and night, on two several occasions and estates, for many +months. Where other men got together moderate collections of _bibelots_, +Beckford amassed whole museums. If a builder's neglect or a fire +destroyed his rarities and damaged his estates to the extent of forty or +fifty thousand pounds, Beckford merely rebuilt and re-collected. These +tastes and lavish expenditures gradually set themselves in a current +toward things Eastern. His magnificent retreat at Cintra in Portugal, +his vast Fonthill Abbey and Lansdowne Hill estates in England, were only +appanages of his sumptuous state. England and Europe talked of him and +of his properties. He was a typical egotist: but an agreeable and +gracious man, esteemed by a circle of friends not called upon to be his +sycophants; and he kept in close touch with the intellectual life of +all Europe. + +He wrote much, for an amateur, and in view of the tale which does him +most honor, he wrote with success. At twenty he invited publicity with a +satiric _jeu d'esprit,_ 'Biographical Memoirs of Extraordinary +Painters'; and his 'Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal,' and +'Recollections of an Excursion to the Monasteries of Alcobaba and +Baltalha,' were well received. But these books could not be expected to +survive even three generations; whereas 'Vathek,' the brilliant, the +unique, the inimitable 'Vathek,' took at once a place in literature +which we may now almost dare to call permanent. This story, not a long +one,--indeed, no more than a novelette in size,--was originally written +in French, and still lives in that language; in which an edition, hardly +the best, has lately been issued under the editorship of M. Mallarme. +But its history is complicated by one of the most notable acts of +literary treachery and theft on record. During the author's slow and +finicky composition of it at Lausanne, he was sending it piecemeal to +his friend Robert Henley in England for Henley to make an English +version, of course to be revised by himself. As soon as Henley had all +the parts, he published a hasty and slipshod translation, before +Beckford had seen it or was even ready to publish the French original; +and not only did so, but published it as a tale translated by himself +from a genuine Arabic original. This double violation of good faith of +course enraged Beckford, and practically separated the two men for the +rest of their lives; indeed, the wonder is that Beckford would ever +recognize Henley's existence again. The piracy was exposed and set +aside, and Beckford in self-defense issued the story himself in French +as soon as he could; indeed, he issued it in two versions with curious +and interesting differences, one published at Lausanne and the other at +Paris. The Lausanne edition is preferable. + +'Vathek' abides to-day accredited to Beckford in both French and +English; a thing to keep his memory green as nothing else of his work or +personality will. The familiar legend that in its present form it was +composed at a single sitting, with such ardor as to entail a severe +illness, and "without the author's taking off his clothes," cannot be +reconciled with the known facts. But the intensely vivid movement of it +certainly suggests swift production; and it could easily be thought that +any author had sketched such a story in the heat of some undisturbed +sitting, and filled, finished, and polished it at leisure. It is an +extraordinary performance; even in Henley's unsatisfactory version it is +irresistible. We know that Beckford expected to add liberally to it by +inserting sundry subordinate tales, put into the mouths of some of the +personages appearing in the last scene. It is quite as well that he did +not. Its distinctive Orientalism, perhaps less remarkable than the +unfettered imagination of its episodes, the vividness of its characters, +the easy brilliancy of its literary manner--these things, with French +diction and French wit, alternate with startling descriptive +impressiveness. It is a French combination of Cervantes and Dante, in an +Oriental and bizarre narrative. It is not always delicate, but it is +never vulgar, and the sprightly pages are as admirable as the weird +ones. Its pictures, taken out of their connection, seem irrelevant, and +are certainly unlike enough; but they are a succession of surprises and +fascinations. Such are the famous description of the chase of Vathek's +court after the Giaour; the moonlit departure of the Caliph for the +Terrace of Istakhar; the episodes of his stay under the roof of the Emir +Fakreddin; the pursuit by Carathis on "her great camel Alboufaki," +attended by "the hideous Nerkes and the unrelenting Cafour"; Nouronihar +drawn to the magic flame in the dell at night; the warning of the good +Jinn; and the tremendous final tableau of the Hall of Eblis. + +The man curious in letters regards with affection the evidences of +vitality in a brief production little more than a century old; unique in +English and French literature, and occupying to-day a high rank among +the small group of _quasi_-Oriental narratives that represent the direct +workings of Galland on the Occidental literary temperament. Today +'Vathek' surprises and delights persons whose mental constitution puts +them in touch with it, just as potently as ever it did. And simply as a +wild story, one fancies that it will appeal quite as effectually, no +matter how many editions may be its future, to a public perhaps +unsympathetic toward its elliptical satire, its caustic wit, its +fantastic course of narrative, and its incongruous wavering between the +flippant, the grotesque, and the terrific. + + +THE INCANTATION AND THE SACRIFICE + +From 'The History of the Caliph Vathek' + +By secret stairs, known only to herself and her son, she [Carathis] +first repaired to the mysterious recesses in which were deposited the +mummies that had been brought from the catacombs of the ancient +Pharaohs. Of these she ordered several to be taken. From thence she +resorted to a gallery, where, under the guard of fifty female negroes, +mute, and blind of the right eye, were preserved the oil of the most +venomous serpents, rhinoceros horns, and woods of a subtle and +penetrating odor, procured from the interior of the Indies, together +with a thousand other horrible rarities. This collection had been formed +for a purpose like the present by Carathis herself, from a presentiment +that she might one day enjoy some intercourse with the infernal powers, +to whom she had ever been passionately attached, and to whose taste she +was no stranger. + +To familiarize herself the better with the horrors in view the Princess +remained in the company of her negresses, who squinted in the most +amiable manner from the only eye they had, and leered with exquisite +delight at the skulls and skeletons which Carathis had drawn forth from +her cabinets.... + +Whilst she was thus occupied, the Caliph, who, instead of the visions he +expected, had acquired in these insubstantial regions a voracious +appetite, was greatly provoked at the negresses: for, having totally +forgotten their deafness, he had impatiently asked them for food; and +seeing them regardless of his demand, he began to cuff, pinch, and push +them, till Carathis arrived to terminate a scene so indecent.... + +"Son! what means all this?" said she, panting for breath. "I thought I +heard as I came up, the shriek of a thousand bats, tearing from their +crannies in the recesses of a cavern.... You but ill deserve the +admirable provision I have brought you." + +"Give it me instantly!" exclaimed the Caliph: "I am perishing for +hunger!" + +"As to that," answered she, "you must have an excellent stomach if it +can digest what I have been preparing." + +"Be quick," replied the Caliph. "But oh, heavens! what horrors! What do +you intend?" + +"Come, come," returned Carathis, "be not so squeamish, but help me to +arrange everything properly, and you shall see that what you reject +with such symptoms of disgust will soon complete your felicity. Let us +get ready the pile for the sacrifice of to-night, and think not of +eating till that is performed. Know you not that all solemn rites are +preceded by a rigorous abstinence?" + +The Caliph, not daring to object, abandoned himself to grief, and the +wind that ravaged his entrails, whilst his mother went forward with the +requisite operations. Phials of serpents' oil, mummies, and bones were +soon set in order on the balustrade of the tower. The pile began to +rise; and in three hours was as many cubits high. At length darkness +approached, and Carathis, having stripped herself to her inmost garment, +clapped her hands in an impulse of ecstasy, and struck light with all +her force. The mutes followed her example: but Vathek, extenuated with +hunger and impatience, was unable to support himself, and fell down in a +swoon. The sparks had already kindled the dry wood; the venomous oil +burst into a thousand blue flames; the mummies, dissolving, emitted a +thick dun vapor; and the rhinoceros' horns beginning to consume, all +together diffused such a stench, that the Caliph, recovering, started +from his trance and gazed wildly on the scene in full blaze around him. +The oil gushed forth in a plenitude of streams; and the negresses, who +supplied it without intermission, united their cries to those of the +Princess. At last the fire became so violent, and the flames reflected +from the polished marble so dazzling, that the Caliph, unable to +withstand the heat and the blaze, effected his escape, and clambered up +the imperial standard. + +In the mean time, the inhabitants of Samarah, scared at the light which +shone over the city, arose in haste, ascended their roofs, beheld the +tower on fire, and hurried half-naked to the square. Their love to their +sovereign immediately awoke; and apprehending him in danger of perishing +in his tower, their whole thoughts were occupied with the means of his +safety. Morakanabad flew from his retirement, wiped away his tears, and +cried out for water like the rest. Bababalouk, whose olfactory nerves +were more familiarized to magical odors, readily conjecturing that +Carathis was engaged in her favorite amusements, strenuously exhorted +them not to be alarmed. Him, however, they treated as an old poltroon; +and forbore not to style him a rascally traitor. The camels and +dromedaries were advancing with water, but no one knew by which way to +enter the tower. Whilst the populace was obstinate in forcing the doors, +a violent east wind drove such a volume of flame against them, as at +first forced them off, but afterwards rekindled their zeal. At the same +time, the stench of the horns and mummies increasing, most of the crowd +fell backward in a state of suffocation. Those that kept their feet +mutually wondered at the cause of the smell, and admonished each other +to retire. Morakanabad, more sick than the rest, remained in a piteous +condition. Holding his nose with one hand, he persisted in his efforts +with the other to burst open the doors, and obtain admission. A hundred +and forty of the strongest and most resolute at length accomplished +their purpose.... + +Carathis, alarmed at the signs of her mutes, advanced to the staircase, +went down a few steps, and heard several voices calling out +from below:-- + +"You shall in a moment have water!" + +Being rather alert, considering her age, she presently regained the top +of the tower, and bade her son suspend the sacrifice for some +minutes, adding:-- + +"We shall soon be enabled to render it more grateful. Certain dolts of +your subjects, imagining, no doubt, that we were on fire, have been rash +enough to break through those doors, which had hitherto remained +inviolate, for the sake of bringing up water. They are very kind, you +must allow, so soon to forget the wrongs you have done them: but that is +of little moment. Let us offer them to the Giaour. Let them come up: our +mutes, who neither want strength nor experience, will soon dispatch +them, exhausted as they are with fatigue." + +"Be it so," answered the Caliph, "provided we finish, and I dine." + +In fact, these good people, out of breath from ascending eleven thousand +stairs in such haste, and chagrined at having spilt, by the way, the +water they had taken, were no sooner arrived at the top than the blaze +of the flames and the fumes of the mummies at once overpowered their +senses. It was a pity! for they beheld not the agreeable smile with +which the mutes and the negresses adjusted the cord to their necks: +these amiable personages rejoiced, however, no less at the scene. Never +before had the ceremony of strangling been performed with so much +facility. They all fell without the least resistance or struggle; so +that Vathek, in the space of a few moments, found himself surrounded by +the dead bodies of his most faithful subjects, all of which were thrown +on the top of the pile. + + +VATHEK AND NOURONIHAR IN THE HALLS OF EBLIS + +From 'The History of the Caliph Vathek' + +The Caliph and Nouronihar beheld each other with amazement, at finding +themselves in a place which, though roofed with a vaulted ceiling, was +so spacious and lofty that at first they took it for an immeasurable +plain. But their eyes at length growing familiar with the grandeur of +the objects at hand, they extended their view to those at a distance, +and discovered rows of columns and arcades, which gradually diminished +till they terminated in a point, radiant as the sun when he darts his +last beams athwart the ocean; the pavement, strewed over with gold dust +and saffron, exhaled so subtle an odor as almost overpowered them; they +however went on, and observed an infinity of censers, in which ambergris +and the wood of aloes were continually burning; between the several +columns were placed tables, each spread with a profusion of viands, and +wines of every species sparkling in vases of crystal. A throng of genii +and other fantastic spirits of each sex danced lasciviously in troops, +at the sound of music which issued from beneath. + +In the midst of this immense hall a vast multitude was incessantly +passing, who severally kept their right hands on their hearts, without +once regarding anything around them; they had all the livid paleness of +death; their eyes, deep sunk in their sockets, resembled those +phosphoric meteors that glimmer by night in places of interment. Some +stalked slowly on, absorbed in profound reverie; some, shrieking with +agony, ran furiously about, like tigers wounded with poisoned arrows; +whilst others, grinding their teeth in rage, foamed along, more frantic +than the wildest maniac. They all avoided each other, and though +surrounded by a multitude that no one could number, each wandered at +random, unheedful of the rest, as if alone on a desert which no foot +had trodden. + +Vathek and Nouronihar, frozen with terror at a sight so baleful, +demanded of the Giaour what these appearances might seem, and why these +ambulating spectres never withdrew their hands from their hearts. + +"Perplex not yourselves," replied he bluntly, "with so much at once; you +will soon be acquainted with all: let us haste and present you +to Eblis." + +They continued their way through the multitude; but notwithstanding +their confidence at first, they were not sufficiently composed to +examine with attention the various perspectives of halls and of +galleries that opened on the right hand and left, which were all +illuminated by torches and braziers, whose flames rose in pyramids to +the centre of the vault. At length they came to a place where long +curtains, brocaded with crimson and gold, fell from all parts in +striking confusion; here the choirs and dances were heard no longer, the +light which glimmered came from afar. + +After some time Vathck and Nouronihar perceived a gleam brightening +through the drapery, and entered a vast tabernacle carpeted with the +skins of leopards; an infinity of elders with streaming beards, and +Afrits in complete armor, had prostrated themselves before the ascent of +a lofty eminence, on the top of which, upon a globe of fire, sat the +formidable Eblis. His person was that of a young man, whose noble and +regular features seemed to have been tarnished by malignant vapors; in +his large eyes appeared both pride and despair; his flowing hair +retained some resemblance to that of an angel of light; in his hand, +which thunder had blasted, he swayed the iron sceptre that causes the +monster Ouranabad, the Afrits, and all the powers of the abyss to +tremble; at his presence the heart of the Caliph sunk within him, and +for the first time he fell prostrate on his face. Nouronihar, however, +though greatly dismayed, could not help admiring the person of Eblis; +for she expected to have seen some stupendous giant. Eblis, with a voice +more mild than might be imagined, but such as transfused through the +soul the deepest melancholy, said:-- + +"Creatures of clay, I receive you into mine empire; ye are numbered +amongst my adorers. Enjoy whatever this palace affords: the treasures of +the pre-Adamite Sultans, their bickering sabres, and those talismans +that compel the Dives to open the subterranean expanses of the mountain +of Kaf, which communicate with these. There, insatiable as your +curiosity may be, shall you find sufficient to gratify it; you shall +possess the exclusive privilege of entering the fortress of Aherman, and +the halls of Argenk, where are portrayed all creatures endowed with +intelligence, and the various animals that inhabited the earth prior to +the creation of that contemptible being whom ye denominate the Father +of Mankind." + +Vathek and Nouronihar, feeling themselves revived and encouraged by +this harangue, eagerly said to the Giaour:-- + +"Bring us instantly to the place which contains these precious +talismans." + +"Come!" answered this wicked Dive, with his malignant grin, "come! and +possess all that my Sovereign hath promised, and more." + +He then conducted them into a long aisle adjoining the tabernacle, +preceding them with hasty steps, and followed by his disciples with the +utmost alacrity. They reached at length a hall of great extent, and +covered with a lofty dome, around which appeared fifty portals of +bronze, secured with as many fastenings of iron. A funereal gloom +prevailed over the whole scene. Here, upon two beds of incorruptible +cedar, lay recumbent the fleshless forms of the pre-Adamite kings, who +had been monarchs of the whole earth. They still possessed enough of +life to be conscious of their deplorable condition; their eyes retained +a melancholy motion; they regarded each other with looks of the deepest +dejection, each holding his right hand motionless on his heart. At their +feet were inscribed the events of their several reigns, their power, +their pride, and their crimes. Soliman Raad, Soliman Daki, and Soliman +Di Gian Ben Gian, who, after having chained up the Dives in the dark +caverns of Kaf, became so presumptuous as to doubt of the Supreme +Power,--all these maintained great state, though not to be compared with +the eminence of Soliman Ben Daoud [Solomon the son of David]. + +This king, so renowned for his wisdom, was on the loftiest elevation, +and placed immediately under the dome; he appeared to possess more +animation than the rest, though from time to time he labored with +profound sighs, and like his companions, kept his right hand on his +heart; yet his countenance was more composed, and he seemed to be +listening to the sullen roar of a vast cataract, visible in part through +the grated portals; this was the only sound that intruded on the silence +of these doleful mansions. A range of brazen vases surrounded the +elevation. + +"Remove the covers from these cabalistic depositaries," said the Giaour +to Vathek, "and avail thyself of the talismans, which will break asunder +all these gates of bronze, and not only render thee master of the +treasures contained within them, but also of the spirits by which they +are guarded." + +The Caliph, whom this ominous preliminary had entirely disconcerted, +approached the vases with faltering footsteps, and was ready to sink +with terror when he heard the groans of Soliman. As he proceeded, a +voice from the livid lips of the Prophet articulated these words:-- + +"In my lifetime I filled a magnificent throne, having on my right hand +twelve thousand seats of gold, where the patriarchs and the prophets +heard my doctrines; on my left the sages and doctors, upon as many +thrones of silver, were present at all my decisions. Whilst I thus +administered justice to innumerable multitudes, the birds of the air +librating over me served as a canopy from the rays of the sun; my people +flourished, and my palace rose to the clouds; I erected a temple to the +Most High which was the wonder of the universe. But I basely suffered +myself to be seduced by the love of women, and a curiosity that could +not be restrained by sublunary things; I listened to the counsels of +Aherman and the daughter of Pharaoh, and adored fire and the hosts of +heaven; I forsook the holy city, and commanded the Genii to rear the +stupendous palace of Istakhar, and the terrace of the watch-towers, each +of which was consecrated to a star. There for a while I enjoyed myself +in the zenith of glory and pleasure; not only men, but supernatural +existences were subject also to my will. I began to think, as these +unhappy monarchs around had already thought, that the vengeance of +Heaven was asleep, when at once the thunder burst my structures asunder +and precipitated me hither; where however I do not remain, like the +other inhabitants, totally destitute of hope, for an angel of light hath +revealed that, in consideration of the piety of my early youth, my woes +shall come to an end when this cataract shall for ever cease to flow. +Till then I am in torments, ineffable torments! an unrelenting fire +preys on my heart." + +Having uttered this exclamation, Soliman raised his hands towards Heaven +in token of supplication, and the Caliph discerned through his bosom, +which was transparent as crystal, his heart enveloped in flames. At a +sight so full of horror, Nouronihar fell back like one petrified into +the arms of Vathek, who cried out with a convulsive sob:-- + +"O Giaour! whither hast thou brought us? Allow us to depart, and I will +relinquish all thou hast promised. O Mahomet! remains there no +more mercy?" + +"None! none!" replied the malicious Dive, "Know, miserable prince! thou +art now in the abode of vengeance and despair; thy heart also will be +kindled, like those of the other votaries of Eblis. A few days are +allotted thee previous to this fatal period. Employ them as thou wilt: +recline on these heaps of gold; command the Infernal Potentates; range +at thy pleasure through these immense subterranean domains; no barrier +shall be shut against thee. As for me, I have fulfilled my mission; I +now leave thee to thyself." At these words he vanished. + +The Caliph and Nouronihar remained in the most abject affliction; their +tears unable to flow, scarcely could they support themselves. At length, +taking each other despondingly by the hand, they went faltering from +this fatal hall, indifferent which way they turned their steps. Every +portal opened at their approach; the Dives fell prostrate before them; +every reservoir of riches was disclosed to their view: but they no +longer felt the incentives of curiosity, pride, or avarice. With like +apathy they heard the chorus of Genii, and saw the stately banquets +prepared to regale them. They went wandering on from chamber to chamber, +hall to hall, and gallery to gallery, all without bounds or limit, all +distinguishable by the same lowering gloom, all adorned with the same +awful grandeur, all traversed by persons in search of repose and +consolation, but who sought them in vain; for every one carried within +him a heart tormented in flames. Shunned by these various sufferers, who +seemed by their looks to be upbraiding the partners of their guilt, they +withdrew from them, to wait in direful suspense the moment which should +render them to each other the like objects of terror. + +"What!" exclaimed Nouronihar; "will the time come when I shall snatch my +hand from thine?" + +"Ah," said Vathek; "and shall my eyes ever cease to drink from thine +long draughts of enjoyment! Shall the moments of our reciprocal +ecstasies be reflected on with horror! It was not thou that broughtest +me hither: the principles by which Carathis perverted my youth have been +the sole cause of my perdition!" Having given vent to these painful +expressions, he called to an Afrit, who was stirring up one of the +braziers, and bade him fetch the Princess Carathis from the palace +of Samarah. + +After issuing these orders, the Caliph and Nouronihar continued walking +amidst the silent crowd, till they heard voices at the end of the +gallery. Presuming them to proceed from some unhappy beings who, like +themselves, were awaiting their final doom, they followed the sound, and +found it to come from a small square chamber, where they discovered +sitting on sofas five young men of goodly figure, and a lovely female, +who were all holding a melancholy conversation by the glimmering of a +lonely lamp; each had a gloomy and forlorn air, and two of them were +embracing each other with great tenderness. On seeing the Caliph and the +daughter of Fakreddin enter, they arose, saluted and gave them place; +then he who appeared the most considerable of the group addressed +himself thus to Vathek: + +"Strangers!--who doubtless are in the same state of suspense with +ourselves, as you do not yet bear your hand on your heart,--if you are +come hither to pass the interval allotted previous to the infliction of +our common punishment, condescend to relate the adventures that have +brought you to this fatal place, and we in return will acquaint you with +ours, which deserve but too well to be heard. We will trace back our +crimes to their source, though we are not permitted to repent; this is +the only employment suited to wretches like us!" + +The Caliph and Nouronihar assented to the proposal, and Vathek began, +not without tears and lamentations, a sincere recital of every +circumstance that had passed. When the afflicting narrative was closed, +the young man entered on his own. Each person proceeded in order, and +when the fourth prince had reached the midst of his adventures, a sudden +noise interrupted him, which caused the vault to tremble and to open. + +Immediately a cloud descended, which, gradually dissipating, discovered +Carathis on the back of an Afrit, who grievously complained of his +burden. She, instantly springing to the ground, advanced towards her son +and said:-- + +"What dost thou here in this little square chamber? As the Dives are +become subject to thy beck, I expected to have found thee on the throne +of the pre-Adamite Kings." + +"Execrable woman!" answered the Caliph; "cursed be the day thou gavest +me birth! Go, follow this Afrit, let him conduct thee to the hall of the +Prophet Soliman; there thou wilt learn to what these palaces are +destined, and how much I ought to abhor the impious knowledge thou hast +taught me." + +"The height of power to which thou art arrived has certainly turned thy +brain," answered Carathis; "but I ask no more than permission to show my +respect for the Prophet. It is however proper thou shouldest know that +(as the Afrit has informed me neither of us shall return to Samarah) I +requested his permission to arrange my affairs, and he politely +consented: availing myself therefore of the few moments allowed me, I +set fire to the tower, and consumed in it the mutes, negresses, and +serpents which have rendered me so much good service; nor should I have +been less kind to Morakanabad, had he not prevented me by deserting at +last to my brother. As for Bababalouk, who had the folly to return to +Samarah, and all the good brotherhood to provide husbands for thy wives, +I undoubtedly would have put them to the torture, could I but have +allowed them the time; being however in a hurry, I only hung him after +having caught him in a snare with thy wives, whilst them I buried alive +by the help of my negresses, who thus spent their last moments greatly +to their satisfaction. With respect to Dilara, who ever stood high in my +favor, she hath evinced the greatness of her mind by fixing herself near +in the service of one of the Magi, and I think will soon be our own." + +Vathek, too much cast down to express the indignation excited by such a +discourse, ordered the Afrit to remove Carathis from his presence, and +continued immersed in thought, which his companion durst not disturb. + +Carathis, however, eagerly entered the dome of Soliman, and without +regarding in the least the groans of the Prophet, undauntedly removed +the covers of the vases, and violently seized on the talismans. Then, +with a voice more loud than had hitherto been heard within these +mansions, she compelled the Dives to disclose to her the most secret +treasures, the most profound stores, which the Afrit himself had not +seen; she passed by rapid descents known only to Eblis and his most +favored potentates, and thus penetrated the very entrails of the earth, +where breathes the Sansar, or icy wind of death. Nothing appalled her +dauntless soul; she perceived however in all the inmates, who bore their +hands on their hearts, a little singularity, not much to her taste. As +she was emerging from one of the abysses, Eblis stood forth to her view; +but notwithstanding he displayed the full effulgence of his infernal +majesty, she preserved her countenance unaltered, and even paid her +compliments with considerable firmness. + +This superb Monarch thus answered:--"Princess, whose knowledge and whose +crimes have merited a conspicuous rank in my empire, thou dost well to +employ the leisure that remains; for the flames and torments which are +ready to seize on thy heart will not fail to provide thee with full +employment." He said this, and was lost in the curtains of his +tabernacle. + +Carathis paused for a moment with surprise; but, resolved to follow the +advice of Eblis, she assembled all the choirs of Genii, and all the +Dives, to pay her homage; thus marched she in triumph through a vapor of +perfumes, amidst the acclamations of all the malignant spirits, with +most of whom she had formed a previous acquaintance. She even attempted +to dethrone one of the Solimans for the purpose of usurping his place, +when a voice proceeding from the abyss of Death proclaimed, "All is +accomplished!" Instantaneously the haughty forehead of the intrepid +princess was corrugated with agony; she uttered a tremendous yell, and +fixed, no more to be withdrawn, her right hand upon her heart, which was +become a receptacle of eternal fire. + +In this delirium, forgetting all ambitious projects and her thirst for +that knowledge which should ever be hidden from mortals, she overturned +the offerings of the Genii, and having execrated the hour she was +begotten and the womb that had borne her, glanced off in a whirl that +rendered her invisible, and continued to revolve without intermission. + +At almost the same instant the same voice announced to the Caliph, +Nouronihar, the five princes, and the princess, the awful and +irrevocable decree. Their hearts immediately took fire, and they at once +lost the most precious of the gifts of Heaven--Hope. These unhappy +beings recoiled with looks of the most furious distraction; Vathek +beheld in the eyes of Nouronihar nothing but rage and vengeance, nor +could she discern aught in his but aversion and despair. The two princes +who were friends, and till that moment had preserved their attachment, +shrunk back, gnashing their teeth with mutual and unchangeable hatred. +Kalilah and his sister made reciprocal gestures of imprecation, whilst +the two other princes testified their horror for each other by the most +ghastly convulsions, and screams that could not be smothered. All +severally plunged themselves into the accursed multitude, there to +wander in an eternity of unabating anguish. + + + + +HENRY WARD BEECHER + +(1813-1887) + +BY LYMAN ABBOTT + + +The life of Henry Ward Beecher may be either compressed into a sentence +or expanded into a volume. He was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, on +the 24th day of June, 1813, the child of the well-known Lyman Beecher; +graduated at Amherst College in 1834, and subsequently studied at Lane +Theological Seminary (Cincinnati), of which his father was the +president; began his ministerial life as pastor of a Home Missionary +(Presbyterian) church at the little village of Lawrenceburg, twenty +miles south of Cincinnati on the Ohio River; was both sexton and pastor, +swept the church, built the fires, lighted the lamps, rang the bell, and +preached the sermons; was called to the pastorate of the First +Presbyterian Church of Indianapolis, the capital of Indiana, where he +remained for eight years, 1839 to 1847, and where his preaching soon won +for him a reputation throughout the State, and his occasional writing a +reputation beyond its boundaries; thence was called in 1847 to be the +first pastor of the newly organized Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, where he +remained with an ever increasing reputation as preacher, lecturer, +orator, and writer, until the day of his death, March 8th, 1887. + +Such is the outline of a life, the complete story of which would be the +history of the United States during the most critical half-century of +the nation's existence. Living in an epoch when the one overshadowing +political issue was pre-eminently a moral issue, and when no man could +be a faithful preacher of righteousness and not a political preacher; +concerned in whatever concerned humanity; believing that love is the +essence of all true religion, and that love to God is impossible without +love to man; moral reformer not less than gospel preacher, and statesman +even more than theologian: throwing himself into the anti-slavery +conflict with all the courage of a heroic nature and all the ardor of an +intensely impulsive one,--he stands among the first half-score of +writers, orators, reformers, statesmen, and soldiers, who combined to +make the half-century from 1835 to 1885 as brilliant and as heroic as +any in human history. + +The greatness of Henry Ward Beecher consisted not so much in a +predominance of any one quality as in a remarkable combination of many. +His physique justified the well-known characterization of Mr. Fowler, +the phrenologist, "Splendid animal." He was always an eager student, +though his methods were desultory. He was familiar with the latest +thought in philosophy, had studied Herbert Spencer before his works were +republished in the United States, yet was a child among children, and in +his old age retained the characteristic faults and virtues of childhood, +and its innocent impulsiveness. + +His imagination might have made him a poet, his human sympathies a +dramatic poet, had not his strong common-sense kept him always in touch +with the actualities of life, and a masterful conscience compelled him +to use his aesthetic faculties in sterner service than in the +entertainment of mankind. The intensity of his moral nature enhanced +rather than subdued his exuberant humor, which love prevented from +becoming satire, and seriousness preserved from degenerating into wit. +His native faculty of mimicry led men to call him an actor, yet he +wholly lacked the essential quality of a good actor,--power to take on +another's character,--and used the mimic art only to interpret the truth +which at the moment possessed him. + +Such power of passion as was his is not often seen mated to such +self-control; for while he spoke with utter abandon, he rarely if ever +did so until he had carefully deliberated the cause he was espousing. He +thought himself deficient in memory, and in fact rarely borrowed +illustrations from his reading either of history or of literature; but +his keenness of observation photographed living scenes upon an unfading +memory which years after he could and did produce at will. All these +contrary elements of his strangely composite though not incongruous +character entered into his style,--or, to speak more accurately, his +styles,--and make any analysis of them within reasonable limits +difficult, if not impossible. + +For the writer is known by his style as the wearer by his clothes. Even +if it be no native product of the author's mind, but a conscious +imitation of carefully studied models,--what I may call a tailor-made +style, fashioned in a vain endeavor to impart sublimity to commonplace +thinking,--the poverty of the author is thereby revealed, much as the +boor is most clearly disclosed when wearing ill-at-ease, unaccustomed +broadcloth. Mr. Beecher's style was not artificial; its faults as well +as its excellences were those of extreme naturalness. He always wrote +with fury; rarely did he correct with phlegm. His sermons were published +as they fell from his lips,--correct and revise he would not. The too +few editorials which he wrote, on the eve of the Civil War, were written +while the press was impatiently waiting for them, were often taken page +by page from his hand, and were habitually left unread by him to be +corrected in proof by others. + +[Illustration: HENRY WARD BEECHER.] + +His lighter contributions to the New York Ledger were thrown off in +the same way, generally while the messenger waited to take them to the +editorial sanctum. It was his habit, whether unconscious or deliberate I +do not know, to speak to a great congregation with the freedom of +personal conversation, and to write for the press with as little reserve +as to an intimate friend. This habit of taking the public into his +confidence was one secret of his power, but it was also the cause of +those violations of conventionality in public address which were a great +charm to some and a grave defect to others. There are few writers or +orators who have addressed such audiences with such effect, whose style +has been so true and unmodified a reflection of their inner life. The +title of one of his most popular volumes might be appropriately made the +title of them all--'Life Thoughts.' + +But while his style was wholly unartificial, it was no product of mere +careless genius; carelessness never gives a product worth possessing. +The excellences of Mr. Beecher's style were due to a careful study of +the great English writers; its defects to a temperament too eager to +endure the dull work of correction. In his early manhood he studied the +old English divines, not for their thoughts, which never took hold of +him, but for their style, of which he was enamored. The best +characterization of South and Barrow I ever heard he gave me once in a +casual conversation. The great English novelists he knew; Walter Scott's +novels, of which he had several editions in his library, were great +favorites with him, but he read them rather for the beauty of their +descriptive passages than for their romantic and dramatic interest. +Ruskin's 'Modern Painters' he both used himself and recommended to +others as a text-book in the observation of nature, and certain passages +in them he read and re-read. + +But in his reading he followed the bent of his own mind rather than any +prescribed system. Neither in his public utterances nor in his private +conversation did he indicate much indebtedness to Shakespeare among the +earlier writers, nor to Emerson or Carlyle among the moderns. Though not +unfamiliar with the greatest English poets, and the great Greek poets in +translations, he was less a reader of poetry than of poetical prose. He +had, it is true, not only read but carefully compared Dante's 'Inferno' +with Milton's 'Paradise Lost'; still it was not the 'Paradise Lost,' it +was the 'Areopagitica' which he frequently read on Saturday nights, for +the sublimity of its style and the inspiration it afforded to the +imagination. He was singularly deficient in verbal memory, a deficiency +which is usually accompanied by a relatively slight appreciation of the +mere rhythmic beauty of literary form. It is my impression that for +amorous poems, such as Moore's songs, or even Shakespeare's sonnets, and +for purely descriptive poetry, such as the best of 'Childe Harold' and +certain poems of Wordsworth, he cared comparatively little. + +But he delighted in religious poetry, whether the religion was that of +the pagan Greek Tragedies, the mediaeval Dante, or the Puritan Milton. +He was a great lover of the best hymns, and with a catholicity of +affection which included the Calvinist Toplady, the Arminian Wesley, the +Roman Catholic Faber, and the Unitarian Holmes. Generally, however, he +cared more for poetry of strength than for that of fancy or sentiment. +It was the terrific strength in Watts's famous hymn beginning + + "My thoughts on awful subjects dwell, + Damnation and the dead," + +which caused him to include it in the 'Plymouth Collection,' abhorrent +as was the theology of that hymn alike to his heart and to his +conscience. + +In any estimate of Mr. Beecher's style, it must be remembered that he +was both by temperament and training a preacher. He was brought up not +in a literary, but in a didactic atmosphere. If it were as true as it is +false that art exists only for art's sake, Mr. Beecher would not have +been an artist. His art always had a purpose; generally a distinct moral +purpose. An overwhelming proportion of his contributions to literature +consists of sermons or extracts from sermons, or addresses not less +distinctively didactic. His one novel was written avowedly to rectify +some common misapprehensions as to New England life and character. Even +his lighter papers, products of the mere exuberance of a nature too full +of every phase of life to be quiescent, indicated the intensity of a +purposeful soul, much as the sparks in a blacksmith's shop come from the +very vigor with which the artisan is shaping on the anvil the nail +or the shoe. + +But Mr. Beecher was what Mr. Spurgeon has called him, "the most +myriad-minded man since Shakespeare"; and such a mind must both deal +with many topics, and if it be true to itself, exhibit many styles. If +one were to apply to Mr. Beecher's writings the methods which have +sometimes been applied by certain Higher Critics to the Bible, he would +conclude that the man who wrote the Sermons on Evolution and Theology +could not possibly have also written the humorous description of a house +with all the modern improvements. Sometimes grave, sometimes gay, +sometimes serious, sometimes sportive, concentrating his whole power on +whatever he was doing, working with all his might but also playing with +all his might, when he is on a literary frolic the reader would hardly +suspect that he was ever dominated by a strenuous moral purpose. Yet +there were certain common elements in Mr. Beecher's character which +appeared in his various styles, though mixed in very different +proportions and producing very different combinations. Within the +limits of such a study as this, it must suffice to indicate in very +general terms some of these elements of character which appear in and +really produce his literary method. + +Predominant among them was a capacity to discriminate between the +essentials and the accidentals of any subject, a philosophical +perspective which enabled him to see the controlling connection and to +discard quickly such minor details as tended to obscure and to perplex. +Thus a habit was formed which led him not infrequently to ignore +necessary limitations and qualifications, and to make him scientifically +inaccurate, though vitally and ethically true. It was this quality which +led critics to say of him that he was no theologian, though it is +doubtful whether any preacher in America since Jonathan Edwards has +exerted a greater influence on its theology. But this quality imparted +clearness to his style. He always knew what he wanted to say and said it +clearly. He sometimes produced false impressions by the very +strenuousness of his aim and the vehemence of his passion; but he was +never foggy, obscure, or ambiguous. + +This clearness of style was facilitated by the singleness of his +purpose. He never considered what was safe, prudent, or expedient to +say, never reflected upon the effect which his speech might have on his +reputation or his influence, considered only how he could make his +hearers apprehend the truth as he saw it. He therefore never played with +words, never used them with a double meaning, or employed them to +conceal his thoughts. He was indeed utterly incapable of making a speech +unless he had a purpose to accomplish; when he tried he invariably +failed; no orator ever had less ability to roll off airy nothings for +the entertainment of an audience. + +Coupled with this clearness of vision and singleness of purpose was a +sympathy with men singularly broad and alert. He knew the way to men's +minds, and adapted his method to the minds he wished to reach. This +quality put him at once _en rapport_ with his auditors, and with men of +widely different mental constitution. Probably no preacher has ever +habitually addressed so heterogeneous a congregation as that which he +attracted to Plymouth Church. In his famous speech at the Herbert +Spencer dinner he was listened to with equally rapt attention by the +great philosopher and by the French waiters, who stopped in their +service, arrested and held by his mingled humor, philosophy, and +restrained emotion. This human sympathy gave a peculiar dramatic quality +to his imagination. He not only recalled and reproduced material images +from the past with great vividness, he re-created in his own mind the +experiences of men whose mold was entirely different from his own. As an +illustration of this, a comparison of two sermons on Jacob before +Pharaoh, one by Dr. Talmage, the other by Mr. Beecher, is interesting +and instructive. Dr. Talmage devotes his imagination wholly to +reproducing the outward circumstances,--the court in its splendor and +the patriarch with his wagons, his household, and his stuff; this scene +Mr. Beecher etches vividly but carelessly in a few outlines, then +proceeds to delineate with care the imagined feelings of the king, awed +despite his imperial splendor by the spiritual majesty of the peasant +herdsman. Yet Mr. Beecher could paint the outer circumstances with care +when he chose to do so. Some of his flower pictures in 'Fruits, Flowers, +and Farming' will always remain classic models of descriptive +literature, the more amazing that some of them are portraits of flowers +he had never seen when he wrote the description. + +While his imagination illuminated nearly all he said or wrote, it was +habitually the instrument of some moral purpose; he rarely ornamented +for ornament's sake. His pictures gave beauty, but they were employed +not to give beauty but clearness. He was thus saved from mixed +metaphors, the common fault of imaginative writings which are directed +to no end, and thus are liable to become first lawless, then false, +finally self-contradictory and absurd. The massive Norman pillars of +Durham Cathedral are marred by the attempt which some architect has made +to give them grace and beauty by adding ornamentation. Rarely if ever +did Mr. Beecher fall into the error of thus mixing in an incongruous +structure two architectural styles. He knew when to use the Norman +strength and solidity, and when the Gothic lightness and grace. + +Probably his keen sense of humor would have preserved him from this not +uncommon error. It is said that the secret of humor is the quick +perception of incongruous relations. This would seem to have been the +secret of Mr. Beecher's humor, for he had in an eminent degree what the +phrenologists call the faculty of comparison. This was seen in his +arguments, which were more often analogical than logical; seen not less +in that his humor was not employed with deliberate intent to relieve a +too serious discourse, but was itself the very product of his +seriousness. He was humorous, but rarely witty, as, for the same reason, +he was imaginative but not fanciful. For both his imagination and his +humor were the servants of his moral purpose; and as he did not employ +the one merely as a pleasing ornament, so he never went out of his way +to introduce a joke or a funny story to make a laugh. + +Speaking broadly, Mr. Beecher's style as an orator passed through three +epochs. In the first, best illustrated by his 'Sermons to Young Men,' +preached in Indianapolis, his imagination is the predominant faculty. +Those sermons will remain in the history of homiletical literature as +remarkable of their kind, but not as a pulpit classic for all times; for +the critic will truly say that the imagination is too exuberant, the +dramatic element sometimes becoming melodramatic, and the style lacking +in simplicity. In the second epoch, best illustrated by the Harper and +Brothers edition of his selected sermons, preached in the earlier and +middle portion of his Brooklyn ministry, the imagination is still +pervasive, but no longer predominant. The dramatic fire still burns, but +with a steadier heat. Imagination, dramatic instinct, personal sympathy, +evangelical passion, and a growing philosophic thought-structure, +combine to make the sermons of this epoch the best illustration of his +power as a popular preacher. In each sermon he holds up a truth like his +favorite opal, turning it from side to side and flashing its opalescent +light upon his congregation, but so as always to show the secret fire at +the heart of it. In the third epoch, best illustrated by his sermons on +Evolution and Theology, the philosophic quality of his mind +predominates; his imagination is subservient to and the instrument of +clear statement, his dramatic quality shows itself chiefly in his +realization of mental conditions foreign to his own, and his style, +though still rich in color and warm with feeling, is mastered, trained, +and directed by his intellectual purpose. In the first epoch he is the +painter, in the second the preacher, in the third the teacher. + +Judgments will differ: in mine the last epoch is the best, and its +utterances will long live a classic in pulpit literature. The pictures +of the first epoch are already fading; the fervid oratory of the second +epoch depends so much on the personality of the preacher, that as the +one grows dim in the distance the other must grow dim also; but the +third, more enduring though less fascinating, will remain so long as the +heart of man hungers for the truth and the life of God,--that is, for a +rational religion, a philosophy of life which shall combine reverence +and love, and a reverence and love which shall not call for the +abdication of the reason. + +[Illustration: Signature: Lyman Abbott] + + +BOOK-STORES AND BOOKS + +From 'Star Papers' + +Nothing marks the increasing wealth of our times, and the growth of the +public mind toward refinement, more than the demand for books. Within +ten years the sale of common books has increased probably two hundred +per cent., and it is daily increasing. But the sale of expensive works, +and of library editions of standard authors in costly bindings, is yet +more noticeable. Ten years ago such a display of magnificent works as is +to be found at the Appletons' would have been a precursor of bankruptcy. +There was no demand for them. A few dozen, in one little show-case, was +the prudent whole. Now, one whole side of an immense store is not only +filled with admirably bound library books, but from some inexhaustible +source the void continually made in the shelves is at once refilled. A +reserve of heroic books supply the places of those that fall. Alas! +where is human nature so weak as in a book-store! Speak of the appetite +for drink; or of a _bon vivant's_ relish for a dinner! What are these +mere animal throes and ragings compared with those fantasies of taste, +those yearnings of the imagination, those insatiable appetites of +intellect, which bewilder a student in a great bookseller's +temptation-hall? + +How easily one may distinguish a genuine lover of books from a worldly +man! With what subdued and yet glowing enthusiasm does he gaze upon the +costly front of a thousand embattled volumes! How gently he draws them +down, as if they were little children; how tenderly he handles them! He +peers at the title-page, at the text, or the notes, with the nicety of a +bird examining a flower. He studies the binding: the leather,--russia, +English calf, morocco; the lettering, the gilding, the edging, the hinge +of the cover! He opens it and shuts it, he holds it off and brings it +nigh. It suffuses his whole body with book magnetism. He walks up and +down in a maze at the mysterious allotments of Providence, that gives so +much money to men who spend it upon their appetites, and so little to +men who would spend it in benevolence or upon their refined tastes! It +is astonishing, too, how one's necessities multiply in the presence of +the supply. One never knows how many things it is impossible to do +without till he goes to Windle's or Smith's house-furnishing stores. +One is surprised to perceive, at some bazaar or fancy and variety store, +how many _conveniences_ he needs. He is satisfied that his life must +have been utterly inconvenient aforetime. And thus too one is inwardly +convicted, at Appletons', of having lived for years without books which +he is now satisfied that one cannot live without! + +Then, too, the subtle process by which the man convinces himself that he +can afford to buy. No subtle manager or broker ever saw through a maze +of financial embarrassments half so quick as a poor book-buyer sees his +way clear to pay for what he _must_ have. He promises himself marvels of +retrenchment; he will eat less, or less costly viands, that he may buy +more food for the mind. He will take an extra patch, and go on with his +raiment another year, and buy books instead of coats. Yea, he will write +books, that he may buy books! The appetite is insatiable. Feeding does +not satisfy it. It rages by the fuel which is put upon it. As a hungry +man eats first and pays afterward, so the book-buyer purchases and then +works at the debt afterward. This paying is rather medicinal. It cures +for a time. But a relapse takes place. The same longing, the same +promises of self-denial. He promises himself to put spurs on both heels +of his industry; and then, besides all this, he will _somehow_ get along +when the time for payment comes! Ah! this SOMEHOW! That word is as big +as a whole world, and is stuffed with all the vagaries and fantasies +that Fancy ever bred upon Hope. And yet, is there not some comfort in +buying books, _to be_ paid for? We have heard of a sot who wished his +neck as long as the worm of a still, that he might so much the longer +enjoy the flavor of the draught! Thus, it is a prolonged excitement of +purchase, if you feel for six months in a slight doubt whether the book +is honestly your own or not. Had you paid down, that would have been the +end of it. There would have been no affectionate and beseeching look of +your books at you, every time you saw them, saying, as plain as a book's +eyes can say, "Do not let me be taken from you." + +Moreover, buying books before you can pay for them promotes caution. You +do not feel quite at liberty to take them home. You are married. Your +wife keeps an account-book. She knows to a penny what you can and what +you cannot afford. She has no "speculation" in _her_ eyes. Plain figures +make desperate work with airy "_somehows_." It is a matter of no small +skill and experience to get your books home, and into their proper +places, undiscovered. Perhaps the blundering express brings them to the +door just at evening. "What is it, my dear?" she says to you. "Oh! +nothing--a few books that I cannot do without." That smile! A true +housewife that loves her husband can smile a whole arithmetic at him at +one look! Of course she insists, in the kindest way, in sympathizing +with you in your literary acquisition. She cuts the strings of the +bundle (and of your heart), and out comes the whole story. You have +bought a complete set of costly English books, full bound in calf, extra +gilt! You are caught, and feel very much as if bound in calf yourself, +and admirably lettered. + +Now, this must not happen frequently. The books must be smuggled home. +Let them be sent to some near place. Then, when your wife has a +headache, or is out making a call, or has lain down, run the books +across the frontier and threshold, hastily undo them, stop only for one +loving glance as you put them away in the closet, or behind other books +on the shelf, or on the topmost shelf. Clear away the twine and +wrapping-paper, and every suspicious circumstance. Be very careful not +to be too kind. That often brings on detection. Only the other day we +heard it said, somewhere, "Why, how good you have been lately. I am +really afraid that you have been carrying on mischief secretly." Our +heart smote us. It was a fact. That very day we had bought a few books +which "we could not do without." After a while you can bring out one +volume, accidentally, and leave it on the table. "Why, my dear, _what_ a +beautiful book! Where _did_ you borrow it?" You glance over the +newspaper, with the quietest tone you can command: "_That_! oh! that is +_mine_. Have you not seen it before? It has been in the house these two +months." and you rush on with anecdote and incident, and point out the +binding, and that peculiar trick of gilding, and everything else you can +think of; but it all will not do; you cannot rub out that roguish, +arithmetical smile. People may talk about the equality of the sexes! +They are not equal. The silent smile of a sensible, loving woman will +vanquish ten men. Of course you repent, and in time form a habit of +repenting. + +Another method which will be found peculiarly effective is to make a +_present_ of some fine work to your wife. Of course, whether she or you +have the name of buying it, it will go into your collection, and be +yours to all intents and purposes. But it stops remark in the +presentation. A wife could not reprove you for so kindly thinking of +her. No matter what she suspects, she will say nothing. And then if +there are three or four more works which have come home with the +gift-book--they will pass through the favor of the other. + +These are pleasures denied to wealth and old bachelors. Indeed, one +cannot imagine the peculiar pleasure of buying books if one is rich and +stupid. There must be some pleasure, or so many would not do it. But the +full flavor, the whole relish of delight only comes to those who are so +poor that they must engineer for every book. They sit down before them, +and besiege them. They are captured. Each book has a secret history of +ways and means. It reminds you of subtle devices by which you insured +and made it yours, in spite of poverty! + +Copyrighted by Fords, Howard and Hulbert, New York. + + +SELECTED PARAGRAPHS + +From 'Selections from the Published Works of Henry Ward Beecher', +compiled by Eleanor Kirk. + +An intelligent conscience is one of the greatest of luxuries. It can +hardly be called a necessity, or how would the world have got along as +well as it has to this day?--SERMON: 'Conscience.' + +A man undertakes to jump across a chasm that is ten feet wide, and jumps +eight feet; and a kind sympathizer says, "What is going to be done with +the eight feet that he did jump?" Well, what _is_ going to be done with +it? It is one of those things which must be accomplished in whole, or it +is not accomplished at all.--SERMON: 'The True Value of Morality.' + +It is hard for a strong-willed man to bow down to a weak-willed man. It +is hard for an elephant to say his prayers to an ant.--SERMON: 'The +Reward of Loving.' + +When Peter heard the cock crow, it was not the tail-feathers that crew. +The crowing came from the inside of the cock. Religion is something more +than the outward observances of the church.--SERMON: 'The Battle of +Benevolence.' + +I have heard men, in family prayer, confess their wickedness, and pray +that God would forgive them the sins that they got from Adam; but I do +not know that I ever heard a father in family prayer confess that he had +a bad temper. I never heard a mother confess in family prayer that she +was irritable and snappish. I never heard persons bewail those sins +which are the engineers and artificers of the moral condition of the +family. The angels would not know what to do with a prayer that began, +"Lord, thou knowest that I am a scold."--SERMON: 'Peaceableness.' + +Getting up early is venerable. Since there has been a literature or a +history, the habit of early rising has been recommended for health, for +pleasure, and for business. The ancients are held up to us for examples. +But they lived so far to the east, and so near the sun, that it was much +easier for them than for us. People in Europe always get up several +hours before we do; people in Asia several hours before Europeans do; +and we suppose, as men go toward the sun, it gets easier and easier, +until, somewhere in the Orient, probably they step out of bed +involuntarily, or, like a flower blossoming, they find their bed-clothes +gently opening and turning back, by the mere attraction of light.--'EYES +AND EARS.' + +There are some men who never wake up enough to swear a good oath. The +man who sees the point of a joke the day after it is uttered,--because +_he_ never is known to act hastily, is he to take credit for +that?--SERMON: 'Conscience.' + +If you will only make your ideal mean enough, you can every one of you +feel that you are heroic.--SERMON: 'The Use of Ideals.' + +There is nothing more common than for men to hang one motive outside +where it can be seen, and keep the others in the background to turn the +machinery.--SERMON: 'Paul and Demetrius.' + +Suppose I should go to God and say, "Lord, be pleased to give me salad," +he would point to the garden and say, "There is the place to +get salad; and if you are too lazy to work for it, you may go +without."--LECTURE-ROOM TALKS: 'Answers to Prayer.' + +God did not call you to be canary-birds in a little cage, and to hop up +and down on three sticks, within a space no larger than the size of the +cage. God calls you to be eagles, and to fly from sun to sun, over +continents.--SERMON: 'The Perfect Manhood.' + +Do not be a spy on yourself. A man who goes down the street thinking of +himself all the time, with critical analysis, whether he is doing this, +that, or any other thing,--turning himself over as if he were a goose on +a spit before a fire, and basting himself with good resolutions,--is +simply belittling himself.--'LECTURES ON PREACHING.' + +Many persons boil themselves down to a kind of molasses goodness. How +many there are that, like flies caught in some sweet liquid, have got +out at last upon the side of the cup, and crawl along slowly, buzzing a +little to clear their wings! Just such Christians I have seen, +creeping up the side of churches, soul-poor, imperfect, and +drabbled.--'ALL-SIDEDNESS IN CHRISTIAN LIFE.' + +No man, then, need hunt among hair-shirts; no man need seek for blankets +too short at the bottom and too short at the top; no man need resort to +iron seats or cushionless chairs; no man need shut himself up in grim +cells; no man need stand on the tops of towers or columns,--in order to +deny himself.--SERMON-'Problem of Joy and Suffering in Life.' + +Copyrighted by Fords, Howard and Hulbert, New York, 1887. + + +SERMON + +POVERTY AND THE GOSPEL + +TEXTS: Luke iv. 17-21, Matt. xi. 2-6 + +Here was Christ's profession of his faith; here is the history also of +his examination, to see whether he were fit to preach or not. It is +remarkable that in both these instances the most significant indication +that he had, both of his descent from God and of his being worthy of the +Messiahship, consisted in this simple exposition of the line of his +preaching,--that he took sides with the poor, neglected, and lost. He +emphasized this, that his gospel was a gospel of mercy to the poor; and +that word "poor," in its most comprehensive sense, looked at +historically, includes in it everything that belongs to human misery, +whether it be by reason of sin or depravity, or by oppression, or by any +other cause. This, then, is the disclosure by Christ himself of the +genius of Christianity. It is his declaration of what the gospel meant. + +It is still further interpreted when you follow the life of Christ, and +see how exactly in his conduct he interpreted, or rather fortified, the +words of the declaration. His earliest life was that of labor and +poverty, and it was labor and poverty in the poorest districts of +Palestine. The dignified, educated, and aristocratic part of the nation +dwelt in Judea, and the Athens of Palestine was Jerusalem. There Christ +spent the least part of his life, and that in perpetual discussions. But +in Galilee the most of his miracles, certainly the earlier, were +performed, and the most of his discourses that are contained bodily in +the gospels were uttered. He himself carried out the declaration that +the gospel was for the poor. The very miracles that Christ performed +were not philosophical enigmas, as we look at them. They were all of +them miracles of mercy. They were miracles to those who were suffering +helplessly where natural law and artificial means could not reach them. +In every case the miracles of Christ were mercies, though we look at +them in a spirit totally different from that in which he performed them. + +In doing thus, Christ represented the best spirit of the Old Testament. +The Jewish Scriptures teach mercy, the very genius of Jewish +institutions was that of mercy, and especially to the poor, the weak, +the helpless. The crimes against which the prophets thundered their +severest denunciations were crimes upon the helpless. It was the avarice +of the rich, it was the unbounded lust and cruelty of the strong, that +were denounced by them. They did not preach against human nature in +general. They did not preach against total depravity and the original +condition of mankind. They singled out violations of the law in the +magistrate, in the king, in rich men, everywhere, and especially all +those wrongs committed by power either unconsciously or with purpose, +cruelty upon the helpless, the defenseless, the poor and the needy. When +Christ declared that this was his ministry, he took his text from the +Old Testament; he spoke in its spirit. It was to preach the gospel to +the poor that he was sent. He had come into the world to change the +condition of mankind. Beginning at the top? No; beginning at the bottom +and working up to the top from the bottom. + +When this view of the gospel enters into our understanding and is fully +comprehended by us, how exactly it fits in with the order of nature, and +with the order of the unfolding of human life and human society! It +takes sides with the poor; and so the universal tendency of Providence +and of history, slowly unfolded, is on the whole going from low to high, +from worse to better, and from good toward the perfect. When we +consider, we see that man begins as a helpless thing, a baby zero +without a figure before it; and every step in life adds a figure to it +and gives it more and more worth. On the whole, the law of unfolding +throughout the world is from lower to higher; and though when applied to +the population of the globe it is almost inconceivable, still, with many +back-sets and reactions, the tendency of the universe is thus from lower +to higher. Why? Let any man consider whether there is not of necessity a +benevolent intelligence somewhere that is drawing up from the crude +toward the ripe, from the rough toward the smooth, from bad to good, and +from good through better toward best. The tendency upward runs like a +golden thread through the history of the whole world, both in the +unfolding of human life and in the unfolding of the race itself. Thus +the tendency of nature is in accordance with the tendency of the gospel +as declared by Jesus Christ, namely, that it is a ministry of mercy to +the needy. + +The vast majority of mankind have been and yet are poor. There are ten +thousand men poor where there is one man even comfortably provided for, +body and soul, and hundreds of thousands where there is one rich, taking +the whole world together. The causes of poverty are worthy a moment's +consideration. Climate and soil have much to do with it. Men whose +winter lasts nine or ten months in the year, and who have a summer of +but one or two months, as in the extreme north,--how could they amass +property, how could they enlarge their conditions of peace and of +comfort? There are many parts of the earth where men live on the borders +of deserts, or in mountain fastnesses, or in arctic rigors, where +anything but poverty is impossible, and where it requires the whole +thought, genius, industry, and foresight of men, the year round, just to +feed themselves and to live. Bad government, where men are insecure in +their property, has always been a very fertile source of poverty. The +great valley of Esdraelon in Northern Palestine is one of the most +fertile in the world, and yet famine perpetually stalks on the heels of +the population; for if you sow and the harvest waves, forth come hordes +of Bedouins to reap your harvest for you, and leave you, after all your +labor, to poverty and starvation. When a man has lost his harvest in +that way two or three times, and is deprived of the reward of his +labors, he never emerges from poverty, but sinks into indolence; and +that, by and by, breeds apathetic misery. So where the government +over-taxes its subjects, as is the case in the Orient with perhaps +nearly all of the populations there to-day, it cuts the sinews and +destroys all the motives of industry; and without industry there can be +neither virtue, morality, nor religion in any long period. Wars breaking +out, from whatever cause, tend to absorb property, or to destroy +property, or to prevent the development of property. Yet, strange as it +may seem, the men who suffer from war are those whose passions generally +lead it on. The king may apply the spark, but the combustion is with the +common people. They furnish the army, they themselves become destroyers; +and the ravages of war, in the history of the human family, have +destroyed more property than it is possible to enter into the thoughts +of men to conceive. + +But besides these external reasons of poverty, there are certain great +primary and fundamental reasons. Ignorance breeds poverty. What is +property? It is the product of intelligence, of skill, of thought +applied to material substances. All property is raw material that has +been shaped to uses by intelligent skill. Where intelligence is low, the +power of producing property is low. It is the husbandman who thinks, +foresees, plans, and calls on all natural laws to serve him, whose farm +brings forth forty, fifty, and a hundred fold. The ignorant peasant +grubs and groans, and reaps but one handful where he has sown two. It is +knowledge that is the gold mine; for although every knowing man may not +be able to be a rich man, yet out of ignorance riches do not spring +anywhere. Ignorant men may be made the factors of wealth when they are +guided and governed by superior intelligence. Slave labor produced +gigantic plantations and estates. The slave was always poor, but his +master was rich, because the master had the intelligence and the +knowledge, and the slave gave the work. All through human society, men +who represent simple ignorance will be tools, and the men who represent +intelligence will be the master mechanics, the capitalists. All society +to-day is agitated with this question of justice as between the laborer +and the thinker. Now, it is no use to kick against the pricks. A man who +can only work and not think is not the equal in any regard of the man +who can think, who can plan, who can combine, and who can live not for +to-day alone, but for to-morrow, for next month, for the next year, for +ten years. This is the man whose volume will just as surely weigh down +that of the unthinking man as a ton will weigh down a pound in the +scale. Avoirdupois is moral, industrial, as well as material, in this +respect; and the primary, most usual cause of unprosperity in industrial +callings therefore lies in the want of intelligence,--either in the +slender endowment of the man, or more likely the want of education in +his ordinary and average endowment. Any class of men who live for +to-day, and do not care whether they know anything more than they did +yesterday or last year--those men may have a temporary and transient +prosperity, but they are the children of poverty just as surely as the +decrees of God stand. Ignorance enslaves men among men; knowledge is the +creator of liberty and wealth. + +As with undeveloped intelligence, so the appetites of men and their +passions are causes of poverty. Men who live from the basilar faculties +will invariably live in inferior stations. The men who represent +animalism are as a general fact at the bottom. They may say it is +government, climate, soil, want of capital, they may say what they +please, but it is the devil of laziness that is in them, or of passion, +that comes out in eating, in gluttony, in drinking and drunkenness, in +wastefulness on every side. I do not say that the laboring classes in +modern society are poor because they are self-indulgent, but I say that +it unquestionably would be wise for all men who feel irritated that they +are so unprosperous, if they would take heed to the moral condition in +which they are living, to self-denial in their passions and appetites, +and to increasing the amount of their knowledge and fidelity. Although +moral conditions are not the sole causes, they are principal causes, of +the poverty of the working classes throughout the world. It is their +misfortune as well as their fault; but it is the reason why they do not +rise. Weakness does not rise; strength does. + +All these causes indicate that the poor need moral and intellectual +culture. "I was sent to preach the gospel to the poor:" not to +distribute provisions, not to relieve their wants; that will be +included, but that was not Christ's primary idea. It was not to bring in +a golden period of fruitfulness when men would not be required to work. +It was not that men should lie down on their backs under the trees, and +that the boughs should bend over and drop the ripe fruit into their +mouths. No such conception of equality and abundance entered into the +mind of the Creator or of Him who represented the Creator. To preach the +gospel to the poor was to awaken the mind of the poor. It was to teach +the poor--"Take up your cross, deny yourselves, and follow me. Restrain +all those sinful appetites and passions, and hold them back by the power +of knowledge and by the power of conscience; grow, because you are the +sons of God, into the likeness of your Father." So he preached to the +poor. That was preaching prosperity to them. That was teaching them how +to develop their outward condition by developing their inward forces. To +develop that in men which should make them wiser, purer, and stronger, +is the aim of the gospel. Men have supposed that the whole end of the +gospel was reconciliation between God and men who had fallen--though +they were born sinners in their fathers and grandfathers and ancestors; +to reconcile them with God--as if an abstract disagreement had been the +cause of all this world's trouble! But the plain facts of history are +simply that men, if they have not come from animals, have yet dwelt in +animalism, and that that which should raise them out of it was some such +moral influence as should give them the power of ascension into +intelligence, into virtue, and into true godliness. That is what the +gospel was sent for; good news, a new power that is kindled under men, +that will lift them from their low ignorances and degradations and +passions, and lift them into a higher realm; a power that will take away +all the poverty that needs to be taken away. Men may be doctrinally +depraved; they are much more depraved practically. Men may need to be +brought into the knowledge of God speculatively; but what they do need +is to be brought into the knowledge of themselves practically. I do not +say that the gospel has nothing in it of this kind of spiritual +knowledge; it is full of it, but its aim and the reason why it should be +preached is to wake up in men the capacity for good things, industries, +frugalities, purities, moralities, kindnesses one toward another: and +when men are brought into that state they are reconciled. When men are +reconciled with the law of creation and the law of their being, they are +reconciled with God. Whenever a man is reconciled with the law of +knowledge, he is reconciled with the God of knowledge, so far. Whenever +a man is reconciled with the law of purity he is so far reconciled with +a God of purity. When men have lifted themselves to that point that +they recognize that they are the children of God, the kingdom of God has +begun within them. + +Although the spirit and practice of the gospel will develop charities, +will develop physical comfort, will feed men, will heal men, will +provide for their physical needs, yet the primary and fundamental result +of the gospel is to develop man himself, not merely to relieve his want +on an occasion. It does that as a matter of course, but that is scarcely +the first letter of the alphabet. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and +his righteousness, and all these things [food and raiment] shall be +added unto you." The way to relieve a man is to develop him so that he +will need no relief, or to raise higher and higher the character of the +help that he demands. + +In testing Christianity, then, I remark first that it is to be tested +not by creeds, but by conduct. The evidence of the gospel, the reality +of the gospel that is preached in schools or churches, is to be found in +the spirit that is developed by it, not in the technical creeds that men +have constructed out of it. The biography of men who have died might be +hung up in their sepulchres; but you could not tell what kind of a man +this one had been, just by reading his life there--while he lay dead in +dust before you. There are thousands of churches that have a creed of +Christianity hung up in them, but the church itself is a sepulchre full +of dead men's bones; and indeed, many churches in modern times are +gnawing the bones of their ancestors, and doing almost nothing else. + +The gospel, changed from a spirit of humanity into a philosophical +system of doctrine, is perverted. It is not the gospel. The great heresy +in the world of religion is a cold heart, not a luminous head. It is not +that intelligence is of no use in religion. By no means. Neither would +we wage a crusade against philosophical systems of moral truth. But +where the active sympathy and humanity of loving hearts for living men, +and for men in the ratio in which they are low, is laid aside or +diminished to a minimum, and in its place is a well-elaborated +philosophical system of moral truths, hewn and jointed,--the gospel is +gone. If you go along the sea-shores, you will often find the shells of +fish--the fish dead and gone, the shells left. And if you go along the +shores of ecclesiastical organization, you will find multitudes of +shells of the gospel, out of which the living substance has gone long +ago. Organized Christianity--that is, the institutions of Christianity +have been in the first instance its power, and in the second instance +its damnation. The moment you substitute the machinery of education for +education itself, the moment you build schools and do not educate, build +colleges that do not increase knowledge in the pupils, you have +sacrificed the aim for the instrument by which you were to gain that +aim. In churches, the moment it is more important to maintain buildings, +rituals, ministers, chanters, and all the paraphernalia of moral +education than the spirit of personal sympathy, the moment these are +more sacred to men than is the welfare of the population round about +which they were set to take care of, that very moment Christ is dead in +that place; that very moment religion in the midst of all its +institutions has perished. I am bound to say that in the history of the +world, while religious institutions have been valuable and have done a +great deal of good, they have perhaps done as much harm as good. There +is scarcely one single perversion of civil government, there is scarcely +one single persecution of men, there is scarcely a single one of the +great wars that have depopulated the globe, there is scarcely one great +heresy developed out of the tyranny of the church, that has not been the +fruit of institutional religion; while that spirit of humanity which was +to give the institution its motive power has to a certain extent died +out of it. + +Secondly, churches organized upon elective affinities of men are +contrary to the spirit of the gospel. We may associate with men who are +of like taste with ours. We have that privilege. If men are +knowledgeable and intellectual, there is no sin in their choosing for +intimate companions and associates men of like pursuits and like +intellectual qualities. That is right. If men are rich, there is no +reason why men who hold like property should not confer with each other, +and form interests and friendships together. If men are refined, if they +have become aesthetic, there is no reason why they should not associate +in the realm of beauty, artists with artists, nor why the great enjoyers +of beauty should not be in sympathy. Exit all these are not to be +allowed to do it at the price of abandoning common humanity; you have no +right to make your nest in the boughs of knowledge, and let all the rest +of the world go as it will. You have no right to make your home among +those who are polished and exquisite and fastidious in their tastes, +whose garments are beauty, whose house is a temple of art, and all whose +associations are of like kind, and neglect common humanity. You have no +right to shut yourself up in a limited company of those who are like you +in these directions, and let all the rest of men go without sympathy and +without care. It is a right thing for a man to salute his neighbor who +salutes him; but if you salute those who salute you, says Christ, what +thank have ye--do not even the publicans so? It is no sin that a man, +being intellectual in his nature, should like intellectual people, and +gratify that which is divine and God-like in him; but if, because he +likes intellectual people, he loses all interest in ignorant people, it +convicts him of depravity and of moral perversion. When this is carried +out to such an extent that churches are organized upon sharp +classification, upon elective affinities, they not only cease to be +Christian churches, but they are heretical; not perhaps in doctrine, but +worse than that, heretical in heart. + +The fact is that a church needs poor men and wicked men as much as it +does pure men and virtuous men and pious men. What man needs is +familiarity with universal human nature. He needs never to separate +himself from men in daily life. It is not necessary that in our houses +we should bring pestilential diseases or pestilential examples, but +somehow we must hold on to men if they are wicked; somehow the +circulation between the top and the bottom must be carried on; somehow +there must be an atoning power in the heart of every true believer of +the Lord Jesus Christ who shall say, looking out and seeing that the +world is lost, and is living in sin and misery, "I belong to it, and it +belongs to me." When you take the loaf of society and cut off the upper +crust, slicing it horizontally, you get an elect church. Yes, it is the +peculiarly elect church of selfishness. But you should cut the loaf of +society from the top down to the bottom, and take in something of +everything. True, every church would be very much edified and advantaged +if it had in it scholarly men, knowledgeable men; but the church is +strong in proportion as it has in it something of everything, from the +very top to the very bottom. + +Now, I do not disown creeds--provided they are my own! Well, you smile; +but that is the way it has been since the world began. No denomination +believes in any creed except its own. I do not say that men's knowledge +on moral subjects may not be formulated. I criticize the formulation of +beliefs from time to time, in this: that they are very partial; that +they are formed upon the knowledge of a past age, and that that +knowledge perishes while higher and nobler knowledge comes in; that +there ought to be higher and better forms; and that while their power is +relatively small, the power of the spirit of humanity is relatively +great. When I examine a church, I do not so much care whether its +worship is to the one God or to the triune God. I do not chiefly care +for the catechism, nor for the confession of faith, although they are +both interesting. I do not even look to see whether it is a synagogue or +a Christian church--I do not care whether it has a cross over the top of +it or is Quaker plain. I do not care whether it is Protestant, Catholic, +or anything else. Let me read the living--- the living book! What is the +spirit of the people? How do they feel among each other? How do they +feel toward the community? What is their life and conduct in regard to +the great prime moral duty of man, "Love the Lord thy God and thy +neighbor as thyself," whether he be obscure or whether he be smiling in +the very plenitude of wealth and refinement? Have you a heart for +humanity? Have you a soul that goes out for men? Are you Christ-like? +Will you spend yourself for the sake of elevating men who need to be +lifted up? That is orthodox. I do not care what the creed is. If a +church has a good creed, that is all the more felicitous; and if it has +a bad creed, a good life cures the bad creed. + +One of the dangers of our civilization may be seen in the light of these +considerations. We are developing so much strength founded on popular +intelligence, and this intelligence and the incitements to it are +developing such large property interests, that if the principle of +elective affinity shall sort men out and classify them, we are steering +to the not very remote danger of the disintegration of human society. I +can tell you that the classes of men who by their knowledge, refinement, +and wealth think they are justified in separating themselves, and in +making a great void between them and the myriads of men below them, are +courting their own destruction. I look with very great interest on the +process of change going on in Great Britain, where the top of society +had all the "blood," but the circulation is growing larger and larger, +and a change is gradually taking place in their institutions. The old +nobility of Great Britain is the lordliest of aristocracies existing in +the world. Happily, on the whole, a very noble class of men occupy the +high positions: but the spirit of suffrage, this angel of God that so +many hate, is coming in on them; and when every man in Great Britain can +vote, no matter whether he is poor or rich, whether he has knowledge or +no knowledge, there must be a very great change. Before the great day of +the Lord shall come, the valleys are to go up and the mountains are to +come down; and the mountains have started already in Great Britain and +must come down. There may be an aristocracy in any nation,--that is to +say, there may be "best men"; there ought to be an aristocracy in every +community,--that is, an aristocracy of men who speak the truth, who are +just, who are intelligent: but that aristocracy will be like a wave of +the sea; it has to be reconstituted in every generation, and the men who +are the best in the State become the aristocracy of that State. But +where rank is hereditary, if political suffrage becomes free and +universal, aristocracy cannot live. The spirit of the gospel is +democratic. The tendency of the gospel is leveling; leveling up, not +down. It is carrying the poor and the multitude onward and upward. + +It is said that democracies have no great men, no heroic men. Why is it +so? When you raise the average of intelligence and power in the +community it is very hard to be a great man. That is to say, when the +great mass of citizens are only ankle-high, when among the Lilliputians +a Brobdingnagian walks, he is a great man. But when the Lilliputians +grow until they get up to his shoulder, he is not so great a man as he +was by the whole length of his body. So, make the common people grow, +and there is nobody tall enough to be much higher. + + * * * * * + +The remarkable people of this world are useful in their way; but the +common people, after all, represent the nation, the age, and the +civilization. Go into any town or city: do not ask who lives in that +splendid house; do not say, This is a fine town, here are streets of +houses with gardens and yards, and everything that is beautiful the +whole way through. Go into the lanes, go into the back streets, go where +the mechanic lives; go where the day-laborer lives. See what is the +condition of the streets there. See what they do with the poor, with the +helpless, and the mean. If the top of society bends perpetually over the +bottom with tenderness, if the rich and strong are the best friends of +the poor and needy, that is a civilized and a Christian community; but +if the rich and the wise are the cream and the great bulk of the +population skim-milk, that is not a prosperous community. + +There is a great deal of irreligion in men, there is a great deal of +wickedness and depravity in men, but there are times when it is true +that the church is more dissipated than the dissipated classes of the +community. If there is one thing that stood out more strongly than any +other in the ministry of our Lord, it is the severity with which he +treated the exclusiveness of men with knowledge, position, and a certain +sort of religion, a religion of particularity and carefulness; if there +is one class of the community against which he hurled his thunderbolts +without mercy and predicted woes, it was the scribes, Pharisees, +scholars, and priests of the temples. He told them in so many words, +"The publican and the harlot will enter the kingdom of God before you." +The worst dissipation in this world is the dry-rot of morality, and of +the so-called piety that separates men of prosperity and of power from +the poor and ignoble. They are our wards.... + +I am not a socialist. I do not preach riot. I do not preach the +destruction of property. I regard property as one of the sacred things. +The real property established by a man's own intelligence and labor is +the crystallized man himself. It is the fruit of what his life-work has +done; and not in vain, society makes crime against it amongst the most +punishable. But nevertheless, I warn these men in a country like ours, +where every man votes, whether he came from Hungary, or from Russia, or +from Germany, or from France or Italy, or Spain or Portugal, or from the +Orient,--from Japan and China, because they too are going to vote! On +the Niagara River, logs come floating down and strike an island, and +there they lodge and accumulate for a little while, and won't go over. +But the rains come, the snows melt, the river rises, and the logs are +lifted up and down, and they go swinging over the falls. The stream of +suffrage of free men, having all the privileges of the State, is this +great stream. The figure is defective in this, that the log goes over +the Niagara Falls, but that is not the way the country is going or will +go.... There is a certain river of political life, and everything has to +go into it first or last; and if, in days to come, a man separates +himself from his fellows without sympathy, if his wealth and power make +poverty feel itself more poor and men's misery more miserable, and set +against him the whole stream of popular feeling, that man is in danger. +He may not know who dynamites him, but there is danger; and let him take +heed who is in peril. There is nothing easier in the world than for rich +men to ingratiate themselves with the whole community in which they +live, and so secure themselves. It is not selfishness that will do it; +it is not by increasing the load of misfortune, it is not by wasting +substance in riotous living upon appetites and passions. It is by +recognizing that every man is a brother. It is by recognizing the +essential spirit of the gospel, "Love thy neighbor as thyself." It is by +using some of their vast power and riches so as to diffuse joy in every +section of the community. + +Here then I close this discourse. How much it enrolls! How very simple +it is! It is the whole gospel. When you make an application of it to all +the phases of organization and classification of human interests and +developments, it seems as though it were as big as the universe. Yet +when you condense it, it all comes back to the one simple creed: "Thou +shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as +thyself." Who is my neighbor? A certain man went down to Jericho, and so +on. That tells you who your neighbor is. Whosoever has been attacked by +robbers, has been beaten, has been thrown down--by liquor, by gambling, +or by any form of wickedness; whosoever has been cast into distress, and +you are called on to raise him up--that is your neighbor. Love your +neighbor as yourself. That is the gospel. + + +A NEW ENGLAND SUNDAY + +From 'Norwood' + +It is worth all the inconveniences arising from the occasional +over-action of New England Sabbath observance, to obtain the full flavor +of a New England Sunday. But for this, one should have been born there; +should have found Sunday already waiting for him, and accepted it with +implicit and absolute conviction, as if it were a law of nature, in the +same way that night and day, summer and winter, are parts of nature. He +should have been brought up by parents who had done the same thing, as +_they_ were by parents even more strict, if that were possible; until +not religious persons peculiarly, but everybody--not churches alone, but +society itself, and all its population, those who broke it as much as +those who kept it--were stained through with the color of Sunday. Nay, +until Nature had adopted it, and laid its commands on all birds and +beasts, on the sun and winds, and upon the whole atmosphere; so that +without much imagination one might imagine, in a genuine New England +Sunday of the Connecticut River Valley stamp, that God was still on that +day resting from all the work which he had created and made, and that +all his work rested with him! + +Over all the town rested the Lord's peace! The saw was ripping away +yesterday in the carpenter's shop, and the hammer was noisy enough. +Today there is not a sign of life there. The anvil makes no music +to-day. Tommy Taft's buckets and barrels give forth no hollow, thumping +sound. The mill is silent--only the brook continues noisy. Listen! In +yonder pine woods what a cawing of crows! Like an echo, in a wood still +more remote other crows are answering. But even a crow's throat to-day +is musical. Do they think, because they have black coats on, that they +are parsons, and have a right to play pulpit with all the pine-trees? +Nay. The birds will not have any such monopoly,--they are all singing, +and singing all together, and no one cares whether his song rushes +across another's or not. Larks and robins, blackbirds and orioles, +sparrows and bluebirds, mocking cat-birds and wrens, were furrowing the +air with such mixtures as no other day but Sunday, when all artificial +and human sounds cease, could ever hear. Every now and then a bobolink +seemed impressed with the duty of bringing these jangling birds into +more regularity; and like a country singing-master, he flew down the +ranks, singing all the parts himself in snatches, as if to stimulate and +help the laggards. In vain! Sunday is the birds' day, and they will have +their own democratic worship. + +There was no sound in the village street. Look either way--not a +vehicle, not a human being. The smoke rose up soberly and quietly, as if +it said--It is Sunday! The leaves on the great elms hung motionless, +glittering in dew, as if they too, like the people who dwelt under their +shadow, were waiting for the bell to ring for meeting. Bees sung and +flew as usual; but honey-bees have a Sunday way with them all the week, +and could scarcely change for the better on the seventh day. + +But oh, the Sun! It had sent before and cleared every stain out of the +sky. The blue heaven was not dim and low, as on secular days, but curved +and deep, as if on Sunday it shook off all incumbrance which during the +week had lowered and flattened it, and sprang back to the arch and +symmetry of a dome. All ordinary sounds caught the spirit of the day. +The shutting of a door sounded twice as far as usual. The rattle of a +bucket in a neighbor's yard, no longer mixed with heterogeneous noises, +seemed a new sound. The hens went silently about, and roosters crowed in +psalm-tunes. And when the first bell rung, Nature seemed overjoyed to +find something that it might do without breaking Sunday, and rolled the +sound over and over, and pushed it through the air, and raced with it +over field and hill, twice as far as on week-days. There were no less +than seven steeples in sight from the belfry, and the sexton said:--"On +still Sundays I've heard the bell, at one time and another, when the day +was fair, and the air moving in the right way, from every one of them +steeples, and I guess likely they've all heard our'n." + +"Come, Rose!" said Agate Bissell, at an even earlier hour than when Rose +usually awakened--"Come, Rose, it is the Sabbath. We must not be late +Sunday morning, of all days in the week. It is the Lord's day." + +There was little preparation required for the day. Saturday night, in +some parts of New England, was considered almost as sacred as Sunday +itself. After sundown on Saturday night no play, and no work except such +as is immediately preparatory to the Sabbath, were deemed becoming in +good Christians. The clothes had been laid out the night before. Nothing +was forgotten. The best frock was ready; the hose and shoes were +waiting. Every article of linen, every ruffle and ribbon, were selected +on Saturday night. Every one in the house walked mildly. Every one spoke +in a low tone. Yet all were cheerful. The mother had on her kindest +face, and nobody laughed, but everybody made it up in smiling. The nurse +smiled, and the children held on to keep down a giggle within the lawful +bounds of a smile; and the doctor looked rounder and calmer than ever; +and the dog flapped his tail on the floor with a softened sound, as if +he had fresh wrapped it in hair for that very day. Aunt Toodie, the cook +(so the children had changed Mrs. Sarah Good's name), was blacker than +ever and shinier than ever, and the coffee better, and the cream +richer, and the broiled chickens juicier and more tender, and the +biscuit whiter, and the corn-bread more brittle and sweet. + +When the good doctor read the Scriptures at family prayer, the infection +of silence had subdued everything except the clock. Out of the wide hall +could be heard in the stillness the old clock, that now lifted up its +voice with unwonted emphasis, as if, unnoticed through the bustling +week, Sunday was its vantage ground, to proclaim to mortals the swift +flight of time. And if the old pedant performed the task with something +of an ostentatious precision, it was because in that house nothing else +put on official airs, and the clock felt the responsibility of doing it +for the whole mansion. + +And now came mother and catechism; for Mrs. Wentworth followed the old +custom, and declared that no child of hers should grow up without +catechism. Secretly, the doctor was quite willing, though openly he +played off upon the practice a world of good-natured discouragement, and +declared that there should be an opposition set up--a catechism of +Nature, with natural laws for decrees, and seasons for Providence, and +flowers for graces! The younger children were taught in simple +catechism. But Rose, having reached the mature age of twelve, was now +manifesting her power over the Westminster Shorter Catechism; and as it +was simply an achievement of memory and not of the understanding, she +had the book at great advantage, and soon subdued every question and +answer in it. As much as possible, the doctor was kept aloof on such +occasions. His grave questions were not to edification, and often they +caused Rose to stumble, and brought down sorely the exultation with +which she rolled forth, "They that are effectually called do in this +life partake of justification, adoption, sanctification, and the several +benefits which in this life do either accompany or flow from them." + +"What do those words mean, Rose?" + +"Which words, pa?" + +"Adoption, sanctification, and justification?" + +Rose hesitated, and looked at her mother for rescue. + +"Doctor, why do you trouble the child? Of course she don't know yet all +the meaning. But that will come to her when she grows older." + +"You make a nest of her memory, then, and put words there, like eggs, +for future hatching?" + +"Yes, that is it exactly: birds do not hatch their eggs the minute they +lay them. They wait." + +"Laying eggs at twelve to be hatched at twenty is subjecting them to +some risk, is it not?" + +"It might be so with eggs, but not with the catechism. That will keep +without spoiling a hundred years!" + +"Because it is so dry?" + +"Because it is so good. But do, dear husband, go away, and not put +notions in the children's heads. It's hard enough already to get them +through their tasks. Here's poor Arthur, who has been two Sundays on one +question, and has not got it yet." + +Arthur, aforesaid, was sharp and bright in anything addressed to his +reason, but he had no verbal memory, and he was therefore wading +painfully through the catechism like a man in a deep-muddy road; with +this difference, that the man carries too much clay with him, while +nothing stuck to poor Arthur. + + * * * * * + +The beauty of the day, the genial season of the year, brought forth +every one; old men and their feebler old wives, young and hearty men and +their plump and ruddy companions,--young men and girls and children, +thick as punctuation points in Hebrew text, filled the street. In a low +voice, they spoke to each other in single sentences. + +"A fine day! There'll be a good congregation out to-day." + +"Yes; we may expect a house full. How is Widow Cheney--have you heard?" + +"Well, not much better; can't hold out many days. It will be a great +loss to the children." + +"Yes; but we must all die--nobody can skip his turn. Does she still talk +about them that's gone?" + +"They say not. I believe she's sunk into a quiet way; and it looks as if +she'd go off easy." + +"Sunday is a good day for dying--it's about the only journey that speeds +well on this day!" + +There was something striking in the outflow of people into the street, +that till now had seemed utterly deserted. There was no fevered hurry; +no negligent or poorly dressed people. Every family came in groups--old +folks and young children; and every member blossomed forth in his best +apparel, like a rose-bush in June. Do you know that man in a silk hat +and new black coat? Probably it is some stranger. No; it is the +carpenter, Mr. Baggs, who was racing about yesterday with his sleeves +rolled up, and a dust-and-business look in his face! I knew you would +not know him. Adams Gardner, the blacksmith,--does he not look every +inch a judge, now that he is clean-washed, shaved, and dressed? His eyes +are as bright as the sparks that fly from his anvil! + +Are not the folks proud of their children? See what groups of them! How +ruddy and plump are most! Some are roguish, and cut clandestine capers +at every chance. Others seem like wax figures, so perfectly proper are +they. Little hands go slyly through the pickets to pluck a tempting +flower. Other hands carry hymn-books or Bibles. But, carry what they +may, dressed as each parent can afford, is there anything the sun shines +upon more beautiful than these troops of Sunday children? + +The old bell had it all its own way up in the steeple. It was the +licensed noise of the day. In a long shed behind the church stood a +score and half-score of wagons and chaises and carryalls,--the horses +already beginning the forenoon's work of stamping and whisking the +flies. More were coming. Hiram Beers had "hitched up," and brought two +loads with his new hack; and now, having secured the team, he stood with +a few admiring young fellows about him, remarking on the people as +they came up. + +"There's Trowbridge--he'll git asleep afore the first prayer's over. I +don't b'lieve he's heerd a sermon in ten years. I've seen him sleep +standin' up in singin'. + +"Here comes Deacon Marble,--smart old feller, ain't he?--wouldn't think +it, jest to look at him! Face looks like an ear of last summer's sweet +corn, all dried up; but I tell ye he's got the juice in him yit! Aunt +Polly's gittin' old, ain't she? They say she can't walk half the +time--lost the use of her limbs; but it's all gone to her tongue. That's +as good as a razor, and a sight better 'n mine, for it never needs +sharpenin'. + +"Stand away, boys, there's 'Biah Cathcart. Good horses--not fast, but +mighty strong, just like the owner." + +And with that Hiram touched his new Sunday hat to Mrs. Cathcart and +Alice; and as he took the horses by the bits, he dropped his head and +gave the Cathcart boys a look of such awful solemnity, all except one +eye, that they lost their sobriety. Barton alone remained sober as +a judge. + +"Here comes 'Dot-and-Go-One' and his wife. They're my kind o' +Christians. She is a saint, at any rate." + +"How is it with you, Tommy Taft?" + +"Fair to middlin', thank'e. Such weather would make a hand-spike +blossom, Hiram." + +"Don't you think that's a leetle strong, Tommy, for Sunday? P'raps you +mean afore it's cut?" + +"Sartin; that's what I mean. But you mustn't stop me, Hiram. Parson +Buell 'll be lookin' for me. He never begins till I git there." + +"You mean you always git there 'fore he begins." + +Next, Hiram's prying eyes saw Mr. Turfmould, the sexton and undertaker, +who seemed to be in a pensive meditation upon all the dead that he had +ever buried. He looked upon men in a mild and pitying manner, as if he +forgave them for being in good health. You could not help feeling that +he gazed upon you with a professional eye, and saw just how you would +look in the condition which was to him the most interesting period of a +man's earthly state. He walked with a soft tread, as if he was always at +a funeral; and when he shook your hand, his left hand half followed his +right, as if he were about beginning to lay you out. He was one of the +few men absorbed by his business, and who unconsciously measured all +things from its standpoint. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Turfmould! How's your health? How is business with +you?" + +"Good--the Lord be praised! I've no reason to complain." + +And he glided silently and smoothly into the church. + +"There comes Judge Bacon, white and ugly," said the critical Hiram. "I +wonder what he comes to meetin' for. Lord knows he needs it, sly, +slippery old sinner! Face's as white as a lily; his heart's as black as +a chimney flue afore it's cleaned. He'll get his flue burned out if he +don't repent, that's certain. He don't believe the Bible. They say he +don't believe in God. Wal, I guess it's pretty even between 'em. +Shouldn't wonder if God didn't believe in him neither." + +As soon as the afternoon service was over, every horse on the green knew +that it was time for him to go home. Some grew restless and whinnied for +their masters. Nimble hands soon put them into the shafts or repaired +any irregularity of harness. Then came such a scramble of vehicles to +the church door for the older persons; while young women and children, +venturing further out upon the green, were taken up hastily, that the +impatient horses might as soon as possible turn their heads homeward. +Clouds of dust began to arise along every outward-going road. In less +than ten minutes not a wagon or chaise was seen upon the village green. +They were whirling homeward at the very best pace that the horses could +raise. Stiff old steeds vainly essayed a nimbler gait, but gave it up in +a few rods, and fell back to the steady jog. Young horses, tired of long +standing, and with a strong yearning for evening oats, shot along the +level ground, rushed up the little hills, or down upon the other side, +in the most un-Sunday-like haste. The scene was not altogether unlike +the return from a military funeral, _to_ which men march with sad music +and slow, but _from_ which they return nimbly marching to the most +brilliant quick-step. + +In half an hour Norwood was quiet again. The dinner, on Sunday, when for +the sake of the outlying population the two services are brought near +together in the middle of the day, was usually deferred till the +ordinary supper hour. It was evident that the tone of the day was +changed. Children were not so strictly held in. There was no loud +talking, nor was laughing allowed, but a general feeling sprung up +around the table that the severer tasks of the day were ended. + +Devout and age-sobered people sat in a kind of golden twilight of +meditation. The minister, in his well-ordered house, tired with a double +service, mingled thoughts both glad and sad. His tasks were ended. He +was conscious that he had manfully done his best. But that best doing, +as he reflected upon it, seemed so poor, so unworthy of the nobleness of +the theme, and so relatively powerless upon the stubborn stuff of which +his people's dispositions were made, that there remained a vague, +unquiet sense of blame upon his conscience. + +It was Dr. Wentworth's habit to walk with his family in the garden, +early in the morning and late in the afternoon. If early, Rose was +usually his company; in the afternoon the whole family, Agate Bissell +always excepted. She had in full measure that peculiar New England +feeling that Sunday is to be kept by staying in the house, except such +time as is spent at church. And though she never, impliedly even, +rebuked the doctor's resort to his garden, it was plain that deep down +in her heart she thought it an improper way of spending Sunday; and in +that view she had the secret sympathy of almost all the noteworthy +villagers. Had any one, upon that day, made Agate a visit, unless for +some plain end of necessity or mercy, she would have deemed it a +personal affront. + +Sunday was the Lord's day. Agate acted as if any use of it for her own +pleasure would be literal and downright stealing. + +"We have six days for our own work. We ought not to begrudge the Lord +one whole day." + +Two circumstances distressed honest Agate's conscience. The one was that +the incursion of summer visitors from the city was tending manifestly to +relax the Sabbath, especially after the church services. The other was +that Dr. Wentworth would occasionally allow Judge Bacon to call in and +discuss with him topics suggested by the sermons. She once expressed +herself in this wise:-- + +"Either Sunday is worth keeping, or it is not. If you do keep it, it +ought to be strictly done. But lately Sunday is raveling out at the end. +We take it on like a summer dress, which in the morning is clean and +sweet, but at night it is soiled at the bottom and much rumpled +all over." + +Dr. Wentworth sat with Rose on one side and her mother on the other, in +the honeysuckle corner, where the west could be seen, great trees lying +athwart the horizon and checkering the golden light with their dark +masses. Judge Bacon had turned the conversation upon this very topic. + +"I think our Sundays in New England are Puritan and Jewish more than +Christian. They are days of restriction rather than of joyousness. They +are fast days, not feast days." + +"Do you say that as a mere matter of historical criticism, or do you +think that they could be improved practically?" + +"Both. It is susceptible of proof that the early Christian Sunday was a +day of triumph and of much social joy. It would be well if we could +follow primitive example." + +"Judge, I am hardly of your opinion. I should be unwilling to see our +New England Sunday changed, except perhaps by a larger social liberty +_in_ each family. Much might be done to make it attractive to children, +and relieve older persons from _ennui_. But after all, we must judge +things by their fruits. If you bring me good apples, it is in vain to +abuse the tree as craggy, rude, or homely. The fruit redeems the tree." + +"A very comely figure, Doctor, but not very good reasoning. New England +has had something at work upon her beside her Sundays. What you call the +'fruit' grew, a good deal of it at any rate, on other trees than +Sunday trees." + +"You are only partly right. New England character and history are the +result of a wide-spread system of influences of which the Sabbath day +was the type--and not only so, but the grand motive power. Almost every +cause which has worked benignly among us has received its inspiration +and impulse largely from this One Solitary Day of the week. + +"It is true that all the vegetable growths that we see about us here +depend upon a great variety of causes; but there is one cause that is +the condition of power in every other, and that is the Sun! And so, many +as have been the influences working at New England character, Sunday has +been a generic and multiplex force, inspiring and directing all others. +It is indeed the _Sun's_ day. + +"It is a little singular that, borrowing the name from the heathen +calendar, it should have tallied so well with the Scripture name, the +Lord's day--that Lord who was the Morning Star in early day, and at +length the Sun of Righteousness! + +"The Jews called it the Sabbath--a day of rest. Modern Christians call +it the _Sun's_ day, or the day of light, warmth, and growth. If this +seems fanciful so far as the names of the day are concerned, it is +strikingly characteristic of the real spirit of the two days, in the +ancient and modern dispensation. I doubt if the old Jews ever kept a +Sabbath religiously, as we understand that term. Indeed, I suspect there +was not yet a religious strength in that national character that could +hold up religious feeling without the help of social and even physical +adjuvants. Their religious days were either fasts or like our +Thanksgiving days. But the higher and richer moral nature which has been +developed by Christianity enables communities to sustain one day in +seven upon a high spiritual plane, with the need of but very little +social help, and without the feasting element at all." + +"That may be very well for a few saints like you and me, Doctor, but it +is too high for the majority of men. Common people find the strict +Sundays a great annoyance, and clandestinely set them aside." + +"I doubt it. There are a few in every society that live by their +sensuous nature. Sunday must be a dead day to them--a dark room. No +wonder they break through. But it is not so with the sturdy, +unsophisticated laboring class in New England. If it came to a vote, you +would find that the farmers of New England would be the defenders of the +day, even if screwed up to the old strictness. Their instinct is right. +It is an observance that has always worked its best effects upon the +common people, and if I were to change the name, I should call Sunday +THE POOR MAN'S DAY. + +"Men do not yet perceive that the base of the brain is full of +despotism, and the coronal brain is radiant with liberty. I mean that +the laws and relations which grow out of men's relations in physical +things are the sternest and hardest, and at every step in the assent +toward reason and spirituality, the relations grow more kindly and free. + +"Now, it is natural for men to prefer an animal life. By-and-by they +will learn that such a life necessitates force, absolutism. It is +natural for unreflecting men to complain when custom or institutions +hold them up to some higher degree. But that higher degree has in it an +element of emancipation from the necessary despotisms of physical life. +If it were possible to bring the whole community up to a plane of +spirituality, it would be found that there and there only could be the +highest measure of liberty. And this is my answer to those who grumble +at the restriction of Sunday liberty. It is only the liberty of the +senses that suffers. A higher and nobler civil liberty, moral liberty, +social liberty, will work out of it. Sunday is the common people's +Magna Charta." + +"Well done, Doctor! I give up. Hereafter you shall see me radiant on +Sunday. I must not get my hay in if storms do threaten to spoil it; but +I shall give my conscience a hitch up, and take it out in that. I must +not ride out; but then I shall regard every virtuous self-denial as a +moral investment with good dividends coming in by-and-by. I can't let +the children frolic in the front dooryard; but then, while they sit +waiting for the sun to go down, and your _Sun_-day to be over, I shall +console myself that they are one notch nearer an angelic condition every +week. But good-night, good-night, Mrs. Wentworth. I hope you may not +become so spiritual as quite to disdain the body. I really think, for +this world, the body has some respectable uses yet. Good-night, Rose. +The angels take care of you, if there is one of them good enough." + +And so the judge left. + +They sat silently looking at the sun, now but just above the horizon. A +few scarfs of cloud, brilliant with flame-color, and every moment +changing forms, seemed like winged spirits, half revealed, that hovered +round the retiring orb. + +Mrs. Wentworth at length broke the silence. + +"I always thought, Doctor, that you believed Sunday over-strictly kept, +and that you were in favor of relaxation." + +"I am. Just as fast as you can make it a day of real religious +enjoyment, it will relax itself. True and deep spiritual feeling is the +freest of all experiences. And it reconciles in itself the most perfect +consciousness of liberty with the most thorough observance of outward +rules and proprieties. Liberty is not an outward condition. It is an +inward attribute, or rather a name for the quality of life produced by +the highest moral attributes. When communities come to that condition, +we shall see fewer laws and higher morality. + +"The one great poem of New England is her Sunday! Through that she has +escaped materialism. That has been a crystal dome overhead, through +which Imagination has been kept alive. New England's imagination is to +be found, not in art and literature, but in her inventions, her social +organism, and above all in her religious life. The Sabbath has been the +nurse of that. When she ceases to have a Sunday, she will be as this +landscape is:--now growing dark, all its lines blurred, its distances +and gradations fast merging into sheeted darkness and night. Come, let +us go in!" + +Copyrighted by Fords, Howard and Hulbert. + + + + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + +(1770-1827) + +BY E. IRENAEUS STEVENSON + + +We are warned on high authority that no man can serve two masters. The +caution should obtain in aesthetics as well as in ethics. As a general +rule, the painter must stick to his easel, the sculptor must carve, the +musician must score or play or sing, the actor must act,--each with no +more than the merest coquettings with sister arts. Otherwise his genius +is apt to suffer from what are side-issues for temperament. To many +minds a taste, and even a singular capacity, for an avocation has +injured the work done in the real vocation. + +[Illustration: BEETHOVEN] + +Of course there are exceptions. The versatility has not always been +fatal. We recall Leonardo, Angelo, Rossetti, and Blake among painters; +in the ranks of musicians we note Hoffmann, Berlioz, Schumann, Wagner, +Boito. In other art-paths, such personal pages as those of Cellini, and +the critical writings of Story, of to-day, may add their evidence. The +essentially autobiographic in such a connection must be accepted with +reserve. So must be taken much admirable writing as to the art in which +the critic or teacher has labored. Didactics are not necessarily +literature. Perhaps the best basis of determining the right to literary +recognition of men and women who have written and printed more or less +without actually professing letters, will be the interest of the matter +they have left to the kind of reader who does not care a pin about their +real life-work, or about their self-expression as it really comes +down to us. + +In painting, the dual capacity--for the brush and for letters--has more +shining examples than in music. But with Beethoven, Schumann, Boito, and +Wagner, comes a striking succession of men who, as to autobiography or +criticism or verse, present a high quality of interest to the general +reader. In the instance of Beethoven the critical or essayistic side is +limited. It is by his letters and diary that we study (only less vividly +than in his music) a character of profound depth and imposing nobility; +a nature of exquisite sensitiveness. In them we follow, if +fragmentarily, the battle of personality against environment, the +secrets of strong but high passion, the artist temperament,--endowed +with a dignity and a moral majesty seldom equaled in an art indeed +called divine, but with children who frequently remind us that Pan +absorbed in playing his syrinx has a goat's hoof. + +Beethoven in all his correspondence wrote himself down as what he +was,--a superior man, a mighty soul in many traits, as well as a supreme +creative musician. His letters are absorbing, whether they breathe love +or anger, discouragement or joy, rebellion against untoward conditions +of daily life or solemn resignation. The religious quality, too, is +strong in them; that element more in touch with Deism than with one or +another orthodoxy. Withal, he is as sincere in every line of such matter +as he was in the spoken word. His correspondence holds up the mirror to +his own nature, with its extremes of impulse and reserve, of affection +and austerity, of confidence and suspicion. It abounds, too, in that +brusque yet seldom coarse humor which leaps up in the Finale of the +Seventh Symphony, in the Eighth Symphony's waggery, the last movement of +the Concerto in E flat. They offer likewise verbal admissions of such +depression of heart as we recognize in the sternest episodes of the +later Sonatas and of the Galitzin Quartets, and in the awful Allegretto +of the Symphony in A. They hint at the amorous passion of the slow +movements of the Fourth and Ninth Symphonies, at the moral heroism of +the Fifth, at the more human courage of the 'Heroic,' at the mysticism +of the Ninth's tremendous opening. In interesting relation to the group, +and merely of superficial interest, are his hasty notes, his occasional +efforts to write in English or in French, his touches of musical +allusiveness. + +[Illustration: _BEETHOVEN._ Photogravure from the Original Painting +by C. Jaeger.] + +It is not in the purpose of these prefatory paragraphs to a too-brief +group of Beethoven's letters to enter upon his biography. That is +essentially a musician's life; albeit the life of a musician who, as Mr. +Edward Dannreuther suggests, leaves behind him the domain of mere art +and enters upon that of the seer and the prophet. He was born in Bonn in +1770, on a day the date of which is not certain (though we know that his +baptism was December 17th). His youth was not a sunshiny period. +Poverty, neglect, a drunken father, violin lessons under compulsion, +were the circumstances ushering him into his career. He was for a brief +time a pupil of Mozart; just enough so to preserve that succession of +royal geniuses expressed in linking Mozart to Haydn, and in remembering +that Liszt played for Beethoven and that Schubert stood beside +Beethoven's last sick-bed. High patronage and interest gradually took +the composer under its care. Austria and Germany recognized him, +England accepted him early, universal intelligence became enthusiastic +over utterances in art that seemed as much innovations as Wagneristic +writing seemed to the next generation. In Vienna, Beethoven may be said +to have passed his life. There were the friends to whom he wrote--who +understood and loved him. Afflicted early with a deafness that became +total,--the irony of fate,--the majority of his master-works were +evolved from a mind shut away from the pleasures and disturbances of +earthly sounds, and beset by invalidism and suffering. Naturally genial, +he grew morbidly sensitive. Infirmities of temper as well as of body +marked him for their own. But underneath all superficial shortcomings of +his intensely human nature was a Shakespearean dignity of moral and +intellectual individuality. + +It is not necessary here even to touch on the works that follow him. +They stand now as firmly as ever--perhaps more firmly--in the honor and +the affection of all the world of auditors in touch with the highest +expressions in the tone-world. The mere mention of such monuments as the +sonatas, the nine symphonies, the Mass in D minor, the magnificent chain +of overtures, the dramatic concert-arias, does not exhaust the list. +They are the vivid self-expressions of one who learned in suffering what +he taught in song: a man whose personality impressed itself into almost +everything that he wrote, upon almost every one whom he met, and who +towers up as impressively as the author of 'Hamlet,' the sculptor of +'Moses,' the painter of 'The Last Supper.' + +It is perhaps interesting to mention that the very chirography of +Beethoven's letters is eloquent of the man. Handwriting is apt to be. +Mendelssohn, the well-balanced, the precise, wrote like copper-plate. +Wagner wrote a fine strong hand, seldom with erasures. Spontini, the +soldier-like, wrote with the decision of a soldier. Beethoven's letters +and notes are in a large, open, dashing hand, often scrawls, always with +the blackest of ink, full of changes, and not a flourish to spare--the +handwriting of impulse and carelessness as to form, compared with a +writer's desire of making his meaning clear. + +[Illustration: Signature: E. IRENAEUS STEVENSON] + + +FROM LETTER TO DR. WEGELER, VIENNA + +In what an odious light have you exhibited me to myself! Oh! I +acknowledge it, I do not deserve your friendship. It was no intentional +or deliberate malice that induced me to act towards you as I did--but +inexcusable thoughtlessness alone. + +I say no more. I am coming to throw myself into your arms, and to +entreat you to restore me my lost friend; and you will give him back to +me, to your penitent, loving, and ever grateful + +BEETHOVEN. + + +TO THE SAME + +VIENNA, June 29th, 1800. + +_My dear and valued Wegeler:_ + +How much I thank you for your remembrance of me, little as I deserve it +or have sought to deserve it; and yet you are so kind that you allow +nothing, not even my unpardonable neglect, to discourage you, always +remaining the same true, good, and faithful friend. That I can ever +forget you or yours, once so dear and precious to me, do not for a +moment believe. There are times when I find myself longing to see you +again, and wishing that I could go to stay with you. My fatherland, that +lovely region where I first saw the light, is still as distinct and +beauteous in my eyes as when I quitted you; in short, I shall esteem the +time when I once more see you, and again greet Father Rhine, as one of +the happiest periods of my life. When this may be I cannot yet tell, but +at all events I may say that you shall not see me again till I have +become not only eminent as an artist, but better and more perfect as a +man; and if the condition of our fatherland be then more prosperous, my +art shall be entirely devoted to the benefit of the poor. Oh, blissful +moment!--how happy do I esteem myself that I can expedite it and bring +it to pass! + +You desire to know something of my position: well! it is by no means +bad. However incredible it may appear, I must tell you that Lichnowsky +has been, and still is, my warmest friend (slight dissensions occurred +occasionally between us, and yet they only served to strengthen our +friendship). He settled on me last year the sum of six hundred florins, +for which I am to draw on him till I can procure some suitable +situation. My compositions are very profitable, and I may really say +that I have almost more commissions than it is possible for me to +execute. I can have six or seven publishers or more for every piece if I +choose: they no longer bargain with me--I demand, and they pay--so you +see this is a very good thing. For instance, I have a friend in +distress, and my purse does not admit of my assisting him at once, but I +have only to sit down and write, and in a short time he is relieved. I +am also become more economical than formerly.... + +To give you some idea of my extraordinary deafness, I must tell you that +in the theatre I am obliged to lean close up against the orchestra in +order to understand the actors, and when a little way off I hear none of +the high notes of instruments or singers. It is most astonishing that in +conversation some people never seem to observe this; as I am subject to +fits of absence, they attribute it to that cause. Often I can scarcely +hear a person if he speaks low; I can distinguish the tones but not the +words, and yet I feel it intolerable if any one shouts to me. Heaven +alone knows how it is to end! Vering declares that I shall certainly +improve, even if I be not entirely restored. How often have I cursed my +existence! Plutarch led me to resignation. I shall strive if possible to +set Fate at defiance, although there must be moments in my life when I +cannot fail to be the most unhappy of God's creatures. I entreat you to +say nothing of my affliction to any one, not even to Lorchen. I confide +the secret to you alone, and entreat you some day to correspond with +Vering on the subject. If I continue in the same state, I shall come to +you in the ensuing spring, when you must engage a house for me somewhere +in the country, amid beautiful scenery, and I shall then become a rustic +for a year, which may perhaps effect a change. Resignation!--what a +miserable refuge! and yet it is my sole remaining one. You will forgive +my thus appealing to your kindly sympathies at a time when your own +position is sad enough. + +Farewell, my kind, faithful Wegeler! Rest assured of the love and +friendship of your + +BEETHOVEN. + + +FROM THE LETTERS TO BETTINA BRENTANO + +Never was there a lovelier spring than this year; I say so, and feel it +too, because it was then I first knew you. You have yourself seen that +in society I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes and writhes, but +cannot get away till some benevolent Galatea casts it back into the +mighty ocean. I was indeed fairly stranded, dearest friend, when +surprised by you at a moment in which moroseness had entirely mastered +me; but how quickly it vanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious +that you came from another sphere than this absurd world, where, with +the best inclinations, I cannot open my ears. I am a wretched creature, +and yet I complain of others!! You will forgive this from the goodness +of heart that beams in your eyes, and the good sense manifested by your +ears; at least they understand how to flatter, by the mode in which they +listen. My ears are, alas! a partition-wall, through which I can with +difficulty hold any intercourse with my fellow-creatures. Otherwise +perhaps I might have felt more assured with you; but I was only +conscious of the full, intelligent glance from your eyes, which affected +me so deeply that never can I forget it. My dear friend! dearest +girl!--Art! who comprehends it? with whom can I discuss this mighty +goddess? How precious to me were the few days when we talked together, +or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have carefully preserved the +little notes with your clever, charming, most charming answers; so I +have to thank my defective hearing for the greater part of our fugitive +intercourse being written down. Since you left this I have had some +unhappy hours,--hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing. I +wandered for three hours in the Schoenbrunn Allee after you left us, but +no _angel_ met me there to take possession of me as you did. Pray +forgive, my dear friend, this deviation from the original key, but I +must have such intervals as a relief to my heart. You have no doubt +written to Goethe about me? I would gladly bury my head in a sack, so +that I might neither see nor hear what goes on in the world, because I +shall meet you there no more; but I shall get a letter from you? Hope +sustains me, as it does half the world; through life she has been my +close companion, or what would have become of me? I send you 'Kennst Du +das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of the hour when I +first knew you.... + +If you mention me when you write to Goethe, strive to find words +expressive of my deep reverence and admiration. I am about to write to +him myself with regard to 'Egmont,' for which I have written some music +solely from my love for his poetry, which always delights me. Who can be +sufficiently grateful to a great poet,--the most precious jewel of +a nation! + + Kings and princes can indeed create professors and + privy-councillors, and confer titles and decorations, but + they cannot make great men,--spirits that soar above the base + turmoil of this world. There their powers fail, and this it + is that forces them to respect us. When two persons like + Goethe and myself meet, these grandees cannot fail to + perceive what such as we consider great. Yesterday on our way + home we met the whole Imperial family; we saw them coming + some way off, when Goethe withdrew his arm from mine, in + order to stand aside; and say what I would, I could not + prevail on him to make another step in advance. I pressed + down my hat more firmly on my head, buttoned up my + great-coat, and crossing my arms behind me, I made my way + through the thickest portion of the crowd. Princes and + courtiers formed a lane for me; Archduke Rudolph took off his + hat, and the Empress bowed to me first. These great ones of + the earth _know me_. To my infinite amusement, I saw the + procession defile past Goethe, who stood aside with his hat + off, bowing profoundly. I afterwards took him sharply to task + for this; I gave him no quarter and upbraided him with all + his sins. + + +TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI + +MONDAY EVENING, July 6th. + +You grieve! dearest of all beings! I have just heard that the letters +must be sent off very early. Mondays and Thursdays are the only days +when the post goes to K---- from here. You grieve! Ah! where I am, there +you are ever with me: how earnestly shall I strive to pass my life with +you, and what a life will it be!!! Whereas now!! without you!! and +persecuted by the kindness of others, which I neither deserve nor try +to deserve! The servility of man towards his fellow-man pains me, and +when I regard myself as a component part of the universe, what am I, +what is he who is called the greatest?--and yet herein are displayed the +godlike feelings of humanity!--I weep in thinking that you will receive +no intelligence from me till probably Saturday. However dearly you may +love me, I love you more fondly still. Never conceal your feelings from +me. Good-night! As a patient at these baths, I must now go to rest. [A +few words are here effaced by Beethoven himself.] Oh, heavens! so near, +and yet so far! Is not our love a truly celestial mansion, but firm as +the vault of heaven itself? + + +JULY 7th. + +Good morning! + +Even before I rise, my thoughts throng to you, my immortal +beloved!--sometimes full of joy, and yet again sad, waiting to see +whether Fate will hear us. I must live either wholly with you, or not at +all. Indeed, I have resolved to wander far from you till the moment +arrives when I can fly into your arms, and feel that they are my home, +and send forth my soul in unison with yours into the realm of spirits. +Alas! it must be so! You will take courage, for you know my fidelity. +Never can another possess my heart--never, never! Oh, heavens! Why must +I fly from her I so fondly love? and yet my existence in W--was as +miserable as here. Your love made me the most happy and yet the most +unhappy of men. At my age, life requires a uniform equality; can this be +found in our mutual relations? My angel! I have this moment heard that +the post goes every day, so I must conclude that you may get this letter +the sooner. Be calm! for we can only attain our object of living +together by the calm contemplation of our existence. Continue to love +me. Yesterday, to-day, what longings for you, what tears for you! for +you! for you! my life! my all! Farewell! Oh, love me for ever, and never +doubt the faithful heart of your lover, L. + +Ever thine. + +Ever mine. + +Ever each other's. + + +TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN + +HEILIGENSTADT, Oct. 6th, 1802. + +Oh! Ye who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and +misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you know the secret +cause of what appears thus to you! My heart and mind were ever from +childhood prone to the most tender feelings of affection, and I was +always disposed to accomplish something great. But you must remember +that six years ago I was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by +unskillful physicians, deluded from year to year, too, by the hope of +relief, and at length forced to the conviction of a _lasting affliction_ +(the cure of which may go on for years, and perhaps after all prove +impracticable). + +Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly susceptible to +the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in life to isolate +myself, and to pass my existence in solitude. If I at any time resolved +to surmount all this, oh! how cruelly was I again repelled by the +experience, sadder than ever, of my defective hearing!--and yet I found +it impossible to say to others: Speak louder, shout! for I am deaf! +Alas! how could I proclaim the deficiency of a sense which ought to have +been more perfect with me than with other men--a sense which I once +possessed in the highest perfection, to an extent indeed that few of my +profession ever enjoyed! Alas! I cannot do this! Forgive me therefore +when you see me withdraw from you with whom I would so gladly mingle. My +misfortune is doubly severe from causing me to be misunderstood. No +longer can I enjoy recreation in social intercourse, refined +conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought. Completely isolated, I +only enter society when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile. +In company I am assailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the +dread of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed. It +was the same during the last six months I spent in the country. My +intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing as much as +possible, which was quite in accordance with my present disposition, +though sometimes, tempted by my natural inclination for society, I +allowed myself to be beguiled into it. But what humiliation when any one +beside me heard a flute in the far distance, while I heard _nothing_, or +when others heard _a shepherd singing_, and I still heard _nothing!_ +Such things brought me to the verge of desperation, and well-nigh caused +me to put an end to my life. _Art! art_ alone, deterred me. Ah! how +could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I felt it +was my vocation to produce? And thus I spared this miserable life--so +utterly miserable that any sudden change may reduce me at any moment +from my best condition into the worst. It is decreed that I must now +choose _Patience_ for my guide! This I have done. I hope the resolve +will not fail me, steadfastly to persevere till it may please the +inexorable Fates to cut the thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, +perhaps not. I am prepared for either. Constrained to become a +philosopher in my twenty-eighth year! This is no slight trial, and more +severe on an artist than on any one else. God looks into my heart, he +searches it, and knows that love for man and feelings of benevolence +have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one day read this, think that you +have done me injustice; and let any one similarly afflicted be consoled +by finding one like himself, who, in defiance of all the obstacles of +nature, has done all in his power to be included in the ranks of +estimable artists and men. My brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am +no more, if Professor Schmidt be still alive, beg him in my name to +describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis of my +disease, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be reconciled +to me after my death. I also hereby declare you both heirs of my small +fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly, agree together and +assist each other. You know that anything you did to give me pain has +been long forgiven. I thank you, my brother Carl in particular, for the +attachment you have shown me of late. My wish is that you may enjoy a +happier life, and one more free from care than mine has been. Recommend +_Virtue_ to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can insure +happiness. I speak from experience. It was _Virtue_ alone which +sustained me in my misery; I have to thank her and Art for not having +ended my life by suicide. Farewell! Love each other. I gratefully thank +all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. I +wish one of you to keep Prince L--'s instruments; but I trust this will +give rise to no dissension between you. If you think it more beneficial, +however, you have only to dispose of them. How much I shall rejoice if I +can serve you even in the grave! So be it then! I joyfully hasten to +meet Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of developing +all my artistic powers, then, notwithstanding my cruel fate, he will +come too early for me, and I should wish for him at a more distant +period; but even then I shall be content, for his advent will release me +from a state of endless suffering. Come when he may, I shall meet him +with courage. Farewell! Do not quite forget me, even in death: I deserve +this from you, because during my life I so often thought of you, and +wished to make you happy. Amen! + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN. + +[_Written on the outside_.] + +Thus, then, I take leave of you, and with sadness too. The fond hope I +brought with me here, of being to a certain degree cured, now utterly +forsakes me. As autumn leaves fall and wither, so are my hopes blighted. +Almost as I came, I depart. Even the lofty courage that so often +animated me in the lovely days of summer is gone forever. O Providence! +vouchsafe me one day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged +from the glad echo of true joy! When! O my God! when shall I again feel +it in the temple of nature and of man?--never? Ah! that would be +too hard! + +To be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl and Johann. + + +TO THE ROYAL AND IMPERIAL HIGH COURT OF APPEAL + +JANUARY 7th, 1820. + +The welfare of my nephew is dearer to my heart than it can be to any one +else. I am myself childless, and have no relations except this boy, who +is full of talent, and I have good grounds to hope the best for him, if +properly trained. + + * * * * * + +My efforts and wishes have no other aim than to give the boy the best +possible education--his abilities justifying the brightest hopes--and to +fulfill the trust placed in my brotherly love by his father. The shoot +is still flexible; but if longer neglected it will become crooked and +outgrow the gardener's training hand, and upright bearing, intellect, +and character be destroyed for ever.... + +I know no duty more sacred than the education and training of a child. +The chief duties of a guardian consist in knowing how to appreciate what +is good, and in adopting a right course; then alone has proper attention +been devoted to the welfare of his ward, whereas in opposing what is +good he neglects his duty. + +Indeed, keeping in view what is most for the benefit of the boy, I do +not object to the mother in so far sharing in the duties of a guardian, +that she may visit her son, and see him, and be apprised of all the +measures adopted for his education; but to intrust her with his sole +guardianship without a strict guardian by her side would cause the +irretrievable ruin of her son. + +On these cogent grounds I reiterate my well-founded solicitation, and +feel the more confident of a favorable answer, as the welfare of my +nephew alone guides my steps in this affair. + + +TO BARONESS VON DROSSDICK + +I live in entire quiet and solitude; and even though occasional flashes +of light arouse me, still since you all left, I feel a hopeless void +which even my art, usually so faithful to me, has not yet triumphed +over. Your pianoforte is ordered, and you shall soon have it. What a +difference you must have discovered between the treatment of the Theme I +extemporized on the other evening, and the mode in which I have recently +written it out for you! You must explain this yourself, only do not find +the solution in the punch! How happy you are to get away so soon to the +country! I cannot enjoy this luxury till the 8th. I look forward to it +with the delight of a child. What happiness I shall feel in wandering +among groves and woods, and among trees and plants and rocks! No man on +earth can love the country as I do! Thickets, trees, and rocks supply +the echo man longs for! + + +TO ZMESKALL + +1811. + +Most high-born of men! + +We beg you to confer some goose-quills on us; we will in return send you +a whole bunch of the same sort, that you may not be obliged to pluck out +your own. It is just possible that you may yet receive the Grand Cross +of the Order of the Violoncello. We remain your gracious and most +friendly of all friends, BEETHOVEN. + + +TO ZMESKALL + +FEBRUARY 2d, 1812. + +Most wonderful of men! + +We beg that your servant will engage a person to fit up my apartment; as +he is acquainted with the lodgings, he can fix the proper price at once. +Do this soon, you Carnival scamp!!!!!!! + +The inclosed note is at least a week old. + + +TO HIS BROTHER JOHANN + +BADEN, May 6th, 1825. + +The bell and bell-pulls, etc., etc., are on no account whatever to be +left in my former lodging. No proposal was ever made to these people to +take any of my things. Indisposition prevented my sending for it, and +the locksmith had not come during my stay to take down the bell; +otherwise it might have been at once removed and sent to me in town, as +they have no right whatever to retain it. Be this as it may, I am quite +determined not to leave the bell there, for I require one here, and +therefore intend to use the one in question for my purpose, as a similar +one would cost me twice as much as in Vienna, bell-pulls being the most +expensive things locksmiths have. If necessary, apply at once to the +police. The window in my room is precisely in the same state as when I +took possession, but I am willing to pay for it, and also for the one in +the kitchen, 2 florins 12 kreuzers, for the two. The key I will not pay +for, as I found none; on the contrary, the door was fastened or nailed +up when I came, and remained in the same condition till I left; there +never was a key, so of course neither I myself, nor those who preceded +me, could make use of one. Perhaps it is intended to make a collection, +in which case I am willing to put my hand in my pocket. + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN. + + +TO STEPHAN V. BREUNING + +_My dear and much loved Stephan_: + +May our temporary estrangement be for ever effaced by the portrait I now +send. I know that I have rent your heart. The emotion which you cannot +fail now to see in mine has sufficiently punished me for it. There was +no malice towards you in my heart, for then I should be no longer worthy +of your friendship. It was _passion_ both on _your_ part and on _mine_; +but mistrust was rife within me, for people had come between us, +unworthy both of _you_ and of _me_. + +My portrait was long ago intended for you; you knew that it was destined +for some one--and to whom could I give it with such warmth of heart, as +to you, my faithful, good, and noble Stephan? + +Forgive me for having grieved you, but I did not myself suffer less when +I no longer saw you near me. I then first keenly felt how dear you were, +and ever will be to my heart. Surely you will once more fly to my arms +as you formerly did. + + + + +CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN + +(1740-1795) + +BY OLGA FLINCH + + +Carl Michael Bellman was born in Stockholm on the 4th of February, 1740. +His father, son of a professor at Upsala University, held a government +office; of his mother he wrote that she was "fair as day, unspeakably +good, dressed prettily, was kind to everybody, of a refined nature, and +had an excellent voice." From her he undoubtedly inherited the warm, +genial heart which beats in every one of his songs. His father's house +was the rendezvous of many of the noted men of the day, among them the +poet Dalin, who was then at the zenith of his popularity. The boy's +unusual gifts were early recognized, and everything was done to give him +the best instruction, especially after an attack of fever, during which +he not only spoke in rhyme, but sang his first improvised songs in a +clear, true voice. The tutor who was then chosen taught him, "besides +the art of making verse," English, French, German, and Italian; and he +progressed far enough in these studies to translate several German hymns +and religious and philosophic essays, no doubt influenced in this choice +of subjects by the religious atmosphere of his home. Moreover, he taught +himself to play the zither, and very soon began to pick out his own +melodies as an accompaniment to his songs. The instrument he used had +been brought home from Italy by his grandfather, became his closest +companion throughout life, and is now kept at the Royal Academy of Arts +at Stockholm. + +At eighteen he entered the University of Upsala, and while there wrote a +satirical poem, "The Moon," which he submitted to the criticism of +Dalin, who however made but a single correction. It was written in the +manner of Dalin, and he continued to be influenced by the latter until +his twenty-fifth year. At this time, and within the same year, his +father and mother died, and seeking among his friends the social +stimulus which his nature craved, he became a frequent guest at the inns +in the company of Hallman and Krexel, who were making their mark by +their poetic and dramatic writings. It was then that his peculiar talent +came to its own; he threw away all foreign influence and began to sing +his songs, born of the impression of the moment and full of the charm of +spontaneity. Some of them he jotted down quickly, most of them he sang +to the sound of his zither, often fashioning them to suit well-known +melodies, and again creating the melody with the words, for the greater +part set in a form of verse not previously used. And so inseparably +linked are words and melody, that it has not occurred to any one to set +any other music to Bellman's songs than what he originally chose. He +took all his characters out of the life he saw around him; and with the +appreciation of the man to whom the present is everything, he seized the +charm of the fleeting moment and expressed it with such simplicity and +truth, and deep feeling withal, that it stands forth immortally fresh +and young. A number of these songs have probably been lost; he had no +thirst for fame, and took no pains to circulate them, but they found +their way to the public in written copies and cheap prints, and his name +was soon known throughout the country. + +This way of living and singing like the birds of the air was, however, +not very conducive to the satisfaction of material wants. He had made +two attempts to go into business, but the more he was seen at the inns, +the less he was seen at his business. + +Fortunately for him, Gustavus III., who was himself a poet, became at +this time king of Sweden. He was an adherent of the French school of +poetry, and Bellman's muse could hardly be said to belong to this: but +with considerable talent as a dramatic writer, Gustavus appreciated the +dramatic quality in Bellman's songs; and when Bellman sent him a rhymed +petition, still kept, in which he wrote that "if his Majesty would not +most graciously give him an office, he would most obediently be obliged +to starve to death before Christmas," the king made him secretary of the +lottery, with the title of court secretary, and a yearly income of three +thousand dollars. Bellman promptly gave half of this to an assistant, +who did the work, and continued his troubadour life on the other half +with a superb disdain of future needs. His affairs so well in order, he +could afford to get married; and chose for his wife Lovisa Groenlund, a +girl of a bright intellect and strong character, of which she ultimately +had great need, the responsibilities of their married life being left +altogether to her. + +Bellman was now at his best; about this time he wrote most of 'Fredman's +Songs' and 'Actions concerning the Chapter of Bacchus order.' both rich +in lyric gems; he was the favorite companion of the King, to whom his +devotion was boundless, and he was happy in his chosen friends whose +company inspired him. Nevertheless he was now, as ever, in need of +money. Atterbom tells that "One day the King met him on the street, so +poorly dressed that he instinctively exclaimed, 'My dear Bellman, how +poorly you are clad!' The poet answered with a bow, 'I can nevertheless +most obediently assure your Majesty that I am wearing my entire +wardrobe.'" His ready wit never left him. "How goes the world with you?" +asked the King once when they met; "you don't look to me as if you could +turn a single rhyme to-day." The poet bowed and replied on the spur of +the moment:-- + + "No scrip my purse doth hold; + My lyre's unstrung, alas! + But yet upon my glass + Stands Gustaf's name in gold." + +Another time the King sent his men for him, with the order to bring him +in whatever condition they found him. "He was found not entirely free +from drink, and not very presentable, but was nevertheless carried off, +zither and all, to Haga Castle, where he drank some champagne, sang some +songs, drank a little more, and finally fell asleep. The King left him +so to go to his supper; and when he returned and found his guest still +sleeping, he remarked, 'I wonder what Bellman would say if I awoke him +now and asked him to give me a song.' The poet sat up, blinked with his +eyes, and said, 'Then Bellman would say,--listen;' whereupon he sang to +the tune of 'Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre':-- + + "'Oh, so heavily, heavily trailing, + The clouds over Haga are sailing, + And the stars their bright glances are veiling, + While woods in the gloom disappear. + Go, King, thy rest is dear, + Go, King, thy respite taking, + Rest softly, rest softly, then waking, + When dawn through the darkness is breaking, + Thy people with mild rule thou cheer!' + +Then he fell into his former position again, and was carried home asleep +with a little gift in his hand." + +The task of collecting, preserving, and publishing his works fell +entirely upon his friends; if it had depended on him, they would +probably never have been collected, much less published. + +During the last fifteen years of his life, from 1780 to 1795, his health +grew very poor. In 1791 he was invited to be present at the distribution +of degrees at Upsala, and at the dinner he returned a toast with a song +born of the moment; but his voice had grown so weak from lung trouble +that only those nearest to him could hear him. To add to his sufferings, +he had to meet the great sorrow of his King's death at the hand of a +murderer, and his poem on the 'Death and Memory of the King' was not of +a nature to make friends for him at the new court. Thus it happened +that, poor and broken in health, he was put into the debtor's prison in +the very castle where he had been so happy a guest. Hallman and Krexel +and others of his best friends, as devoted to him as ever, were unable +to obtain his release; but he was at last bailed out by some one, who as +recompense asked him to sing one of his jolly songs, and in his poor +broken voice he sang. 'Drink out thy glass, see, Death awaits thee.' +Atterbom remarks about the man in question, "And maybe he did not find +that song so jolly after all." + +While in prison he sent in a petition to the King,--somewhat different +from his first petition to Gustavus III.,--in which he asked permission +to live in the castle until his death. The following is one of +the verses:-- + + "Spring commands; the birds are singing, + Bees are swarming, fishes play; + Now and then the zephyrs stray, + Breath of life the poet bringing. + Lift my load of sorrow clinging, + Spare me one small nook, I pray." + +Of his death Atterbom writes as follows:-- + + "He had been the favorite of the nation and the King, content + with the mere necessities of life, free from every care, not + even desiring the immortality of fame; moderate in everything + except in enthusiasm, he had enjoyed to the full what he + wanted,--friendship, wine, and music. Now he lived to see the + shadows fall over his life and genius. Feeling that his last + hour was not far off, he sent word to his nearest friends + that a meeting with them as in old times would be dear to + him. He came to meet them almost a shadow, but with his old + friendly smile; even in the toasts he took part, however + moderately, and then he announced that he would let them + 'hear Bellman once more.' The spirit of song took possession + of him, more powerfully than ever, and all the rays of his + dying imagination were centred in an improvised good-by song. + Throughout an entire night, under continual inspiration, he + sang his happy life, his mild King's glory, his gratitude to + Providence, who let him be born among a noble people in this + beautiful Northern country,--finally he gave his grateful + good-by to every one present, in a separate strophe and + melody expressing the peculiar individuality of the one + addressed and his relation to the poet. His friends begged + him with tears to stop, and spare his already much weakened + lungs; but he replied, 'Let us die, as we have lived, in + music!'--emptied his last glass of champagne, and began at + dawn the last verse of his song." + +After this he sang no more. A few days later he went to bed, lingered +for ten weeks, and died on the 11th of February, 1795, aged fifty-four +years. He was buried in Clara cemetery. + +Bellman's critics have given themselves much trouble about his personal +character. Some have thought him little better than a coarse drunkard; +others again have made him out a cynic who sneered at the life he +depicted; again others have laid the weight on the note found in 'Drink +out thy glass,' and have seen only the underlying sad pathos of his +songs. His contemporaries agree that he was a man of great consideration +for form, and assert that if there are coarse passages in his songs it +is because they only could express what he depicted. All coarseness was +foreign to his nature; he was reserved and somewhat shy, and only in the +company of his chosen few did he open his heart. + +His critics have, moreover, assiduously sought the moral of his works. +If any was intended, it may have been that of fighting sentimentality +and all false feeling; but it seems more in accordance with his entire +life that he sang out of the fullness of his heart, as a bird sings, +simply because it must sing. + +[Illustration: Signature: OLGA FLINCH] + + + TO ULLA + + Ulla, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee + Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine? + Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me! + Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine? + Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming. + Perfumes exhale from flower and tree. + Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming, + As you see! + Isn't it heavenly--the fish market? So? + "Heavenly, oh heavenly!" + "See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-- + Fresh, green leaves show! + And that pretty bay + Sparkling there?" "Ah yes!" + "And, seen where sunbeams play, + The meadows' loveliness? + Are they not heavenly--those bright fields?--Confess!"-- + Heavenly! + Heavenly! + + Skal and good-noon, fair one in window leaning, + Hark how the city bells their peals prolong! + See how the dust the verdant turf is screening, + Where the calashes and the wagons throng! + Hand from the window--he's drowsy, the speaker, + In my saddle I nod, cousin mine-- + Primo a crust, and secundo a beaker, + Hochlaender wine! + Isn't it heavenly--the fish-market? So? + "Heavenly, oh heavenly!" + "See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-- + Fresh, green leaves show! + And that pretty bay + Sparkling there?" "Ah yes!" + "And, seen where sunbeams play, + The meadows' loveliness? + Are they not heavenly--those bright fields?--Confess!"-- + Heavenly! + Heavenly! + + Look, Ulla dear! To the stable they're taking + Whinnying, prancing, my good steed, I see. + Still in his stall-door he lifts his head, making + Efforts to look up to thee: just to thee! + Nature itself into flames will be bursting; + Keep those bright eyes in control! + Klang! at your casement my heart, too, is thirsting. + Klang! Your Skal! + Isn't it heavenly--the fish-market? So? + "Heavenly, oh heavenly!" + "See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-- + Fresh, green leaves show! + And that pretty bay + Sparkling there?" "Ah yes!" + "And, seen where sunbeams play, + The meadows' loveliness? + Are they not heavenly--those bright fields?--Confess!"-- + Heavenly! + Heavenly! + + + CRADLE-SONG FOR MY SON CARL + + Little Carl, sleep soft and sweet: + Thou'lt soon enough be waking; + Soon enough ill days thou'lt meet, + Their bitterness partaking. + Earth's an isle with grief o'ercast; + Breathe our best, death comes at last, + We but dust forsaking. + + Once, where flowed a peaceful brook + Through a rye-field's stubble, + Stood a little boy to look + At himself; his double. + Sweet the picture was to see; + All at once it ceased to be; + Vanished like a bubble! + + And thus it is with life, my pet, + And thus the years go flying; + Live we wisely, gaily, yet + There's no escape from dying. + Little Carl on this must muse + When the blossoms bright he views + On spring's bosom lying. + + Slumber, little friend so wee; + Joy thy joy is bringing. + Clipped from paper thou shalt see + A sleigh, and horses springing; + Then a house of cards so tall + We will build and see it fall, + And little songs be singing. + + * * * * * + + + AMARYLLIS + + Up, Amarylis! Darling, awaken! + Through the still bracken + Soft airs swell; + Iris, all dightly, + Vestured so brightly, + Coloreth lightly + Wood and dell. + + Amaryllis, thy sweet name pronouncing, + Thee in Neptune's cool embrace announcing. + Slumber's god the while his sway renouncing, + O'er your eyes sighs, and speech yields his spell. + + Now comes the fishing! The net we fasten; + This minute hasten! + Follow me! + Don your skirt and jacket + And veil, or you'll lack it; + Pike and trout wait a racket; + Sails flap free. + Waken, Amaryllis, darling, waken! + Let me not by thy smile be forsaken: + Then by dolphins and fair sirens overtaken, + In our gay boat we'll sport in company. + + Come now, your rods, lines, and nets with you taking! + The day is breaking; + Hasten thee nigh! + Sweet little treasure, + Think ill in no measure; + For thee 'twere no pleasure + Me to deny. + Let us to the little shallows wander, + Or beside the inlet over yonder, + Where the pledge-knot made our fond love fonder, + O'er which Thyrsis erst was moved to sigh. + + Step in the boat, then--both of us singing, + Love his wand swinging + Over our fate. + AEol is moving, + But though wild proving, + In your arms loving + Comfort doth wait. + Blest, on angry waves of ocean riding, + By thee clasped, vain 'twere this dear thought hiding: + Death shall find me in thy pathway biding. + Sirens, sing ye, and my voice imitate! + + + ART AND POLITICS + + "Good servant Mollberg, what's happened to thee, + Whom without coat and hatless I see? + Bloody thy mouth--and thou'rt lacking a tooth! + Where have you been, brother?--tell me the truth." + "At Rostock, good sir, + Did the trouble occur. + Over me and my harp + An argument sharp + Arose, touching my playing--pling plingeli plang; + And a bow-legged cobbler coming along + Struck me in the mouth--pling plingeli plang. + + "I sat there and played--no carouse could one see-- + The Polish Queen's Polka--G-major the key: + The best kind of people were gathered around, + And each drank his schoppen 'down to the ground.' + I don't know just how + Began freshly the row, + But some one from my head + Knocked my hat, and thus said: + 'What is Poland to thee?'--Pling plingeli plang-- + 'Play us no polka!' Another one sang: + 'Now silent be!'--Pling plingeli plang. + + "Hear, my Maecenas, what still came to pass. + As I sat there in quiet, enjoying my glass, + On Poland's condition the silence I broke: + 'Know ye, good people,' aloud thus I spoke, + 'That all monarchs I + On this earth do defy + My harp to prevent + From giving song vent + Throughout all this land--pling plingeli plang! + Did only a single string to it hang, + I'd play a polka--pling plingeli plang!' + + "There sat in the corner a sergeant old, + Two notaries and a dragoon bold, + Who cried 'Down with him! The cobbler is right! + Poland earns the meeds of her evil might!' + From behind the stove came + An old squint-eyed dame, + And flung at the harp + Glass broken and sharp; + But the cobbler--pling plingeli plang-- + Made a terrible hole in my neck--that long! + There hast thou the story--pling plingeli plang. + + "O righteous world! Now I ask of thee + If I suffered not wrongly?" "Why, certainly!" + "Was I not innocent?" "Bless you, most sure!" + "The harp rent asunder, my nose torn and sore, + Twas hard treatment, I trow! + Now no better I know + Than to go through the land + With my harp in my hand, + Play for Bacchus and Venus--kling klang-- + With masters best that e'er played or sang; + Attend me, Apollo!--pling plingeli plang." + + + DRINK OUT THY GLASS + + Drink out thy glass! See, on thy threshold, nightly, + Staying his sword, stands Death, awaiting thee. + Be not alarmed; the grave-door, opened slightly, + Closes again; a full year it may be + Ere thou art dragged, poor sufferer, to the grave. + Pick the octave! + Tune up the strings! Sing of life with glee! + + Golden's the hue thy dull, wan cheeks are showing; + Shrunken's thy chest, and flat each shoulder-blade. + Give me thy hand! Each dark vein, larger growing, + Is, to my touch, as if in water laid. + Damp are these hands; stiff are these veins becoming. + Pick now, and strumming, + Empty thy bottle! Sing! drink unafraid. + + . . . . . + + Skal, then, my boy! Old Bacchus sends last greeting; + Freya's farewell receive thou, o'er thy bowl. + Fast in her praise thy thin blood flows, repeating + Its old-time force, as it was wont to roll. + Sing, read, forget; nay, think and weep while thinking. + Art thou for drinking + Another bottle? Thou art dead? No Skal! + + + + +JEREMY BENTHAM + +(1748-1832) + + +Bentham, whose name rightly stands sponsor for the utilitarian theory of +morals in legislation, though not its originator, was a mighty and +unique figure in many ways. His childhood reminds us of that of his +disciple John Stuart Mill in its precocity; but fortunately for him, +life had more juice in it for young Bentham than it had for Mill. In his +maturity and old age he was widely recognized as a commanding authority, +notwithstanding some startling absurdities. + +[Illustration: JEREMY BENTHAM] + +He was born in London, February 15th, 1747-8; the child of an attorney +of ample means, who was proud of the youth, and did not hesitate to show +him off. In his fourth year he began the study of Latin, and a year +later was known in his father's circle as "the philosopher." At six or +seven he began the study of French. He was then sent to Westminster +school, where he must have had a rather uncomfortable time; for he was +small in body, sensitive and delicate, and not fond of boyish sports. He +had a much happier life at the houses of his grandmothers at Barking and +at Browning Hill, where much of his childhood was spent. His +reminiscences of these days, as related to his biographer, are full of +charm. He was a great reader and a great student; and going to Oxford +early, was only sixteen when he took his degree. + +It must be confessed that he did not bear away with him a high +appreciation of the benefits which he owed to his alma mater. "Mendacity +and insincerity--- in these I found the effects, the sure and only sure +effects, of an English university education." He wrote a Latin ode on +the death of George II., which was much praised. In later years he +himself said of it, "It was a mediocre performance on a trumpery +subject, written by a miserable child." + +On taking his degree he entered at Lincoln's Inn, but he never made a +success in the practice of the law. He hated litigation, and his mind +became immediately absorbed in the study and development of the +principles of legislation and jurisprudence, and this became the +business of his life. He had an intense antipathy to Blackstone, under +whom he had sat at Oxford; and in 1776 he published anonymously a severe +criticism of his work, under the title 'Fragments on Government, or a +Commentary on the Commentaries,' which was at first attributed to Lord +Mansfield, Lord Camden, and others. His identification as the author of +the 'Fragments' brought him into relations with Lord Shelburne, who +invited him to Bowood, where he made a long and happy visit, of which +bright and gossipy letters tell the story. Here he worked on his +'Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation,' in which he +developed his utilitarian theory, and here he fell in love with a young +lady who failed to respond to his wishes. Writing in 1827, he says:-- + + "I am alive, more than two months advanced in my eightieth + year, more lively than when you presented me in ceremony with + a flower in Green Lane. Since that day not a single one has + passed, not to speak of nights, in which you have not + engrossed more of my thoughts than I could have wished.... + Embrace----; though it is for me, as it is by you, she will + not be severe, nor refuse her lips to me as she did her hand, + at a time perhaps not yet forgotten by her, any more than by + me." + +Bentham wrote voluminously on morals, on rewards and punishments, on the +poor laws, on education, on law reform, on the codification of laws, on +special legislative measures, on a vast variety of subjects. His style, +at first simple and direct, became turgid, involved, and obscure. He was +in the habit of beginning the same work independently many times, and +usually drove several horses abreast. He was very severe in his +strictures upon persons in authority, and upon current notions; and was +constantly being warned that if he should publish such or such a work he +would surely be prosecuted. Numerous books were therefore not published +until many years after they were written. His literary style became so +prolix and unintelligible that his disciples--Dumont, Mill, and +others--came to his rescue, and disentangled and prepared for the press +his innumerable pamphlets, full of suggestiveness and teeming with +projects of reform more or less completely realized since. His +publications include more than seventy titles, and he left a vast +accumulation of manuscript, much of which has never been read. + +He had a wide circle of acquaintances, by whom he was held in high +honor, and his correspondence with the leading men of his time was +constant and important. In his later years he was a pugnacious writer, +but he was on intimate and jovial terms with his friends. In 1814 he +removed to Ford Abbey, near Chard, and there wrote 'Chrestomathea,' a +collection of papers on the principles of education, in which he laid +stress upon the value of instruction in science, as against the +excessive predominance of Greek and Latin. In 1823, in conjunction with +James Mill and others, he established the Westminster Review, but he did +not himself contribute largely to it. He continued, however, to the end +of his life to write on his favorite topics. + +Robert Dale Owen, in his autobiography, gives the following description +of a visit to Bentham during the philosopher's later years:-- + + "I preserve a most agreeable recollection of that grand old + face, beaming with benignity and intelligence, and + occasionally with a touch of humor which I did not expect.... + I do not remember to have met any one of his age + [seventy-eight] who seemed to have more complete possession + of his faculties, bodily and mental; and this surprised me + the more because I knew that in his childhood he had been a + feeble-limbed, frail boy.... I found him, having overpassed + by nearly a decade the allotted threescore years and ten, + with step as active and eye as bright and conversation as + vivacious as one expects in a hale man of fifty.... + + "I shall never forget my surprise when we were ushered by the + venerable philosopher into his dining-room. An apartment of + good size, it was occupied by a platform about two feet high, + and which filled the whole room, except a passageway some + three or four feet wide, which had been left so that one + could pass all round it. Upon this platform stood the + dinner-table and chairs, with room enough for the servants to + wait upon us. Around the head of the table was a huge screen, + to protect the old man, I suppose, against the draught from + the doors.... + + "When another half-hour had passed, he touched the bell + again. This time his order to the servant startled me:-- + + "'John, my night-cap!' + + "I rose to go, and one or two others did the same; Neal sat + still. 'Ah!' said Bentham, as he drew a black silk night-cap + over his spare gray hair, 'you think that's a hint to go. Not + a bit of it. Sit down! I'll tell you when I am tired. I'm + going to _vibrate_ a little; that assists digestion, too.' + + "And with that he descended into the trench-like passage, of + which I have spoken, and commenced walking briskly back and + forth, his head nearly on a level with ours, as we sat. Of + course we all turned toward him. For full half an hour, as he + walked, did he continue to pour forth such a witty and + eloquent invective against kings, priests, and their + retainers, as I have seldom listened to. Then he returned to + the head of the table and kept up the conversation, without + flagging, till midnight ere he dismissed us. + + "His parting words to me were characteristic:--'God bless + you,--if there be such a being; and at all events, my young + friend, take care of yourself.'" + +His weak childhood had been followed by a healthy and robust old age. +But he wore out at last, and died June 6, 1832, characteristically +leaving his body to be dissected for the benefit of science. The greater +part of his published writings were collected by Sir John Browning, his +executor, and issued in nine large volumes in 1843. + + +OF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY + +From 'An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation' + +Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, +_pain_ and _pleasure_. It is for them alone to point out what we ought +to do, as well as to determine what we shall do. On the one hand the +standard of right and wrong, on the other the chain of causes and +effects, are fastened to their throne. They govern us in all we do, in +all we say, in all we think; every effort we can make to throw off our +subjection will serve but to demonstrate and confirm it. In words a man +may pretend to abjure their empire; but in reality he will remain +subject to it all the while. The _principle of utility_ recognizes this +subjection, and assumes it for the foundation of that system, the object +of which is to rear the fabric of felicity by the hands of reason and of +law. Systems which attempt to question it deal in sounds instead of +sense, in caprice instead of reason, in darkness instead of light. + +But enough of metaphor and declamation: it is not by such means that +moral science is to be improved. + +The principle of utility is the foundation of the present work; it will +be proper, therefore, at the outset to give an explicit and determinate +account of what is meant by it. By the principle of utility is meant +that principle which approves or disapproves of every action whatsoever, +according to the tendency which it appears to have to augment or +diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question; or, +what is the same thing in other words, to promote or to oppose that +happiness. I say of every action whatsoever; and therefore not only of +every action of a private individual, but of every measure of +government. + +By utility is meant that property in any object whereby it tends to +produce benefit, advantage, pleasure, good, or happiness (all this in +the present case comes to the same thing), or (what comes again to the +same thing) to prevent the happening of mischief, pain, evil, or +unhappiness to the party whose interest is considered: if that party be +the community in general, then the happiness of the community; if a +particular individual, then the happiness of that individual. + +The interest of the community is one of the most general expressions +that can occur in the phraseology of morals: no wonder that the meaning +of it is often lost. When it has a meaning, it is this: The community +is a fictitious _body_, composed of the individual persons who are +considered as constituting, as it were, its _members_. The interest of +the community, then, is what? The sum of the interests of the several +members who compose it. + +It is vain to talk of the interest of the community, without +understanding what is the interest of the individual. A thing is said to +promote the interest, or to be _for_ the interest, of an individual, +when it tends to add to the sum total of his pleasures: or, what comes +to the same thing, to diminish the sum total of his pains. + +An action, then, may be said to be conformable to the principle of +utility, or for shortness' sake to utility (meaning with respect to the +community at large), when the tendency it has to augment the happiness +of the community is greater than any it has to diminish it. + +A measure of government (which is but a particular kind of action, +performed by a particular person or persons) may be said to be +conformable to or dictated by the principle of utility, when in like +manner the tendency which it has to augment the happiness of the +community is greater than any which it has to diminish it. + +When an action, or in particular a measure of government, is supposed by +a man to be conformable to the principle of utility, it may be +convenient for the purposes of discourse to imagine a kind of law or +dictate called a law or dictate of utility, and to speak of the action +in question as being conformable to such law or dictate. + +A man may be said to be a partisan of the principle of utility, when the +approbation or disapprobation he annexes to any action, or to any +measure, is determined by and proportioned to the tendency which he +conceives it to have to augment or to diminish the happiness of the +community; or in other words, to its conformity or unconformity to the +laws or dictates of utility. + +Of an action that is conformable to the principle of utility, one may +always say either that it is one that ought to be done, or at least that +it is not one that ought not to be done. One may say also that it is +right it should be done, at least that it is not wrong it should be +done; that it is a right action, at least that it is not a wrong action. +When thus interpreted, the words _ought_, and _right_ and _wrong_, and +others of that stamp, have a meaning; when otherwise, they have none. + + +REMINISCENCES OF CHILDHOOD + +During my visits to Barking, I used to be my grandmother's bedfellow. +The dinner hour being as early as two o'clock, she had a regular supper, +which was served up in her own sleeping-room; and immediately after +finishing it, she went to bed. Of her supper I was not permitted to +partake, nor was the privation a matter of much regret. I had what I +preferred--a portion of gooseberry pie; hers was a scrag of mutton, +boiled with parsley and butter. I do not remember any variety. + +My amusements consisted in building houses with old cards, and sometimes +playing at 'Beat the knave out of doors' with my grandmother. My time of +going to bed was perhaps an hour before hers; but by way of preparation, +I never failed to receive her blessing. Previous to the ceremony, I +underwent a catechetical examination, of which one of the questions was, +"Who were the children that were saved in the fiery furnace?" Answer, +"Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego." But as the examination frequently got +no farther, the word Abednego got associated in my mind with very +agreeable ideas, and it ran through my ears like "Shadrach, Meshach, and +To-bed-we-go," in a sort of pleasant confusion, which is not yet +removed. As I grew in years, I became a fit receptacle for some of my +grandmother's communications, among which the state of her family and +the days of her youth were most prominent. + +There hung on the wall, perpetually in view, a sampler, the produce of +the industry and ingenuity of her mother or her grandmother, of which +the subject-matter was the most important of all theologico-human +incidents, the fall of man in Paradise. There was Adam--there was +Eve--and there was the serpent. In these there was much to interest and +amuse me. One thing alone puzzled me; it was the forbidden fruit. The +size was enormous. It was larger than that species of the genus +_Orangeum_ which goes by the name of "the forbidden fruit" in some of +our West India settlements. Its size was not less than that of the outer +shell of a cocoanut. All the rest of the objects were as usual in +_plano_; this was in _alto_, indeed in _altissimo rilievo._ What to make +of it, at a time when my mind was unable to distinguish fictions from +realities, I knew not. The recollection is strong in me of the mystery +it seemed to be. My grandmother promised me the sampler after her death +as a legacy, and the promise was no small gratification; but the +promise, with many other promises of jewels and gold coins, was +productive of nothing but disappointment. Her death took place when I +was at Oxford. My father went down; and without consulting me, or giving +the slightest intimation of his intention, let the house, and sold to +the tenant almost everything that was in it. It was doing as he was wont +to do, notwithstanding his undoubted affection for me. In the same way +he sold the estate he had given to me as a provision on the occasion of +his second marriage. In the mass went some music-books which I had +borrowed of Mrs. Browne. Not long after, she desired them to be +returned. I stood before her like a defenseless culprit, conscious of my +inability to make restitution; and at the same time, such was my state +of mental weakness that I knew not what to say for apology or defense. + +My grandmother's mother was a matron, I was told, of high respectability +and corresponding piety; well-informed and strong-minded. She was +distinguished, however; for while other matrons of her age and quality +had seen many a ghost, she had seen but _one_. She was in this +particular on a level with the learned lecturer, afterwards judge, the +commentator Blackstone. But she was heretical, and her belief bordered +on Unitarianism. And by the way, this subject of ghosts has been among +the torments of my life. Even now, when sixty or seventy years have +passed over my head since my boyhood received the impression which my +grandmother gave it, though my judgment is wholly free, my imagination +is not wholly so. My infirmity was not unknown to the servants. It was a +permanent source of amusement to ply me with horrible phantoms in all +imaginable shapes. Under the pagan dispensation, every object a man +could set his eyes on had been the seat of some pleasant adventure. At +Barking, in the almost solitude of which so large a portion of my life +was passed, every spot that could be made by any means to answer the +purpose was the abode of some spectre or group of spectres. So dexterous +was the invention of those who worked upon my apprehensions, that they +managed to transform a real into a fictitious being. His name was +_Palethorp_; and Palethorp, in my vocabulary, was synonymous with +hobgoblin. The origin of these horrors was this:-- + +My father's house was a short half-mile distant from the principal part +of the town, from that part where was situated the mansion of the lord +of the manor, Sir Crisp Gascoigne. One morning the coachman and the +footman took a conjunct walk to a public-house kept by a man of the name +Palethorp; they took me with them: it was before I was breeched. They +called for a pot of beer; took each of them a sip, and handed the pot to +me. On their requisition, I took another; and when about to depart, the +amount was called for. The two servants paid their quota, and I was +called on for mine. _Nemo dat quod non habet_--this maxim, to my no +small vexation, I was compelled to exemplify. Mr. Palethorp, the +landlord, had a visage harsh and ill-favored, and he insisted on my +discharging my debt. At this very early age, without having put in for +my share of the gifts of fortune, I found myself in the state of an +insolvent debtor. The demand harassed me so mercilessly that I could +hold out no longer: the door being open, I took to my heels; and as the +way was too plain to be missed, I ran home as fast as they could carry +me. The scene of the terrors of Mr. Palethorp's name and visitation, in +pursuit of me, was the country-house at Barking; but neither was the +town-house free from them; for in those terrors, the servants possessed +an instrument by which it was in their power at any time to get rid of +my presence. Level with the kitchen--level with the landing-place in +which the staircase took its commencement--were the usual offices. When +my company became troublesome, a sure and continually repeated means of +exonerating themselves from it was for the footman to repair to the +adjoining subterraneous apartments, invest his shoulders with some +strong covering, and concealing his countenance, stalk in with a hollow, +menacing, and inarticulate tone. Lest that should not be sufficient, the +servants had, stuck by the fireplace, the portraiture of a hobgoblin, to +which they had given the name of Palethorp. For some years I was in the +condition of poor Dr. Priestley, on whose bodily frame another name, too +awful to be mentioned, used to produce a sensation more than mental. + + +LETTER FROM BOWOOD TO GEORGE WILSON (1781) + +SUNDAY, 12 o'clock. + +Where shall I begin?--Let me see--The first place, by common right, to +the ladies. The ideas I brought with me respecting the female part of +this family are turned quite topsy-turvy, and unfortunately they are not +yet cleared up. I had expected to find in Lady Shelburne a Lady Louisa +Fitzpatrick, sister of an Earl of Ossory, whom I remember at school; +instead of her, I find a lady who has for her sister a Miss Caroline +V-----: is not this the maid of honor, the sister to Lady G-----? the +lady who was fond of Lord C------, and of whom he was fond? and whom he +quitted for an heiress and a pair of horns? Be they who they may, the +one is loveliest of matrons, the other of virgins: they have both of +them more than I could wish of reserve, but it is a reserve of modesty +rather than of pride. + +The quadrupeds, whom you know I love next, consist of a child of a year +old, a tiger, a spaniel formerly attached to Lady Shelburne--at present +to my Lord--besides four plebeian cats who are taken no notice of, +horses, etc., and a wild boar who is sent off on a matrimonial +expedition to the farm. The four first I have commenced a friendship +with, especially the first of all, to whom I am body-coachman +extraordinary _en titre d'office_: Henry, (for that is his name) [the +present Lord Lansdowne] for such an animal, has the most thinking +countenance I ever saw; being very clean, I can keep him without disgust +and even with pleasure, especially after having been rewarded, as I have +just now, for my attention to him, by a pair of the sweetest smiles +imaginable from his mamma and aunt. As Providence hath ordered it, they +both play on the harpsichord and at chess. I am flattered with the hopes +of engaging with them, before long, either in war or harmony: not +to-day--because, whether you know it or not, it is Sunday; I know it, +having been paying my devotions--our church, the hall--our minister, a +sleek young parson, the curate of the parish--our saints, a naked +Mercury, an Apollo in the same dress, and a Venus de' Medicis--our +congregation, the two ladies, Captain Blankett, and your humble servant, +upon the carpet by the minister--below, the domestics, _superioris et +inferioris ordinis_. Among the former I was concerned to see poor +Mathews, the librarian, who, I could not help thinking, had as good a +title to be upon the carpet as myself. + +Of Lord Fitzmaurice I know nothing, but from his bust and letters: the +first bespeaks him a handsome youth, the latter an ingenious one. He is +not sixteen, and already he writes better than his father. He is under +the care of a Mr. Jervis, a dissenting minister, who has had charge of +him since he was six years old. He has never been at any public school +of education. He has now for a considerable time been traveling about +the kingdom, that he may know something of his own country before he +goes to others, and be out of the way of adulation. + +I am interrupted--adieu! _le reste a l'ordinaire prochain_. + + +FRAGMENT OF A LETTER TO LORD LANSDOWNE (1790) + +It was using me very ill, that it was, to get upon stilts as you did, +and resolve not to be angry with me, after all the pains I had taken to +make you so. You have been angry, let me tell you, with people as little +worth it before now; and your being so niggardly of it in my instance, +may be added to the account of your injustice. I see you go upon the old +Christian principle of heaping coals of fire upon people's heads, which +is the highest refinement upon vengeance. I see, moreover, that +according to your system of cosmogony, the difference is but accidental +between the race of kings and that of the first Baron of Lixmore: that +ex-lawyers come like other men from Adam, and ex-ministers from somebody +who started up out of the ground before him, in some more elevated part +of the country. + +To lower these pretensions, it would be serving you right, if I were to +tell you that I was not half so angry as I appeared to be; that, +therefore, according to the countryman's rule, you have not so much the +advantage over me as you may think you have: that the real object of +what anger I really felt was rather the situation in which I found +myself than you or anybody; but that, as none but a madman would go to +quarrel with a nonentity called a situation, it was necessary for me to +look out for somebody who, somehow or other, was connected with it. + + + + +JEAN-PIERRE DE BERANGER + +(1780-1857) + +BY ALCEE FORTIER + + +Beranger, like Hugo, has commemorated the date of his birth, but their +verses are very different. Hugo's poem is lofty in style, beginning-- + + "Ce siecle avait deux ans! Rome remplacait Sparte, + Deja Napoleon percait sous Bonaparte, + Et du premier consul deja, par maint endroit, + Le front de l'empereur brisait le masque etroit." + + (This century was two years old; Rome displaced Sparta, + Napoleon already was visible in Bonaparte, + And the narrow mask of the First Consul, in many places, + Was already pierced by the forehead of the Emperor.) + +Beranger's verses have less force, but are charming in their +simplicity:-- + + "Dans ce Paris plein d'or et de misere, + En l'an du Christ mil sept cent quatre-vingt, + Chez un tailleur, mon pauvre et vieux grand-pere, + Moi, nouveau-ne, sachais ce qui m'advint." + + (In this Paris full of gold and misery, + In the year of Christ one thousand seven hundred and eighty, + At the house of a tailor, my grandfather poor and old, + I, a new-born child, knew what happened to me.) + +Authors of the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries are more +subjective in their writings than those of the seventeenth, whose +characters can rarely be known from their works. A glance at the life +and surroundings of Beranger will show their influence on his genius. + +Beranger's mother was abandoned by her husband shortly after her +marriage, and her child was born at the house of her father, the old +tailor referred to in the song 'The Tailor and the Fairy.' She troubled +herself little about the boy, and he was forsaken in his childhood. +Beranger tells us that he does not know how he learned to read. In the +beginning of the year 1789 he was sent to a school in the Faubourg +Saint-Antoine, and there, mounted on the roof of a house, he saw the +capture of the Bastille on the 14th of July. This event made a great +impression on him, and may have laid the foundations of his republican +principles. When he was nine and a half his father sent him to one of +his sisters, an innkeeper at Peronne, that town in the north of France +famous for the interview in 1468 between Louis XI. and Charles the Bold, +when the fox put himself in the power of the lion, as related so vividly +in 'Quentin Durward.' + +Beranger's aunt was very kind to him. At Peronne he went to a free +primary school founded by Ballue de Bellenglise, where the students +governed themselves, electing their mayor, their judges, and their +justices of the peace. Beranger was president of a republican club of +boys, and was called upon several times to address members of the +Convention who passed through Peronne. His aunt was an ardent +republican, and he was deeply moved by the invasion of France in 1792. +He heard with delight of the capture of Toulon in 1793 and of +Bonaparte's exploits, conceiving a great admiration for the +extraordinary man who was just beginning his military career. At the age +of fifteen Beranger returned to Paris, where his father had established +a kind of banking house. The boy had previously followed different +trades, and had been for two years with a publishing house as a +printer's apprentice. There he learned spelling and the rules of French +prosody. He began to write verse when he was twelve or thirteen, but he +had a strange idea of prosody. In order to get lines of the same length +he wrote his words between two parallel lines traced from the top to the +bottom of the page. His system of versification seemed to be correct +when applied to the Alexandrine verse of Racine; but when he saw the +fables of La Fontaine, in which the lines are very irregular, he began +to distrust his prosody. + +[Illustration: P.J. DE BERANGER] + +Beranger became a skillful financier, and was very useful to his father +in his business. When the banker failed the young man was thrown into +great distress. He now had ample opportunity to become familiar with the +garret, of which he has sung so well. In 1804 he applied for help to +Lucien Bonaparte, and received from Napoleon's brother his own fee as +member of the Institute. He obtained shortly afterwards a position in a +bureau of the University. Having a weak constitution and defective +sight, he avoided the conscription. He was however all his life a true +patriot, with republican instincts; and he says that he never liked +Voltaire, because that celebrated writer unjustly preferred foreigners +and vilified Joan of Arc, "the true patriotic divinity, who from my +childhood was the object of my worship." He had approved of the +eighteenth of Brumaire: for "my soul," says he, "has always vibrated +with that of the people as when I was nineteen years old;" and the great +majority of the French people in 1799 wished to see Bonaparte assume +power and govern with a firm hand. In 1813 Beranger wrote 'The King of +Yvetot,' a pleasing and amusing satire on Napoleon's reign. What a +contrast between the despotic emperor and ruthless warrior, and the +simple king whose crown is a nightcap and whose chief delight is his +bottle of wine! The song circulated widely in manuscript form, and the +author soon became popular. He made the acquaintance of Desaugiers and +became a member of the Caveau. Concerning this joyous literary society +M. Anatole France says, in his 'Vie Litteraire,' that the first Caveau +was founded in 1729 by Gallet, Piron, Crebillon _fils_, Colle, and +Panard. They used to meet at Laudelle the tavern-keeper's. The second +Caveau was inaugurated in 1759 by Marmontel, Suard, Lanoue, and Brissy, +and lasted until the Revolution. In 1806 Armand Gouffe and Capelle +established the modern Caveau, of which Desaugiers was president. The +members met at Balaine's restaurant. In 1834 the society was reorganized +at Champlanc's restaurant. The members wrote and published songs and +sang them after dinner. "The Caveau," says M. France, "is the French +Academy of song," and as such has some dignity. The same is true of the +Lice, while the Chat Noir is most _fin de siecle_. + +To understand Beranger's songs and to excuse them somewhat, we must +remember that the French always delighted in witty songs and tales, and +pardoned the immorality of the works on account of the wit and humor. +This is what is called _l'esprit gaulois_, and is seen principally in +old French poetry, in the fabliaux, the farces, and 'Le Roman de +Renart.' Moliere had much of this, as also had La Fontaine and Voltaire, +and Beranger's wildest songs appear mild and innocent when compared with +those of the Chat Noir. In his joyous songs he continues the traditions +of the farces and fabliaux of the Middle Ages, and in his political +songs he uses wit and satire just as in the _sottises_ of the time of +Louis XII. + +Beranger's first volume of songs appeared at the beginning of the second +Restoration; and although it was hostile to the Bourbons, the author was +not prosecuted. In 1821, when his second volume was published, he +resigned his position as clerk at the University, and was brought to +trial for having written immoral and seditious songs. He was condemned, +after exciting scenes in court, to three months' imprisonment and a fine +of five hundred francs, and in 1828 to nine months' imprisonment and a +fine of ten thousand francs, which was paid by public subscription. + +No doubt he contributed to the Revolution of July, 1830; but although he +was a republican, he favored the monarchy of Louis Philippe, saying that +"it was a plank to cross over the gutter, a preparation for the +republic." The king wished to see him and thank him, but Beranger +replied that "he was too old to make new acquaintances." He was invited +to apply for a seat in the French Academy, and refused that honor as he +had refused political honors and positions. He said that he "wished to +be nothing"; and when in 1848 he was elected to the Constitutional +Assembly, he resigned his seat almost immediately. He has been accused +of affectation, and of exaggeration in his disinterestedness; but he was +naturally timid in public, and preferred to exert an influence over his +countrymen by his songs rather than by his voice in public assemblies. + +Beranger was kind and generous, and ever ready to help all who applied +to him. He had a pension given to Rouget de l'Isle, the famous author of +the 'Marseillaise,' who was reduced to poverty, and in 1835 he took into +his house his good aunt from Peronne, and gave hospitality also to his +friend Mlle. Judith Frere. In 1834 he sold all his works to his +publisher, Perrotin, for an annuity of eight hundred francs, which was +increased to four thousand by the publisher. On this small income +Beranger lived content till his death on July 16th, 1857. The government +of Napoleon III. took charge of his funeral, which was solemnized with +great pomp. Although Beranger was essentially the poet of the middle +classes, and was extremely popular, care was taken to exclude the people +from the funeral procession. While he never denied that he was the +grandson of a tailor, he signed _de_ Beranger, to be distinguished from +other writers of the same name. The _de_, however, had always been +claimed by his father, who had left him nothing but that pretense +of nobility. + +For forty years, from 1815 to his death, Beranger was perhaps the most +popular French writer of his time, and he was ranked amongst the +greatest French poets. There has been a reaction against that +enthusiasm, and he is now severely judged by the critics. They say that +he lacked inspiration, and was vulgar, bombastic, and grandiloquent. +Little attention is paid to him, therefore, in general histories of +French literature. But if he is not entitled to stand on the high +pedestal given to him by his contemporaries, we yet cannot deny genius +to the man who for more than a generation swayed the hearts of the +people at his will, and exerted on his countrymen and on his epoch an +immense influence. + +Many of his songs are coarse and even immoral; but his muse was often +inspired by patriotic subjects, and in his poems on Napoleon he sings of +the exploits of the great general defending French soil from foreign +invasion, or he delights in the victories of the Emperor as reflecting +glory upon France. Victor Hugo shared this feeling when he wrote his +inspiring verses in praise of the conqueror. Both poets, Beranger and +Hugo, contributed to create the Napoleonic legend which facilitated the +election of Louis Napoleon to the presidency in 1848, and brought about +the Second Empire. What is more touching than 'The Reminiscences of the +People'? Are we not inclined to cry out, like the little children +listening to the old grandmother who speaks of Napoleon: "He spoke to +you, grandmother! He sat down there, grandmother! You have yet his +glass, grandmother!" The whole song is poetic, natural, and simple. +Francois Coppee, the great poet, said of it: "Ah! if I had only written +'The Reminiscences of the People,' I should not feel concerned about the +judgment of posterity." + +Other works of Beranger's are on serious subjects, as 'Mary Stuart's +Farewell to France,' 'The Holy Alliance,' 'The Swallows,' and 'The Old +Banner,' All his songs have a charm. His wit is not of the highest +order, and he lacks the _finesse_ of La Fontaine, but he is often quaint +and always amusing in his songs devoted to love and Lisette, to youth +and to wine. He is not one of the greatest French lyric poets, and +cannot be compared with Lamartine, Hugo, Musset, and Vigny; nevertheless +he has much originality, and is without doubt the greatest song-writer +that France has produced. He elevated the song and made it both a poem +and a drama, full of action and interest. + +Beranger wrote slowly and with great care, and many of his songs cost +him much labor. He was filled with compassion for the weak, for the poor +and unfortunate; he loved humanity, and above all he dearly loved +France. Posterity will do him justice and will preserve at least a great +part of his work. M. Ernest Legouve in his interesting work, 'La Lecture +en Action,' relates that one day, while walking with Beranger in the +Bois de Boulogne, the latter stopped in the middle of an alley, and +taking hold of M. Legouve's hand, said with emotion, "My dear friend, my +ambition would be that one hundred of my lines should remain." M. +Legouve adds, "There will remain more than that," and his words have +been confirmed. If we read aloud, if we sing them, we too shall share +the enthusiasm of our fathers, who were carried away by the pathos, the +grandeur, the wit, the inexpressible charm of the unrivaled +_chansonnier_. + +[Illustration: Signature: ALCEE FORTIER] + + + FROM 'THE GIPSIES' + + (LES BOHEMIENS) + + To see is to have. Come, hurry anew! + Life on the wing + Is a rapturous thing. + To see is to have. Come, hurry anew! + For to see the world is to conquer it too. + + * * * * * + + So naught do we own, from pride left free, + From statutes vain, + From heavy chain; + So naught do we own, from pride left free,-- + Cradle nor house nor coffin have we. + + But credit our jollity none the less, + Noble or priest, or + Servant or master; + But credit our jollity none the less.-- + Liberty always means happiness. + + + THE GAD-FLY + + (LA MOUCHE) + + In the midst of our laughter and singing, + 'Mid the clink of our glasses so gay, + What gad-fly is over us winging, + That returns when we drive him away? + 'Tis some god. Yes, I have a suspicion + Of our happiness jealous, he's come: + Let us drive him away to perdition, + That he bore us no more with his hum. + + Transformed to a gad-fly unseemly, + I am certain that we must have here + Old Reason, the grumbler, extremely + Annoyed by our joy and our cheer. + He tells us in tones of monition + Of the clouds and the tempests to come: + Let us drive him away to perdition, + That he bore us no more with his hum. + + It is Reason who comes to me, quaffing, + And says, "It is time to retire: + At your age one stops drinking and laughing, + Stops loving, nor sings with such fire;"-- + An alarm that sounds ever its mission + When the sweetest of flames overcome: + Let us drive him away to perdition, + That he bore us no more with his hum. + + It is Reason! Look out there for Lizzie! + His dart is a menace alway. + He has touched her, she swoons--she is dizzy: + Come, Cupid, and drive him away. + Pursue him; compel his submission, + Until under your strokes he succumb. + Let us drive him away to perdition, + That he bore us no more with his hum. + + Hurrah, Victory! See, he is drowning + In the wine that Lizzetta has poured. + Come, the head of Joy let us be crowning, + That again he may reign at our board. + He was threatened just now with dismission, + And a fly made us all rather glum: + But we've sent him away to perdition; + He will bore us no more with his hum. + + Translation of Walter Learned. + + + DRAW IT MILD + + (LES PETITS COUPS) + + Let's learn to temper our desires, + Not harshly to constrain; + And since excess makes pleasure less, + Why, so much more refrain. + Small table--cozy corner--here + We well may be beguiled; + Our worthy host old wine can boast: + Drink, drink--but draw it mild! + + He who would many an evil shun + Will find my plan the best-- + To trim the sail as shifts the gale, + And half-seas over rest. + Enjoyment is an art--disgust + Is bred of joy run wild; + Too deep a drain upsets the brain: + Drink, drink--but draw it mild! + + Our indigence--let's cheer it up; + 'Tis nonsense to repine; + To give to Hope the fullest scope + Needs but one draught of wine. + And oh! be temperate, to enjoy, + Ye on whom Fate hath smiled; + If deep the bowl, your thirst control: + Drink, drink--but draw it mild! + + What, Phyllis, dost thou fear? at this + My lesson dost thou scoff? + Or would'st thou say, light draughts betray + The toper falling off? + Keen taste, eyes keen--whate'er be seen + Of joy in thine, fair child, + Love's philtre use, but don't abuse: + Drink, drink--but draw it mild! + + Yes, without hurrying, let us roam + From feast to feast of gladness; + And reach old age, if not quite sage, + With method in our madness! + Our health is sound, good wines abound; + Friends, these are riches piled. + To use with thrift the twofold gift: + Drink, drink--but draw it mild! + + Translation of William Young. + + + THE KING OF YVETOT + + There was a king of Yvetot, + Of whom renown hath little said, + Who let all thoughts of glory go, + And dawdled half his days a-bed; + And every night, as night came round, + By Jenny with a nightcap crowned, + Slept very sound: + Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! + That's the kind of king for me. + + And every day it came to pass, + That four lusty meals made he; + And step by step, upon an ass, + Rode abroad, his realms to see; + And wherever he did stir, + What think you was his escort, sir? + Why, an old cur. + Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! + That's the kind of king for me. + + If e'er he went into excess, + 'Twas from a somewhat lively thirst; + But he who would his subjects bless, + Odd's fish!--must wet his whistle first; + And so from every cask they got, + Our king did to himself allot + At least a pot. + Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! + That's the kind of king for me. + + To all the ladies of the land + A courteous king, and kind, was he-- + The reason why, you'll understand, + They named him Pater Patriae. + Each year he called his fighting men, + And marched a league from home, and then + Marched back again. + Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! + That's the kind of king for me. + + Neither by force nor false pretense, + He sought to make his kingdom great, + And made (O princes, learn from hence) + "Live and let live" his rule of state. + 'Twas only when he came to die, + That his people who stood by + Were known to cry. + Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! + That's the kind of king for me. + + The portrait of this best of kings + Is extant still, upon a sign + That on a village tavern swings, + Famed in the country for good wine. + The people in their Sunday trim, + Filling their glasses to the brim, + Look up to him, + Singing "ha, ha, ha!" and "he, he, he! + That's the sort of king for me." + + Version of W.M. Thackeray. + + + FORTUNE + + Rap! rap!--Is that my lass-- + Rap! rap!--is rapping there? + It is Fortune. Let her pass! + I'll not open the door to her. + Rap! rap!-- + + All of my friends are making gay + My little room, with lips wine-wet: + We only wait for you, Lisette! + Fortune! you may go your way. + Rap! rap!-- + + If we might credit half her boast, + What wonders gold has in its gift! + Well, we have twenty bottles left + And still some credit with our host. + Rap! rap!-- + + Her pearls, and rubies too, she quotes, + And mantles more than sumptuous: + Lord! but the purple's naught to us,-- + We're just now taking off our coats. + Rap! rap!-- + + She treats us as the rawest youths, + With talk of genius and of fame: + Thank calumny, alas, for shame! + Our faith is spoiled in laurel growths. + Rap! rap!-- + + Far from our pleasures, we care not + Her highest heavens to attain; + She fills her big balloons in vain + Till we have swamped our little boat. + Rap! rap!-- + + Yet all our neighbors crowd to be + Within her ring of promises, + Ah! surely, friends! our mistresses + Will cheat us more agreeably. + Rap! rap!-- + + + THE PEOPLE'S REMINISCENCES + + (LES SOUVENIRS DU PEUPLE) + + Ay, many a day the straw-thatched cot + Shall echo with his glory! + The humblest shed, these fifty years, + Shall know no other story. + There shall the idle villagers + To some old dame resort, + And beg her with those good old tales + To make their evenings short. + "What though they say he did us harm? + Our love this cannot dim; + Come, granny, talk of him to us; + Come, granny, talk of him." + + "Well, children--with a train of kings, + Once he passed by this spot; + 'Twas long ago; I had but just + Begun to boil the pot. + On foot he climbed the hill, whereon + I watched him on his way: + He wore a small three-cornered hat; + His overcoat was gray. + I was half frightened till he said + 'Good day, my dear!' to me." + "O granny, granny, did he speak? + What, granny! you and he?" + + "Next year, as I, poor soul, by chance + Through Paris strolled one day, + I saw him taking, with his court, + To Notre Dame his way. + The crowd were charmed with such a show; + Their hearts were filled with pride: + 'What splendid weather for the fete! + Heaven favors him!' they cried. + Softly he smiled, for God had given + To his fond arms a boy." + "Oh, how much joy you must have felt! + O granny, how much joy!" + + "But when at length our poor Champagne + By foes was overrun, + He seemed alone to hold his ground; + Nor dangers would he shun. + One night--as might be now--I heard + A knock--the door unbarred-- + And saw--good God! 'twas he, himself, + With but a scanty guard. + 'Oh, what a war is this!' he cried, + Taking this very chair." + "What! granny, granny, there he sat? + What! granny, he sat there?" + + "'I'm hungry,' said he: quick I served + Thin wine and hard brown bread; + He dried his clothes, and by the fire + In sleep dropped down his head. + Waking, he saw my tears--'Cheer up, + Good dame!' says he, 'I go + 'Neath Paris' walls to strike for France + One last avenging blow.' + He went; but on the cup he used + Such value did I set-- + It has been treasured."--"What! till now? + You have it, granny, yet?" + + "Here 'tis: but 'twas the hero's fate + To ruin to be led; + He whom a Pope had crowned, alas! + In a lone isle lies dead. + 'Twas long denied: 'No, no,' said they, + 'Soon shall he reappear! + O'er ocean comes he, and the foe + Shall find his master here.' + Ah, what a bitter pang I felt, + When forced to own 'twas true!" + "Poor granny! Heaven for this will look-- + Will kindly look on you." + + Translation of William Young. + + + THE OLD TRAMP + + (LE VIEUX VAGABOND) + + Here in this gutter let me die: + Weary and sick and old, I've done. + "He's drunk," will say the passers-by: + All right, I want no pity--none. + I see the heads that turn away, + While others glance and toss me sous: + "Off to your junket! go!" I say: + Old tramp,--to die I need no help from you. + + Yes, of old age I'm dying now: + Of hunger people never die. + I hoped some almshouse might allow + A shelter when my end was nigh; + But all retreats are overflowed, + Such crowds are suffering and forlorn. + My nurse, alas! has been the road: + Old tramp,--here let me die where I was born. + + When young, it used to be my prayer + To craftsmen, "Let me learn your trade." + "Clear out--we've got no work to spare; + Go beg," was all reply they made. + You rich, who bade me work, I've fed + With relish on the bones you threw; + Made of your straw an easy bed: + Old tramp,--I have no curse to vent on you. + + Poor wretch, I had the choice to steal; + But no, I'd rather beg my bread. + At most I thieved a wayside meal + Of apples ripening overhead. + Yet twenty times have I been thrown + In prison--'twas the King's decree; + Robbed of the only thing I own: + Old tramp,--at least the sun belongs to me. + + The poor man--is a country his? + What are to me your corn and wine, + Your glory and your industries, + Your orators? They are not mine. + And when a foreign foe waxed fat + Within your undefended walls, + I shed my tears, poor fool, at that: + Old tramp,--his hand was open to my calls. + + Why, like the hateful bug you kill, + Did you not crush me when you could? + + Or better, teach me ways and skill + To labor for the common good? + + The ugly grub an ant may end, + If sheltered from the cold and fed. + + You might have had me for a friend: + Old tramp,--I die your enemy instead. + + Translated for the 'World's Best Literature.' + + + FIFTY YEARS + + (ClNQUANTE ANS) + + Wherefore these flowers? floral applause? + Ah, no, these blossoms came to say + That I am growing old, because + I number fifty years to-day. + O rapid, ever-fleeting day! + O moments lost, I know not how! + O wrinkled cheek and hair grown gray! + Alas, for I am fifty now! + + Sad age, when we pursue no more-- + Fruit dies upon the withering tree: + Hark! some one rapped upon my door. + Nay, open not. 'Tis not for me-- + Or else the doctor calls. Not yet + Must I expect his studious bow. + Once I'd have called, "Come in, Lizzette"-- + Alas, for I am fifty now! + + In age what aches and pains abound. + The torturing gout racks us awhile; + Blindness, a prison dark, profound; + Or deafness that provokes a smile. + Then Reason's lamp grows faint and dim + With flickering ray. Children, allow + Old Age the honor due to him-- + Alas, for I am fifty now! + + Ah, heaven! the voice of Death I know, + Who rubs his hands in joyous mood; + The sexton knocks and I must go-- + Farewell, my friends the human brood! + Below are famine, plague, and strife; + Above, new heavens my soul endow: + Since God remains, begin, new life! + Alas, for I am fifty now! + + But no, 'tis you, sweetheart, whose youth, + Tempting my soul with dainty ways, + Shall hide from it the sombre truth, + This incubus of evil days. + Springtime is yours, and flowers; come then, + Scatter your roses on my brow, + And let me dream of youth again-- + Alas, for I am fifty now! + + Translation of Walter Learned. + + + THE GARRET + + With pensive eyes the little room I view, + Where in my youth I weathered it so long, + With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, + And a light heart still breaking into song; + Making a mock of life, and all its cares, + Rich in the glory of my rising sun: + Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, + In the brave days when I was twenty-one. + + Yes; 'tis a garret--let him know't who will--- + There was my bed--full hard it was and small; + My table there--and I decipher still + Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. + Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, + Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun: + For you I pawned my watch how many a day, + In the brave days when I was twenty-one! + + And see my little Jessy, first of all; + She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: + Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl + Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise: + Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, + And when did women look the worse in none? + I have heard since who paid for many a gown, + In the brave days when I was twenty-one. + + One jolly evening, when my friends and I + Made happy music with our songs and cheers, + A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, + And distant cannon opened on our ears; + We rise,--we join in the triumphant strain,-- + Napoleon conquers--Austerlitz is won-- + Tyrants shall never tread us down again, + In the brave days when I was twenty-one. + + Let us begone--the place is sad and strange-- + How far, far off, these happy times appear! + All that I have to live I'd gladly change + For one such month as I have wasted here-- + To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, + From founts of hope that never will outrun, + And drink all life's quintessence in an hour: + Give me the days when I was twenty-one. + + Version of W.M. Thackeray. + + + MY TOMB + + (MON TOMBEAU) + + What! whilst I'm well, beforehand you design, + At vast expense, for me to build a shrine? + Friends, 'tis absurd! to no such outlay go; + Leave to the great the pomp and pride of woe. + Take what for marble or for brass would pay-- + For a dead beggar garb by far too gay-- + And buy life-stirring wine on my behalf: + The money for my tomb right gayly let us quaff! + + A mausoleum worthy of my thanks + At least would cost you twenty thousand francs: + Come, for six months, rich vale and balmy sky, + As gay recluses, be it ours to try. + Concerts and balls, where Beauty's self invites, + Shall furnish us our castle of delights; + I'll run the risk of finding life too sweet: + The money for my tomb right gayly let us eat! + + But old I grow, and Lizzy's youthful yet: + Costly attire, then, she expects to get; + For to long fast a show of wealth resigns-- + Bear witness Longchamps, where all Paris shines! + You to my fair one something surely owe; + A Cashmere shawl she's looking for, I know: + 'Twere well for life on such a faithful breast + The money for my tomb right gayly to invest! + + No box of state, good friends, would I engage, + For mine own use, where spectres tread the stage: + What poor wan man with haggard eyes is this? + Soon must he die--ah, let him taste of bliss! + The veteran first should the raised curtain see-- + There in the pit to keep a place for me, + (Tired of his wallet, long he cannot live)-- + The money for my tomb to him let's gayly give! + + What doth it boot me, that some learned eye + May spell my name on gravestone, by and by? + As to the flowers they promise for my bier, + I'd rather, living, scent their perfume here. + And thou, posterity!--that ne'er mayst be-- + Waste not thy torch in seeking signs of me! + Like a wise man, I deemed that I was bound + The money for my tomb to scatter gayly round! + + Translation of William Young. + + +FROM HIS PREFACE TO HIS COLLECTED POEMS + +I have treated it [the revolution of 1830] as a power which might have +whims one should be in a position to resist. All or nearly all my +friends have taken office. I have still one or two who are hanging from +the greased pole. I am pleased to believe that they are caught by the +coat-tails, in spite of their efforts to come down. I might therefore +have had a share in the distribution of offices. Unluckily I have no +love for sinecures, and all compulsory labor has grown intolerable to +me, except perhaps that of a copying clerk. Slanderers have pretended +that I acted from virtue. Pshaw! I acted from laziness. That defect has +served me in place of merits; wherefore I recommend it to many of our +honest men. It exposes one, however, to curious reproaches. It is to +that placid indolence that severe critics have laid the distance I have +kept myself from those of my honorable friends who have attained power. +Giving too much honor to what they choose to call my fine intellect, and +forgetting too much how far it is from simple good sense to the science +of great affairs, these critics maintain that my counsels might have +enlightened more than one minister. If one believes them, I, crouching +behind our statesmen's velvet chairs, would have conjured down the +winds, dispelled the storms, and enabled France to swim in an ocean of +delights. We should all have had liberty to sell, or rather to give +away, but we are still rather ignorant of the price. Ah! my two or three +friends who take a song-writer for a magician, have you never heard, +then, that power is a bell which prevents those who set it ringing from +hearing anything else? Doubtless ministers sometimes consult those at +hand: consultation is a means of talking about one's self which is +rarely neglected. But it will not be enough even to consult in good +faith those who will advise in the same way. One must still act: that is +the duty of the position. The purest intentions, the most enlightened +patriotism, do not always confer it. Who has not seen high officials +leave a counselor with brave intentions, and an instant after return to +him, from I know not what fascination, with a perplexity that gave the +lie to the wisest resolutions? "Oh!" they say, "we will not be caught +there again! what drudgery!" The more shamefaced add, "I'd like to see +you in my place!" When a minister says that, be sure he has no longer a +head. There is indeed one of them, but only one, who, without having +lost his head, has often used this phrase with the utmost sincerity; he +has therefore never used it to a friend. + + + + +GEORGE BERKELEY + +(1685-1753) + + +Few readers in the United States are unfamiliar with the lines, +"Westward the course of empire takes its way." It is vaguely remembered +that a certain Bishop Berkeley was the author of a treatise on +tar-water. There is moreover a general impression that this Bishop +Berkeley contended for the unreality of all things outside of his own +mind, and now and then some recall Byron's lines-- + + "When Bishop Berkeley said 'there was no matter,' + And proved it,--'twas no matter what he said." + +This is the substance of the popular knowledge of one of the profoundest +thinkers of the early part of the eighteenth century,--the time of +Shaftesbury and Locke, of Addison and Steele, of Butler, Pope, and +Swift,--one of the most fascinating men of his day, and one of the best +of any age. Beside, or rather above, Byron's line should be placed +Pope's tribute:-- + + "To Berkeley, every virtue under Heaven." + +[Illustration: GEORGE BERKELEY.] + +Berkeley was born in Ireland, probably at Dysart Castle in the Valley of +the Nore, near Kilkenny, March 12, 1685. The family having but lately +come into Ireland, Berkeley always accounted himself an Englishman. At +Kilkenny School he met the poet Prior, who became his intimate friend, +his business representative, and his most regular correspondent for +life. Swift preceded him at this school and at Trinity College, Dublin, +whither Berkeley went March 21, 1700, being then fifteen years of age. +Here as at Kilkenny he took rank much beyond his years, and was soon +deep in philosophical speculations. + +In Professor Fraser's edition of the 'Life and Works of Berkeley' +appears a 'Common-Place Book,' kept during the Trinity College terms, +and full of most remarkable memoranda for a youth of his years. In 1709, +while still at Trinity, he published an 'Essay toward a New Theory of +Vision,' which foreshadowed imperfectly his leading ideas. In the +following year he published a 'Treatise concerning the Principles of +Human Knowledge.' Two or three years later he went to London, where he +was received with unusual favor and quickly became intimate in the +literary circles of the day. He made friends everywhere, being +attractive in all ways, young, handsome, graceful, fascinating in +discourse, enthusiastic, and full of thought. Swift was especially +impressed by him, and did much to further his fortunes. + +His philosophical conceptions he at this time popularized in 'Three +Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous,' a work rated by some critics as +at the head of its class. + +Before going to London, Berkeley had been made a Fellow of Trinity, had +been appointed to various college offices, and had taken orders. He +remained away from Dublin for about eight years, on leave frequently +extended, writing in London, and traveling, teaching, and writing on the +Continent. On his return from his foreign travels in 1720 or 1721, he +found society completely demoralized by the collapse of the South Sea +bubble. He was much depressed by the conditions around him, and sought +to awaken the moral sense of the people by 'An Essay toward Preventing +the Ruin of Great Britain.' Returning to Dublin and resuming college +duties, he was shortly made Dean of Dromore, and then Dean of Derry. +Hardly had he received these dignified appointments when he began +planning to rid himself of them, being completely absorbed in a scheme +for a University in the Bermudas, which should educate scholars, +teachers, and ministers for the New World, to which his hope turned. To +this scheme he devoted himself for many years. A singular occurrence, +which released him from pecuniary cares, enabled him to give his time as +well as his heart to the work. Miss Vanhomrigh, the 'Vanessa' of Swift, +upon her mother's death, left London, and went to live in Ireland, to be +near her beloved Dean; and there she was informed of Swift's marriage to +'Stella.' The news killed her, but she revoked the will by which her +fortune was bequeathed to Swift, and left one-half of it, or about +L4,000, to Berkeley, whom she had met but once. He must have "kept an +atmosphere," as Bagehot says of Francis Horner. + +Going to London on fire with his great scheme, prepared to resign his +deanery and cast in his lot with that of the proposed University, +Berkeley wasted years in the effort to secure a charter and grant from +the administration. His enthusiasm and his fascinating manners effected +much, and over and over again only the simplest formalities seemed +necessary to success. Only the will of Sir Robert Walpole stood in the +way, but Walpole's will sufficed. At last, in September, 1728, tired of +waiting at court, Berkeley, who had just married, sailed with three or +four friends, including the artist Smibert, for Rhode Island, intending +to await there the completion of his grant, and then proceed to Bermuda. +He bought a farm near Newport, and built a house which he called +Whitehall, in which he lived for about three years, leaving a tradition +of a benignant but retired and scholastic life. Among the friends who +were here drawn to him was the Rev. Samuel Johnson of Stratford, +afterward the first President of King's (now Columbia) College, with +whom he corresponded during the remainder of his life, and through whom +he was able to aid greatly the cause of education in America. + +The Newport life was idyllic. Berkeley wrote home that the winters were +cooler than those of the South of Ireland, but not worse than he had +known in Italy. He brought over a good library, and read and wrote. The +principal work of this period, written in a romantic cleft in the rocks, +was 'Alciphron, or the Minute Philosopher,' in seven dialogues, directed +especially against atheism. + +At length, through Lord Percival, Berkeley learned that Walpole would +not allow the parliamentary grant of, L20,000 for the Bermuda College, +and returned to England at the close of 1732. His Whitehall estate he +conveyed to Yale College for the maintenance of certain scholarships. +From England he sent over nearly a thousand volumes for the Yale +library, the best collection of books ever brought at one time to +America, being helped in the undertaking by some of the Bermuda +subscribers. A little later he sent a collection of books to Harvard +College also, and presented a valuable organ to Trinity Church +in Newport. + +Shortly after his return, Berkeley was appointed Bishop of Cloyne, near +Cork in Ireland, and here he remained for about eighteen years. Although +a recluse, he wrote much, and he kept up his loving relations with old +friends who still survived. He had several children to educate, and he +cultivated music and painting. He attempted to establish manufactures, +and to cultivate habits of industry and refinement among the people. The +winter of 1739 was bitterly cold. This was followed by general want, +famine, and disease. Berkeley and his family lived simply and gave away +what they could save. Large numbers of the people died from an epidemic. +In America Berkeley's attention had been drawn to the medicinal virtues +of tar, and he experimented successfully with tar-water as a remedy. +Becoming more and more convinced of its value, he exploited his supposed +discovery with his usual ardor, writing letters and essays, and at +length 'A Chain of Philosophical Reflections and Enquiries concerning +the Virtues of Tar-water and divers other subjects connected together +and arising one from another.' This was called 'Siris' in a second +edition which was soon demanded. Beginning with the use of tar-water as +a remedy, the treatise gradually developed into the treatment of the +largest themes, and offered the ripest fruits of the Bishop's +philosophy. + +Berkeley's system was neither consistent nor complete, but much of it +remains sound. In brief, he contended that matter has no independent +existence, but is an idea in the supreme mind, which is realized in +various forms by the human mind. Without mind nothing exists. Cause +cannot exist except as it rests in mind and will. All so-called physical +causes are merely cases of constant sequence of phenomena. Far from +denying the reality of phenomena, Berkeley insists upon it; but contends +that reality depends upon the supremacy of mind. Abstract matter does +not and cannot exist. The mind can only perceive qualities of objects, +and infers the existence of the objects from them; or as a modern writer +tersely puts it, "The only thing certain is mind. Matter is a doubtful +and uncertain inference of the human intellect." + +The essay upon Tar-water attracted great attention. The good bishop +wrote much also for periodicals, mainly upon practical themes; and in +The Querist, an intermittent journal, considered many matters of ethical +and political importance to the country. Though a bishop of the +Established Church, he lived upon the most friendly terms with his Roman +Catholic neighbors, and his labors were highly appreciated by them. + +But his life was waning. His friends had passed away, he had lost +several children, his health was broken. He desired to retire to Oxford +and spend the remainder of his life in scholarly seclusion. He asked to +exchange his bishopric for a canonry, but this could not be permitted. +He then begged to be allowed to resign his charge, but the king replied +that he might live where he pleased, but that he should die a bishop in +spite of himself. In August, 1752, Bishop Berkeley removed himself, his +wife, his daughter, and his goods to Oxford, where his son George was a +student; and here on the fourteenth of the following January, as he was +resting on his couch by the fireside at tea-time, his busy brain stopped +thinking, and his kind heart ceased to beat. + + + ON THE PROSPECT OF + PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA + + The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime + Barren of every glorious theme, + In distant lands now waits a better time, + Producing subjects worthy fame: + + In happy climes, where from the genial sun + And virgin earth such scenes ensue, + The force of art by nature seems outdone, + And fancied beauties by the true; + + In happy climes, the seat of innocence, + Where nature guides and virtue rules, + Where men shall not impose for truth and sense + The pedantry of courts and schools: + + There shall be sung another golden age, + The rise of empire and of arts, + The good and great inspiring epic rage, + The wisest heads and noblest hearts. + + Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; + Such as she bred when fresh and young, + When heavenly flame did animate her clay, + By future poets shall be sung. + + Westward the course of empire takes its way; + The four first Acts already past, + A fifth shall close the Drama with the day; + Time's noblest offspring is the last. + + +ESSAY ON TAR-WATER + +From 'Siris' + +The seeds of things seem to lie latent in the air, ready to appear and +produce their kind, whenever they light on a proper matrix. The +extremely small seeds of fern, mosses, mushrooms, and some other plants, +are concealed and wafted about in the air, every part whereof seems +replete with seeds of one kind or other. The whole atmosphere seems +alive. There is everywhere acid to corrode, and seed to engender. Iron +will rust, and mold will grow, in all places. Virgin earth becomes +fertile, crops of new plants ever and anon show themselves, all which +demonstrate the air to be a common seminary and receptacle of all +vivifying principles.... + +The eye by long use comes to see, even in the darkest cavern; and there +is no subject so obscure, but we may discern some glimpse of truth by +long poring on it. Truth is the cry of all, but the game of a few. +Certainly where it is the chief passion, it doth not give way to vulgar +cares and views; nor is it contented with a little ardor in the early +time of life; active, perhaps, to pursue, but not so fit to weigh and +revise. He that would make a real progress in knowledge, must dedicate +his age as well as youth, the later growth as well as first fruits, at +the altar of truth.... + +As the nerves are instruments of sensation, it follows that spasms in +the nerves may produce all symptoms, and therefore a disorder in the +nervous system shall imitate all distempers, and occasion, in +appearance, an asthma for instance, a pleurisy, or a fit of the stone. +Now, whatever is good for the nerves in general is good against all such +symptoms. But tar-water, as it includes in an eminent degree the virtues +of warm gums and resins, is of great use for comforting and +strengthening the nerves, curing twitches in the nervous fibres, cramps +also, and numbness in the limbs, removing anxieties and promoting sleep, +in all which cases I have known it very successful. + +This safe and cheap medicine suits all circumstances and all +constitutions, operating easily, curing without disturbing, raising the +spirits without depressing them, a circumstance that deserves repeated +attention, especially in these climates, where strong liquors so fatally +and so frequently produce those very distresses they are designed to +remedy; and if I am not misinformed, even among the ladies themselves, +who are truly much to be pitied. Their condition of life makes them a +prey to imaginary woes, which never fail to grow up in minds unexercised +and unemployed. To get rid of these, it is said, there are who betake +themselves to distilled spirits. And it is not improbable they are led +gradually to the use of those poisons by a certain complaisant pharmacy, +too much used in the modern practice, palsy drops, poppy cordial, plague +water, and such-like, which being in truth nothing but drams disguised, +yet coming from the apothecaries, are considered only as medicines. + +The soul of man was supposed by many ancient sages to be thrust into +the human body as into a prison, for punishment of past offenses. But +the worst prison is the body of an indolent epicure, whose blood is +inflamed by fermented liquors and high sauces, or rendered putrid, +sharp, and corrosive by a stagnation of the animal juices through sloth +and indolence; whose membranes are irritated by pungent salts; whose +mind is agitated by painful oscillations of the nervous system, and +whose nerves are mutually affected by the irregular passions of his +mind. This ferment in the animal economy darkens and confounds the +intellect. It produceth vain terrors and vain conceits, and stimulates +the soul with mad desires, which, not being natural, nothing in nature +can satisfy. No wonder, therefore, there are so many fine persons of +both sexes, shining themselves, and shone on by fortune, who are +inwardly miserable and sick of life. + +The hardness of stubbed vulgar constitutions renders them insensible of +a thousand things that fret and gall those delicate people, who, as if +their skin was peeled off, feel to the quick everything that touches +them. The remedy for this exquisite and painful sensibility is commonly +sought from fermented, perhaps from distilled liquors, which render many +lives wretched that would otherwise have been only ridiculous. The +tender nerves and low spirits of such poor creatures would be much +relieved by the use of tar-water, which might prolong and cheer their +lives. I do therefore recommend to them the use of a cordial, not only +safe and innocent, but giving health and spirit as sure as other +cordials destroy them. + +I do verily think there is not any other medicine whatsoever so +effectual to restore a crazy constitution and cheer a dreary mind, or so +likely to subvert that gloomy empire of the spleen which tyrannizeth +over the better sort (as they are called) of these free nations, and +maketh them, in spite of their liberty and property, more wretched +slaves than even the subjects of absolute power who breathe clear air in +a sunny climate, while men of low degree often enjoy a tranquillity and +content that no advantage of birth or fortune can equal. Such indeed was +the case while the rich alone could afford to be debauched; but when +even beggars became debauchees, the case was altered. + +The public virtue and spirit of the British legislature never showed +itself more conspicuous in any act, than in that for suppressing the +immoderate use of distilled spirits among the people, whose strength +and numbers constitute the true wealth of a nation: though evasive arts +will, it is feared, prevail so long as distilled spirits of any kind are +allowed, the character of Englishmen in general being that of Brutus, +_Quicquid vult valde vult_ [whatever he desires he desires intensely]. +But why should such a canker be tolerated in the vitals of a State, +under any pretense, or in any shape whatsoever? Better by far the whole +present set of distillers were pensioners of the public, and their trade +abolished by law; since all the benefit thereof put together would not +balance the hundredth part of its mischief. + +This tar-water will also give charitable relief to the ladies, who often +want it more than the parish poor; being many of them never able to make +a good meal, and sitting pale and puny, and forbidden like ghosts, at +their own table, victims of vapors and indigestion. + +Studious persons also, pent up in narrow holes, breathing bad air, and +stooping over their books, are much to be pitied. As they are debarred +the free use of air and exercise, this I will venture to recommend as +the best succedaneum to both; though it were to be wished that modern +scholars would, like the ancients, meditate and converse more in walks +and gardens and open air, which upon the whole would perhaps be no +hindrance to their learning, and a great advantage to their health. My +own sedentary course of life had long since thrown me into an ill habit, +attended with many ailments, particularly a nervous colic, which +rendered my life a burden, and the more so because my pains were +exasperated by exercise. But since the use of tar-water, I find, though +not a perfect recovery from my old and rooted illness, yet such a +gradual return of health and ease, that I esteem my having taken this +medicine the greatest of all temporal blessings, and am convinced that +under Providence I owe my life to it. + + + + +HECTOR BERLIOZ + +(1803-1869) + + +To the concert-goer the name Hector Berlioz calls up a series of vast +and magnificent whirlwinds of vocal and orchestral sonority, the +thoughts of scores that sound and look imposingly complex to the eyes +and ears of both the educated and uneducated in the composer's art. We +have a vision of close pages embodying the most unequivocal and drastic +of musical "realism." The full audacity and mastery of a certain sort of +genius are represented in his vast works. They bespeak, too, the +combative musician and reformer. Berlioz took the kingdom of music +by violence. + +[Illustration: Hector Berlioz] + +His _chef d'oeuvres_ do not all say to us as much as he meant them to +say, not as much as they all uttered twenty years ago. There is much +clay as well as gold in them. But such tremendous products of his energy +and intellect as the 'Requiem,' the 'Te Deum,' 'The Damnation of Faust,' +his best descriptive symphonies such as the 'Romeo and Juliet,' are yet +eloquent to the public and to the critical-minded. His best was so very +good that his worst--weighed as a matter of principle or execution, +regarded as music or "programme music"--can be excused. + +Berlioz's actual biography is a long tale of storm and stress. Not only +was he slow in gaining appreciation while he lived; full comprehension +of his power was not granted him till after his energetic life was over. +Recognition in his own country is incomplete to day. He was born in +1803, near picturesque Grenoble, in the little town of Cote St. Andre, +the son of an excellent country doctor. Sent to Paris to study medicine, +he became a musician against his father's wish, and in lieu of the +allowance that his father promptly withdrew, the young man lived by +engaging in the chorus of the Gymnase, and by catching at every straw +for subsistence. He became a regular music-student of the Conservatory, +under the admirable Lesueur and Reicha; quitted the Conservatory in +disgust at its pedantry, in 1825; and lived and advanced in musical +study as best he could for a considerable time. His convictions in art +were founded largely on the rock of Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven, and +Weber; and however modern, and however widely his work departs from such +academic models, Berlioz never forswore a certain allegiance to these +great and serene masters. He returned to the Conservatory, studied hard, +gained the Prix de Rome, gradually took a prominent place among Parisian +composers, and was as enthusiastically the subject of a cult as was +Wagner. His concerts and the production of his operas encountered +shameful cabals. His strongest works were neglected or ill-served. To +their honor, German musicians understood him, Schumann and Liszt in +especial. Only in Germany to-day are his colossal operas heard. The +Italian Paganini showed a generous interest in his struggles. Russia and +Austria too admired him, while his compatriots hissed. His career was +one of endless work, disappointments, brief successes, battles, hopes, +and despairs. Personally, too, it was full of the happiness and +unhappiness of the artistic temperament. + +It was between the two periods of his Conservatory life that he endured +his chief sentimental misfortune,--his falling in love with and finally +marrying Henrietta Smithson. Miss Smithson was a young English actress +playing Shakespearean roles in France with a passing success. She was +exquisitely lovely--Delaroche has painted her spirituelle beauty in his +'Ophelia.' The marriage was the typically unfortunate artist-match; and +she became a paralytic invalid for years. After her death, tours in +Germany and elsewhere, new works, new troubles, enthusiasms, and +disappointments filled up the remainder of the composer's days. He +returned to his beloved Dauphine, war-worn and almost as one who has +outlived life. In his provincial retreat he composed the huge operatic +duology 'The Trojans at Carthage,' and 'The Taking of Troy,' turning +once more to Virgil, his early literary love. Neither of them is often +heard now, any more than his amazing 'Benvenuto Cellini.' Their author +died in Dauphine in 1869, weary, disenchanted, but conscious that he +would be greater in the eyes of a coming generation than ever he had +been during his harassed life. + +Berlioz's literary remains are valuable as criticisms, and their +personal matter is of brisk and varied charm. His intense feeling for +Shakespeare influenced his whole aesthetic life. He was extremely well +read. His most unchecked tendency to romanticism was balanced by a fine +feeling for the classics. He loved the greater Greek and Latin writers. +His Autobiography is a perfect picture of himself emotionally, and +exhibits his wide aesthetic nature. His Letters are equally faithful as +portraiture. He possessed a distinctively literary style. He tells us +how he fell in love--twice, thrice; records the disgraceful cabals and +intrigues against his professional success, and explains how a landscape +affected his nerves. He is excellent reading, apparently without taking +much pains to be so. Vivacity, wit, sincerity, are salient traits. In +his volume of musical essays entitled 'A Travers Chants' (an +untranslatable title which may be paraphrased 'Memoirs of Music and +Musicians') are superior appreciations of musicians and interpreters and +performances in opera-house and concert-hall, expressed with grace and +taste in the _feuilletonist's_ best manner. In the Journal des Debats, +year by year, he wrote himself down indisputably among the great French +critics; and he never misused his critical post to make it a lever for +his own advantage. His great treatise on Orchestration is a standard +work not displaced by Gevaert or more recent authorities. He was not +only a musical intelligence of enormous capacity: he offers perhaps as +typical an embodiment of the French artistic temperament as can be +pointed out. + + +THE ITALIAN RACE AS MUSICIANS AND AUDITORS + +From Berlioz's Autobiography + +It appears, however,--so at least I am assured,--that the Italians do +occasionally listen. But at any rate, music to the Milanese, no less +than to the Neapolitans, Romans, Florentines, and Genoese, means nothing +but an air, a duet, or a trio, well sung. For anything beyond this they +feel simply aversion or indifference. Perhaps these antipathies are +mainly due to the wretched performance of their choruses and orchestras, +which effectually prevents their knowing anything good outside the +beaten track they have so long followed. Possibly, too, they may to a +certain extent understand the flights of men of genius, if these latter +are careful not to give too rude a shock to their rooted predilections. +The great success of 'Guillaume Tell' at Florence supports this opinion, +and even Spontini's sublime 'Vestale' obtained a series of brilliant +representations at Naples some twenty-five years ago. Moreover, in those +towns which are under the Austrian rule, you will see the people rush +after a military band, and listen with avidity to the beautiful German +melodies, so unlike their usual insipid cavatinas. Nevertheless, in +general it is impossible to disguise the fact that the Italians as a +nation really appreciate only the material effects of music, and +distinguish nothing but its exterior forms. + +Indeed, I am much inclined to regard them as more inaccessible to the +poetical side of art, and to any conceptions at all above the common, +than any other European nation. To the Italians music is a sensual +pleasure, and nothing more. For this most beautiful form of expression +they have scarcely more respect than for the culinary art. In fact, they +like music which they can take in at first hearing, without reflection +or attention, just as they would do with a plate of macaroni. + +Now, we French, mean and contemptible musicians as we are, although we +are no better than the Italians when we furiously applaud a trill or a +chromatic scale by the last new singer, and miss altogether the beauty +of some grand recitative or animated chorus, yet at least we can listen, +and if we do not take in a composer's ideas it is not our fault. Beyond +the Alps, on the contrary, people behave in a manner so humiliating both +to art and to artists, whenever any representation is going on, that I +confess I would as soon sell pepper and spice at a grocer's in the Rue +St. Denis as write an opera for the Italians--nay, I would _sooner_ +do it. + +Added to this, they are slaves to routine and to fanaticism to a degree +one hardly sees nowadays, even at the Academy. The slightest unforeseen +innovation, whether in melody, harmony, rhythm, or instrumentation, puts +them into a perfect fury; so much so, that the _dilettanti_ of Rome, on +the appearance of Rossini's 'Barbiere di Seviglia' (which is Italian +enough in all conscience), were ready to kill the young maestro for +having the insolence to do anything unlike Paisiello. + +But what renders all hope of improvement quite chimerical, and tempts +one to believe that the musical feeling of the Italians is a mere +necessary result of their organization,--the opinion both of Gall and +Spurzheim,--is their love for all that is dancing, brilliant, +glittering, and gay, to the utter neglect of the various passions by +which the characters are animated, and the confusion of time and +place--in a word, of good sense itself. Their music is always laughing: +and if by chance the composer in the course of the drama permits himself +for one moment not to be absurd, he at once hastens back to his +prescribed style, his melodious roulades and _grupetti_, his trills and +contemptible frivolities, either for voice or orchestra; and these, +succeeding so abruptly to something true to life, have an unreal effect, +and give the _opera seria_ all the appearance of a parody or caricature. + +I could quote plenty of examples from famous works; but speaking +generally of these artistic questions, is it not from Italy that we get +those stereotyped conventional forms adopted by so many French +composers, resisted by Cherubim and Spontini alone among the Italians, +though rejected entirely by the Germans? What well-organized person with +any sense of musical expression could listen to a quartet in which four +characters, animated by totally conflicting passions, should +successively employ the same melodious phrase to express such different +words as these: "O, toi que j'adore!" "Quelle terreur me glace!" "Mon +coeur bat de plaisir!" "La fureur me transporte!" To suppose that music +is a language so vague that the natural inflections of fury will serve +equally well for fear, joy, and love, only proves the absence of that +sense which to others makes the varieties of expression in music as +incontestable a reality as the existence of the sun.... I regard the +course taken by Italian composers as the inevitable result of the +instincts of the public, which react more or less on the composers +themselves. + + +THE FAMOUS "SNUFF-BOX TREACHERY" + +From the Autobiography + +Now for another intrigue, still more cleverly contrived, the black +depths of which I hardly dare fathom. I incriminate no one; I simply +give the naked facts, without the smallest commentary, but with +scrupulous exactness. General Bernard having himself informed me that my +Requiem was to be performed on certain conditions, ... I was about to +begin my rehearsals when I was sent for by the Director of the +Beaux-Arts. + +"You know," said he, "that Habeneck has been commissioned to conduct all +the great official musical festivals?" ("Come, good!" thought I: "here +is another tile for my devoted head.") "It is true that you are now in +the habit of conducting the performance of your works yourself; but +Habeneck is an old man" (another tile), "and I happen to know that he +will be deeply hurt if he does not preside at your Requiem. What terms +are you on with him?" + +"What terms? We have quarreled. I hardly know why. For three years he +has not spoken to me. I am not aware of his motives, and indeed have not +cared to ask. He began by rudely refusing to conduct one of my concerts. +His behavior towards me has been as inexplicable as it is uncivil. +However, as I see plainly that he wishes on the present occasion to +figure at Marshal Damremont's ceremony, and as it would evidently be +agreeable to you, I consent to give up the baton to him, on condition +that I have at least one full rehearsal." + +"Agreed," replied the Director; "I will let him know about it." + +The rehearsals were accordingly conducted with great care. Habeneck +spoke to me as if our relations with each other had never been +interrupted, and all seemed likely to go well. + +The day of the performance arrived, in the Church of the Invalides, +before all the princes, peers, and deputies, the French press, the +correspondents of foreign papers, and an immense crowd. It was +absolutely essential for me to have a great success; a moderate one +would have been fatal, and a failure would have annihilated me +altogether. + +Now listen attentively. + +The various groups of instruments in the orchestra were tolerably widely +separated, especially the four brass bands introduced in the 'Tuba +mirum,' each of which occupied a corner of the entire orchestra. There +is no pause between the 'Dies Irae' and the 'Tuba mirum,' but the pace of +the latter movement is reduced to half what it was before. At this point +the whole of the brass enters, first all together, and then in passages, +answering and interrupting, each a third higher than the last. It is +obvious that it is of the greatest importance that the four beats of the +new _tempo_ should be distinctly marked, or else the terrible explosion, +which I had so carefully prepared with combinations and proportions +never attempted before or since, and which, rightly performed, gives +such a picture of the Last Judgment as I believe is destined to live, +would be a mere enormous and hideous confusion. + +With my habitual mistrust, I had stationed myself behind Habeneck, and +turning my back on him, overlooked the group of kettle-drums, which he +could not see, when the moment approached for them to take part in the +general melee. There are perhaps one thousand bars in my Requiem. +Precisely in that of which I have just been speaking, when the movement +is retarded, and the wind instruments burst in with their terrible +flourish of trumpets; in fact, just in _the_ one bar where the +conductor's motion is absolutely indispensable, Habeneck _puts down his +baton, quietly takes out his snuff box_, and proceeds to take a pinch +of snuff. I always had my eye in his direction, and instantly turned +rapidly on one heel, and springing forward before him, I stretched out +my arm and marked the four great beats of the new movement. The +orchestras followed me, each in order. I conducted the piece to the end, +and the effect which I had longed for was produced. When, at the last +words of the chorus, Habeneck saw that the 'Tuba mirum' was saved, he +said, "What a cold perspiration I have been in! Without you we should +have been lost." "Yes, I know," I answered, looking fixedly at him. I +did not add another word.... Had he done it on purpose? ... Could it be +possible that this man had dared to join my enemy, the Director, and +Cherubini's friends, in plotting and attempting such rascality? I don't +wish to believe it ... but I cannot doubt it. God forgive me if I am +doing the man injustice! + + +ON GLUCK + +From the Autobiography + +Of all the ancient composers, Gluck has, I believe, the least to fear +from the incessant revolutions of art. He sacrificed nothing either to +the caprices of singers, the exigencies of fashion, or the inveterate +routine with which he had to contend on his arrival in France, after his +protracted struggles with the Italian theatres. Doubtless his conflicts +at Milan, Naples, and Parma, instead of weakening him, had increased his +strength by revealing its full extent to himself; for in spite of the +fanaticism then prevalent in our artistic customs, he broke these +miserable trammels and trod them underfoot with the greatest ease. True, +the clamor of the critics once succeeded in forcing him into a reply; +but it was the only indiscretion with which he had to reproach himself, +and thenceforth, as before, he went straight to his aim in silence. We +all know what that aim was; we also know that it was never given to any +man to succeed more fully. With less conviction or less firmness, it is +probable that, notwithstanding his natural genius, his degenerate works +would not have long survived those of his mediocre rivals now completely +forgotten. But truth of expression, purity of style, and grandeur of +form belong to all time. Gluck's fine passages will always be fine. +Victor Hugo is right: the heart never grows old. + + +ON BACH + +From the Autobiography + +You will not, my dear Demarest, expect an analysis from me of Bach's +great work: such a task would quite exceed my prescribed limits. Indeed, +the movement performed at the Conservatoire three years ago may be +considered the type of the author's style throughout the work. The +Germans profess an unlimited admiration for Bach's recitatives; but +their peculiar characteristic necessarily escaped me, as I did not +understand the language and was unable to appreciate their expression. +Whoever is familiar with our musical customs in Paris must witness, in +order to believe, the attention, respect, and even reverence with which +a German public listens to such a composition. Every one follows the +words on the book with his eyes; not a movement among the audience, not +a murmur of praise or blame, not a sound of applause; they are listening +to a solemn discourse, they are hearing the gospel sung, they are +attending divine service rather than a concert. And really such music +ought to be thus listened to. They adore Bach, and believe in him, +without supposing for a moment that his divinity could ever be called +into question. A heretic would horrify them, he is forbidden even to +speak of him. God is God and Bach is Bach. Some days after the +performance of Bach's _chef d'oeuvre_, the Singing Academy announced +Graun's 'Tod Jesu.' This is another sacred work, a holy book; the +worshipers of which are, however, mainly to be found in Berlin, whereas +the religion of Bach is professed throughout the north of Germany. + + +MUSIC AS AN ARISTOCRATIC ART + +From the Autobiography + +Dramatic art in the time of Shakespeare was more appreciated by the +masses than it is in our day by those nations which lay most claim to +possess a feeling for it. Music is essentially aristocratic; it is a +daughter of noble race, such as princes only can dower nowadays; it must +be able to live poor and unmated rather than form a _mesalliance_. + + +THE BEGINNING OF A "GRAND PASSION" + +From the Autobiography + +I have now come to the grand drama of my life; but I shall not relate +all its painful details. It is enough to say that an English company +came over to perform Shakespeare's plays, then entirely unknown in +France, at the Odeon. I was present at the first performance of +'Hamlet,' and there, in the part of Ophelia, I saw Miss Smithson, whom I +married five years afterward. I can only compare the effect produced by +her wonderful talent, or rather her dramatic genius, on my imagination +and heart, with the convulsion produced on my mind by the work of the +great poet whom she interpreted. It is impossible to say more. + +This sudden and unexpected revelation of Shakespeare overwhelmed me. The +lightning-flash of his genius revealed the whole heaven of art to me, +illuminating its remotest depths in a single flash. I recognized the +meaning of real grandeur, real beauty, and real dramatic truth; and I +also realized the utter absurdity of the ideas circulated by Voltaire in +France about Shakespeare, and the pitiful pettiness of our old poetic +school, the offspring of pedagogues and _freres ignorantins_. + +But the shock was too great, and it was a long while before I recovered +from it. I became possessed by an intense, overpowering sense of +sadness, that in my then sickly, nervous state produced a mental +condition adequately to describe which would take a great physiologist. +I could not sleep, I lost my spirits, my favorite studies became +distasteful to me, and I spent my time wandering aimlessly about Paris +and its environs. During that long period of suffering, I can only +recall four occasions on which I slept, and then it was the heavy, +death-like sleep produced by complete physical exhaustion. These were +one night when I had thrown myself down on some sheaves in a field near +Ville-Juif; one day in a meadow in the neighborhood of Sceaux; once on +the snow on the banks of the frozen Seine, near Neuilly; and lastly, on +a table in the Cafe du Cardinal at the corner of the Boulevard des +Italiens and the Rue Richelieu, where I slept for five hours, to the +terror of the _garcons_, who thought I was dead and were afraid to +come near me. + +It was on my return from one of these wanderings, in which I must have +seemed like one seeking his soul, that my eyes fell on Moore's 'Irish +Melodies,' lying open on my table at the song beginning "When he who +adores thee." I seized my pen, and then and there wrote the music to +that heart-rending farewell, which is published at the end of my +collection of songs, 'Irlande,' under the title of 'Elegie.' This is the +only occasion on which I have been able to vent any strong feeling in +music while still under its influence. And I think that I have rarely +reached such intense truth of musical expression, combined with so much +realistic power of harmony. + + +ON THEATRICAL MANAGERS IN RELATION TO ART + +From the 'Autobiography' + +I have often wondered why theatrical managers everywhere have such a +marked predilection for what genuine artists, cultivated minds, and even +a certain section of the public itself persist in regarding as very poor +manufacture, short-lived productions, the handiwork of which is as +valueless as the raw material itself. Not as though platitudes always +succeeded better than good works; indeed, the contrary is often the +case. Neither is it that careful compositions entail more expense than +"shoddy." It is often just the other way. Perhaps it arises simply from +the fact that the good works demand the care, study, attention, and, in +certain cases, even the mind, talent, and inspiration of every one in +the theatre, from the manager down to the prompter. The others, on the +contrary, being made especially for lazy, mediocre, superficial, +ignorant, and silly people, naturally find a great many supporters. +Well! a manager likes, above everything, whatever brings him in amiable +speeches and satisfied looks from his underlings, he likes things that +require no learning and disturb no accepted ideas or habits, which +gently go with the stream of prejudice, and wound no self-love, because +they reveal no incapacity; in a word, things which do not take too long +to get up. + + + + +SAINT BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX + +(1091-1153) + + +Born in 1091, at Fontaines, a castle of his father Tescelin, near Dijon, +France, and devotedly instructed by his pious and gentle mother Aleth, +Bernard of Clairvaux was from early childhood imbued with an active +religious enthusiasm. When the time came to choose his way of life, +instead of going into battle with his knighted brothers, he made them, +as well as his uncle the count of Touillon, join a band of thirty +companions, with whom he knelt in the rude chapel at Citeaux to beg the +tonsure from Abbot Stephen Harding. To rise at two o'clock in the +morning and chant the prayer-offices of the church until nine, to do +hard manual labor until two, when the sole meal of the day--composed of +vegetable food only--was taken, to labor again until nightfall and sing +the vespers until an early bedtime hour: such was the Cistercian's daily +observance of his vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience,--vows which +Bernard and his followers were to lay down only upon the cross of ashes +spread upon the hard cell floor to receive their outstretched, +dying bodies. + +[Illustration: SAINT BERNARD] + +Citeaux became famous from the coming of these new recruits. There was, +in those tough old days, a soldierly admiration for faithfulness to +discipline; and when Bernard was professed in 1114, Abbot Stephen was +obliged to enlarge the field of work. Bernard was sent in 1115 to build +a house and clear and cultivate a farm in a thickly wooded and +thief-infested glen to the north of Dijon, known as the Valley of +Wormwood. Here at the age of twenty-four, in a rude house built by their +own hands with timber cut from the land, the young abbot and his +companions lived like the sturdy pioneers of our Northwest, the earth +their floor and narrow wooden bunks in a low dark loft their beds. Of +course the stubborn forest gave way slowly, and grudgingly opened sunny +hillsides to the vine and wheat-sheaf. The name of the settlement was +changed to Clairvaux, but for many years the poor monks' only food was +barley bread, with broth made from boiled beech leaves. Here Tescelin +came in his old age to live under the rule of his sons; and Humbeline, +the wealthy and rank-proud daughter, one day left her gay retinue at the +door of their little abbey and went to join the nuns at Jouilly. + +While Bernard was studying and planting at Clairvaux, the word of his +piety and worth went everywhere through the land, and he came to be +consulted not only by his Superior at Citeaux, but by villein and noble, +even to the august persons of Louis the Fat of France and Henry the +Norman of England. His gentleness and integrity became the chief +reliance of the royal house of France, and his sermons and letters began +to be quoted at council board and synod even as far as Rome. The +austerity and poverty of the Cistercians had caused some friends of the +monks of Cluny to fall under Bernard's zealous indignation. He wrote to +William of St. Thierry a famous letter, mildly termed an Apology; in +which, by the most insinuating and biting satire, the laxity and +indulgence which had weakened or effaced the power of monastic example +(from which arraignment the proud house of Cluny was deemed not to +escape scot-free) were lashed with uncompromising courage. + +France and Burgundy, with the more or less helpful aid of the Norman +dukes in England, had been very loyal to the interests of the Papacy. +When the schism of Anacletus II. arose in 1130, Innocent II., driven +from Rome by the armed followers of Peter de Leon, found his way at once +to the side of Louis VI. There he found Bernard, and upon him he leaned +from that time until the latter had hewed a road for him back to Rome +through kings, prelates, statesmen, and intriguers, with the same +unflinching steadfastness with which he had cut a way to the sunlight +for his vines and vegetables in the Valley of Wormwood. Bernard it was +who persuaded Henry of England to side with Innocent, and it was he who +stayed the revival of the question of investitures and won the Emperor +to the Pope at Liege. At the Council of Rheims in October 1131, Bernard +was the central figure; and when the path was open for a return to +Italy, the restored Pope took the abbot with him, leaving in return a +rescript releasing Citeaux from tithes. Bernard stayed in Italy until +1135, and left Innocent secure in Rome. + +After a short period of peace at Clairvaux, he had to hurry off again to +Italy on account of the defection of the influential monastery of Monte +Casino to Anacletus. + +Not long after his last return from Italy, Bernard met Pierre Abelard. +This brilliant and unfortunate man had incurred the charge of heresy, +and at some time in the year 1139 Bernard was induced to meet and confer +with him. Nothing seems to have resulted from the conference, for +Abelard went in 1140 to the Bishop of Sens and demanded an opportunity +of being confronted with Bernard at an approaching synod. The abbot of +Clairvaux, although unwilling, was at last persuaded to accept the +challenge. Louis VII., King of France, Count Theobald of Champagne, and +the nobles of the realm assembled to witness the notable contest. +Abelard came with a brilliant following; but on the second day of the +synod, to the surprise of everybody, he abruptly closed the proceeding +by appealing to Rome. The works of Abelard were condemned, but his +appeal and person were respected, and Bernard prepared a strong +condemnatory letter to be sent to the Pope. As the great scholar was on +his way to Rome to follow his appeal, he stayed to rest at Cluny with +Peter the Venerable, who persuaded him to go to Bernard. When the two +great hearts met in the quiet of Clairvaux, all animosities were +resolved in peace; and Abelard, returning to Cluny, abandoned his appeal +and observed the rule of the house until his death, which he endured, as +Peter the Venerable wrote to Heloise, fully prepared and comforted, at +Chalons in 1142. + +The infidels of the East having taken Edessa in 1146, the power of the +Christians in the Holy Land was broken; and Eugenius III., who had been +a monk of Clairvaux, appointed Bernard to preach a new crusade. He set +on foot a vast host under the personal leadership of Louis VII. and +Conrad the Emperor, accompanied by Queen Eleanor and many noble ladies +of both realms. The ill fortunes which attended this war brought to +Bernard the greatest bitterness of his life. So signal was the failure +of the Second Crusade, that but a pitiful remnant of the brilliant army +which had crossed the Bosphorus returned to Europe, and Bernard was +assailed with execration from hut and castle throughout the length of +Europe. His only answer was as gentle as his life: "Better that I be +blamed than God." He did not neglect, however, to point out that the +evil lives and excesses of those who attempted the Crusade were the real +causes of the failure of the Christian arms. + +In Languedoc in 1147 he quelled a dangerous heresy, and silenced +Gilbert, bishop of Poitiers, at the Council of Rheims. + +In 1148 Malachy, Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of Ireland, who nine +years before had visited Clairvaux and formed a lasting friendship for +Bernard, came there again to die in the arms of his friend. It is +related that the two saints had exchanged habits upon the first visit, +and that Malachy wore that of Bernard on his death-bed. The funeral +sermon preached by Bernard upon the life and virtue of his Irish comrade +is reputed to be one of the finest extant. It seemed as if the Gael had +come to show the Goth the way of death. Bernard's health, early broken +by self-imposed austerity and penances, had never been robust, and it +had often seemed that nothing but the vigor of his will had kept him +from the grave. In the year 1153 he was stricken with a fatal illness. +Yet when the archbishop of Treves came to his bedside, imploring his aid +to put an end to an armed quarrel between the nobles and the people of +Metz, he went cheerfully but feebly to the field between the contending +parties, and by words which came with pain and in the merest whispers, +he persuaded the men who were already at each other's throats to forget +their enmities. + +He died at Clairvaux on January 12th, 1153, and was buried, as he +wished, in the habit of Saint Malachy. In 1174 he was sainted, and his +life is honored in the liturgy of the church on the 20th of August. + +The marks of Saint Bernard's character were sweetness and gentle +tolerance in the presence of honest opposition, and implacable vigor +against shams and evil-doing. His was the perfect type of well-regulated +individual judgment. His humility and love of poverty were true and +unalterable. In Italy he refused the mitres of Genoa and Milan in turn, +and in France successively declined the sees of Chalons, Langres, and +Rheims. He wrote and spoke with simplicity and directness, and with an +energy and force of conviction which came from absolute command of his +subject. He did not disdain to use a good-tempered jest as occasion +required, and his words afford some pleasant examples of naive puns. He +was a tireless letter-writer, and some of his best writings are in that +form. He devoted much labor to his sermons on the Canticle of Canticles, +the work remaining unfinished at his death. He wrote a long poem on the +Passion, one beautiful hymn of which is included in the Roman Breviary. + + + SAINT BERNARD'S HYMN + + Jesu! the very thought of thee + With sweetness fills my breast, + But sweeter far thy face to see + And in thy presence rest. + + Nor voice can sing nor heart can frame, + Nor can the memory find, + A sweeter sound than thy blest name, + O Savior of mankind! + + O hope of every contrite heart! + O joy of all the meek! + To those who fall, how kind thou art, + How good to those who seek! + + But what to those who find? Ah, this + Nor tongue nor pen can show. + The love of Jesus, what it is + None but his loved ones know. + + Jesu! our only joy be thou, + As thou our prize wilt be! + Jesu! be thou our glory now + And through eternity! + + +MONASTIC LUXURY + +From the Apology to the Abbot William of St. Thierry + +There is no conversation concerning the Scriptures, none concerning the +salvation of souls; but small-talk, laughter, and idle words fill the +air. At dinner the palate and ears are equally tickled--the one with +dainties, the other with gossip and news, which together quite prevent +all moderation in feeding. In the mean time dish after dish is set on +the table; and to make up for the small privation of meat, a double +supply is provided of well-grown fish. When you have eaten enough of the +first, if you taste the second course, you will seem to yourself hardly +to have touched the former: such is the art of the cooks, that after +four or five dishes have been devoured, the first does not seem to be in +the way of the last, nor does satiety invade the appetite.... Who could +say, to speak of nothing else, in how many forms eggs are cooked and +worked up? with what care they are turned in and out, made hard or soft, +or chopped fine; now fried, now roasted, now stuffed; now they are +served mixed with other things, now by themselves. Even the external +appearance of the dishes is such that the eye, as well as the taste, is +charmed.... + +Not only have we lost the spirit of the old monasteries, but even its +outward appearance. For this habit of ours, which of old was the sign of +humility, by the monks of our day is turned into a source of pride. We +can hardly find in a whole province wherewithal we condescend to be +clothed. The monk and the knight cut their garments, the one his cowl, +the other his cloak, from the same piece. No secular person, however +great, whether king or emperor, would be disgusted at our vestments if +they were only cut and fitted to his requirements. But, say you, +religion is in the heart, not in the garments? True; but you, when you +are about to buy a cowl, rush over the towns, visit the markets, +examine the fairs, dive into the houses of the merchants, turn over all +their goods, undo their bundles of cloth, feel it with your fingers, +hold it to your eyes or to the rays of the sun, and if anything coarse +or faded appears, you reject it. But if you are pleased with any object +of unusual beauty or brightness, you at once buy it, whatever the price. +I ask you, Does this come from the heart, or your simplicity? + +I wonder that our abbots allow these things, unless it arises from the +fact that no one is apt to blame any error with confidence if he cannot +trust in his own freedom from the same; and it is a right human quality +to forgive without much anger those self-indulgences in others for which +we ourselves have the strongest inclination. How is the light of the +world overshadowed! Those whose lives should have been the way of life +to us, by the example they give of pride, become blind leaders of the +blind. What a specimen of humility is that, to march with such pomp and +retinue, to be surrounded with such an escort of hairy men, so that one +abbot has about him people enough for two bishops. I lie not when I say, +I have seen an abbot with sixty horses after him, and even more. Would +you not think, as you see them pass, that they were not fathers of +monasteries, but lords of castles--not shepherds of souls, but princes +of provinces? Then there is the baggage, containing table-cloths, and +cups and basins, and candlesticks, and well-filled wallets--not with the +coverlets, but the ornaments of the beds. My lord abbot can never go +more than four leagues from his home without taking all his furniture +with him, as if he were going to the wars, or about to cross a desert +where necessaries cannot be had. Is it quite impossible to wash one's +hands in, and drink from, the same vessel? Will not your candle burn +anywhere but in that gold or silver candlestick of yours, which you +carry with you? Is sleep impossible except upon a variegated mattress, +or under a foreign coverlet? Could not one servant harness the mule, +wait at dinner, and make the bed? If such a multitude of men and horses +is indispensable, why not at least carry with us our necessaries, and +thus avoid the severe burden we are to our hosts?... + +[Illustration: _MONASTIC LUXURY._ +Photogravure from a Painting by Edward Gruetzner.] + +By the sight of wonderful and costly vanities men are prompted to give, +rather than to pray. Some beautiful picture of a saint is exhibited--and +the brighter the colors the greater the holiness attributed to it: men +run, eager to kiss; they are invited to give, and the beautiful is +more admired than the sacred is revered. In the churches are suspended, +not _coronae_, but wheels studded with gems and surrounded by lights, +which are scarcely brighter than the precious stones which are near +them. Instead of candlesticks, we behold great trees of brass fashioned +with wonderful skill, and glittering as much through their jewels as +their lights. What do you suppose is the object of all this? The +repentance of the contrite, or the admiration of the gazers? O vanity of +vanities! but not more vain than foolish. The church's walls are +resplendent, but the poor are not there.... The curious find wherewith +to amuse themselves; the wretched find no stay for them in their misery. +Why at least do we not reverence the images of the saints, with which +the very pavement we walk on is covered? Often an angel's mouth is spit +into, and the face of some saint trodden on by passers-by.... But if we +cannot do without the images, why can we not spare the brilliant colors? +What has all this to do with monks, with professors of poverty, with men +of spiritual minds? + +Again, in the cloisters, what is the meaning of those ridiculous +monsters, of that deformed beauty, that beautiful deformity, before the +very eyes of the brethren when reading? What are disgusting monkeys +there for, or satyrs, or ferocious lions, or monstrous centaurs, or +spotted tigers, or fighting soldiers, or huntsmen sounding the bugle? +You may see there one head with many bodies, or one body with numerous +heads. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's tail; there is a fish with a +beast's head; there a creature, in front a horse, behind a goat; another +has horns at one end, and a horse's tail at the other. In fact, such an +endless variety of forms appears everywhere, that it is more pleasant to +read in the stonework than in books, and to spend the day in admiring +these oddities than in meditating on the law of God. Good God! if we are +not ashamed of these absurdities, why do we not grieve at the cost +of them? + + +FROM HIS SERMON ON THE DEATH OF GERARD + +"As the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon."--Sol. Song i. 5 + +Perhaps both members of the comparison--viz., "As the tents of Kedar, as +the curtains of Solomon"--refer only to the first words, "I am black." +It may be, however, that the simile is extended to both clauses, and +each is compared with each. The former sense is the more simple, the +latter the more obscure. Let us try both, beginning with the latter, +which seems the more difficult. There is no difficulty, however, in the +first comparison, "I am black as the tents of Kedar," but only in the +last. For Kedar, which is interpreted to mean "darkness" or "gloom," may +be compared with blackness justly enough; but the curtains of Solomon +are not so easily likened to beauty. Moreover, who does not see that +"tents" fit harmoniously with the comparison? For what is the meaning of +"tents" except our bodies, in which we sojourn for a time? Nor have we +an abiding city, but we seek one to come. In our bodies, as under tents, +we carry on warfare. Truly, we are violent to take the kingdom. Indeed, +the life of man here on earth is a warfare; and as long as we do battle +in this body, we are absent from the Lord,--i.e., from the light. For +the Lord is light; and so far as any one is not in Him, so far he is in +darkness, i.e., in Kedar. Let each one then acknowledge the sorrowful +exclamation as his own:--"Woe is me that my sojourn is prolonged! I have +dwelt with those who dwell in Kedar. My soul hath long sojourned in a +strange land." Therefore this habitation of the body is not the mansion +of the citizen, nor the house of the native, but either the soldier's +tent or the traveler's inn. This body, I say, is a tent, and a tent of +Kedar, because, by its interference, it prevents the soul from beholding +the infinite light, nor does it allow her to see the light at all, +except through a glass darkly, and not face to face. + +Do you not see whence blackness comes to the Church--whence a certain +rust cleaves to even the fairest souls? Doubtless it comes from the +tents of Kedar, from the practice of laborious warfare, from the long +continuance of a painful sojourn, from the straits of our grievous +exile, from our feeble, cumbersome bodies; for the corruptible body +presseth down the soul, and the earthly tabernacle weigheth down the +mind that museth upon many things. Therefore the souls' desire to be +loosed, that being freed from the body they may fly into the embraces of +Christ. Wherefore one of the miserable ones said, groaning, "O wretched +man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death!" For a +soul of this kind knoweth that, while in the tents of Kedar, she cannot +be entirely free from spot or wrinkle, nor from stains of blackness, and +wishes to go forth and to put them off. And here we have the reason why +the spouse calls herself black as the tents of Kedar. But now, how is +she beautiful as the curtains of Solomon? Behind these curtains I feel +that an indescribable holiness and sublimity are veiled, which I dare +not presume to touch, save at the command of Him who shrouded and sealed +the mystery. For I have read, He that is a searcher of Majesty shall be +overwhelmed with the glory. I pass on therefore. It will devolve on you, +meanwhile, to obtain grace by your prayers, that we may the more +readily, because more confidently, recur to a subject which needs +attentive minds; and it may be that the pious knocker at the door will +discover what the bold explorer seeks in vain. + + + + +BERNARD OF CLUNY + +Twelfth Century + +BY WILLIAM C. PRIME + + +Little is known concerning the monk Bernard, sometimes called Bernard of +Morlay and sometimes Bernard of Cluny. The former name is probably +derived from the place of his origin, the latter from the fact that in +the introduction to his poem 'De Contemptu Mundi' he describes himself +as a brother of the monks of Cluny. He lived in the twelfth century, a +period of much learning in the church; and that he was himself a man of +broad scholarship and brilliant abilities, the Latin poem, his only +surviving work, abundantly testifies. + +This poem, divided into three books, consists in all of about three +thousand lines. It is introduced by a short address in prose to Father +Peter, the abbot of the monastery, in which the author describes the +peculiar operations of his mind in undertaking and accomplishing his +marvelous poem. He believes and asserts, "not arrogantly, but in all +humility and therefore boldly," that he had divine aid. "Unless the +spirit of wisdom and understanding had been with me and filled me, I had +never been able to construct so long a work in such a difficult metre." + +This metre is peculiar. In technical terms each line consists of three +parts: the first part including two dactyls, the second part two +dactyls, the third part one dactyl and one trochee. The final trochee, a +long and a short syllable, rhymes with the following or preceding line. +There is also a rhyme, in each line, of the second dactyl with the +fourth. This will be made plain to the ordinary reader by quoting the +first two lines of the poem, divided into feet:-- + + Hora no | vissima | tempora | pessima | sunt, vigi | lemus; + Ecce mi | naciter | imminet | arbiter | ille su | premus. + +The adoption of such a metre would seem to be a clog on flexibility and +force of expression. But in this poem it is not so. The author rejoices +in absolute freedom of diction. The rhythm and rhyme alike lend +themselves to the uses, now of bitter satire and revilings, now of +overpowering hope and exultant joy. + +The title scarcely gives an idea of the subject-matter of the poem. The +old Benedictine, living for the time in his cell, had nevertheless known +the world of his day, had lived in it and been of it. To him it seemed +an evil world, full of crimes, of moils, of deceits, of abominations; +the Church seemed corrupt, venal, shameless, and Rome the centre and the +soul of this accursed world. Pondering on these conditions, the monk +turned his weary gaze toward the celestial country, the country of +purity and peace, and to the King on his throne, the centre and source +of eternal beatitude. The contrast, on which he dwelt for a long time, +filled him on the one hand with burning indignation, on the other with +entrancing visions and longings. + +At last he broke out into magnificent poetry. It is not possible to +translate him into any other language than the Latin in which he wrote, +and preserve any of the grandeur and beauty which result from the union +of ardent thought with almost miraculous music of language. Dr. Neale +aptly speaks of the majestic sweetness which invests Bernard's poem. The +expression applies specially to those passages, abounding in all parts +of the poem, in which he describes the glory and the peace of the better +country. Many of these have been translated or closely imitated by Dr. +Neale, with such excellent effect that several hymns which are very +popular in churches of various denominations have been constructed from +Dr. Neale's translations. Other portions of the poem, especially those +in which the vices and crimes of the Rome of that time are denounced and +lashed with unsparing severity, have never been translated, and are not +likely ever to be, because of the impossibility of preserving in English +the peculiar force of the metre; and translation without this would be +of small value. The fire of the descriptions of heaven is increased by +the contrast in which they stand with descriptions of Rome in the +twelfth century. Here, for example, is a passage addressed to Rome:-- + + "Fas mihi dicere, fas mihi scribere 'Roma fuisti,' + Obruta moenibus, obruta moribus, occubuisti. + Urbs ruis inclita, tam modo subdita, quam prius alta: + Quo prius altior, tam modo pressior, et labefacta. + Fas mihi scribere, fas mihi dicere 'Roma, peristi.' + Sunt tua moenia vociferantia 'Roma ruisti.'" + +And here is one addressed to the City of God:-- + + "O sine luxibus, O sine luctibus, O sine lite, + Splendida curia, florida patria, patria vitae. + Urbs Syon inclita, patria condita littore tuto, + Te peto, te colo, te flagro, te volo, canto, saluto." + +While no translation exists of this remarkable work, nor indeed can be +made to reproduce the power and melody of the original, yet a very good +idea of its spirit may be had from the work of Dr. J. Mason Neale, who +made from selected portions this English poem, which is very much more +than what he modestly called it, "a close imitation." Dr. Neale has made +no attempt to reproduce the metre of the original. + +[ILLUSTRATION: signature: W.T. Prince] + + + BRIEF LIFE IS HERE OUR PORTION + + Brief life is here our portion, + Brief sorrow, short-lived care: + The Life that knows no ending, + The tearless Life, is _there_: + O happy retribution, + Short toil, eternal rest! + For mortals and for sinners + A mansion with the Blest! + That we should look, poor wanderers, + To have our home on high! + That worms should seek for dwellings + Beyond the starry sky! + And now we fight the battle, + And then we wear the Crown + Of full and everlasting + And passionless renown: + Then glory, yet unheard of, + Shall shed abroad its ray; + Resolving all enigmas, + An endless Sabbath-day. + Then, then, from his oppressors + The Hebrew shall go free, + And celebrate in triumph + The year of Jubilee: + And the sun-lit land that recks not + Of tempest or of fight + Shall fold within its bosom + Each happy Israelite. + 'Midst power that knows no limit, + And wisdom free from bound, + The Beatific Vision + Shall glad the Saints around; + And peace, for war is needless, + And rest, for storm is past, + And goal from finished labor, + And anchorage at last. + There God, my King and Portion, + In fullness of His Grace, + Shall we behold forever, + And worship face to face; + There Jacob into Israel, + From earthlier self estranged, + And Leah into Rachel + Forever shall be changed; + There all the halls of Syon + For aye shall be complete: + And in the land of Beauty + All things of beauty meet. + To thee, O dear, dear country! + Mine eyes their vigils keep; + For very love, beholding + Thy happy name, they weep: + The mention of Thy glory + Is unction to the breast, + And medicine in sickness, + And love, and life, and rest. + O one, O onely mansion! + O Paradise of joy! + Where tears are ever banished, + And smiles have no alloy: + Beside thy living waters + All plants are, great and small; + The cedar of the forest, + The hyssop of the wall; + With jaspers glow thy bulwarks, + Thy streets with emeralds blaze; + The sardius and the topaz + Unite in thee their rays; + Thine ageless walls are bonded + With amethyst unpriced; + Thy saints build up its fabric, + And the Corner-stone is CHRIST. + Thou hast no shore, fair Ocean! + Thou hast no time, bright Day! + Dear fountain of refreshment + To pilgrims far away! + Upon the Rock of Ages + They raise thy holy Tower. + Thine is the Victor's laurel, + And thine the golden dower. + Thou feel'st in mystic rapture, + O Bride that know'st no guile, + The Prince's sweetest kisses, + The Prince's loveliest smile. + Unfading lilies, bracelets + Of living pearl, thine own; + The Lamb is ever near thee, + The Bridegroom thine alone; + And all thine endless leisure + In sweetest accents sings + The ills that were thy merit, + The joys that are thy King's. + Jerusalem the golden! + With milk and honey blest, + Beneath thy contemplation + Sink heart and voice opprest; + I know not, oh, I know not + What social joys are there, + What radiancy of glory, + What light beyond compare; + And when I fain would sing them, + My spirit fails and faints, + And vainly would it image + The assembly of the Saints. + They stand, those halls of Syon, + All jubilant with song, + And bright with many an Angel, + And many a Martyr throng; + The Prince is ever in them, + The light is aye serene; + The Pastures of the Blessed + Are decked in glorious sheen; + There is the Throne of David, + And there, from toil released, + The shout of them that triumph, + The song of them that feast; + And they, beneath their Leader, + Who conquered in the fight, + For ever and for ever + Are clad in robes of white. + Jerusalem the glorious! + The glory of the elect, + O dear and future vision + That eager hearts expect: + Ev'n now by faith I see thee, + Ev'n here thy walls discern; + To thee my thoughts are kindled + And strive and pant and yearn: + Jerusalem the onely, + That look'st from Heav'n below, + In thee is all my glory, + In me is all my woe: + And though my body may not, + My spirit seeks thee fain; + Till flesh and earth return me + To earth and flesh again. + O Land that seest no sorrow! + O State that fear'st no strife! + O princely bowers! O Land of flowers! + O realm and Home of Life! + + + + +JULIANA BERNERS + +(Fifteenth Century) + + +About the year 1475 one William Caxton, a prosperous English wool +merchant of good standing and repute, began printing books. The art +which he introduced into his native country was quickly taken up by +others; first, it seems, by certain monks at St. Albans, and shortly +afterward by Wynkyn de Worde, who had been an apprentice to Caxton. In +1486 the press at St. Albans issued two books printed in English, of +which one was entitled 'The Boke of St. Albans.' Of this volume only +three perfect copies are known to exist. It is a compilation of +treatises on hawking, on hunting, and on heraldry, and contained but +little evidence as to their authorship. Ten years later Wynkyn de Worde +reprinted the work with additions, under the following elaborate title, +in the fashion of the time:--'Treatyse perteynynge to Hawkynge, +Huntynge, and Fysshynge with an Angle; also a right noble Treatyse on +the Lynage of Coote Armeris; ending with a Treatyse which specyfyeth of +Blasyng of Armys.' + +[Illustration: JULIANA BERNERS] + +The authorship of this volume, one of the earliest books printed in the +English language, has generally been ascribed to a certain (or +uncertain) Juliana Berners, Bernes, or Barnes, who lived in the early +part of the fifteenth century, and who is reputed to have been prioress +of the Nunnery of Sopwell,--long since in ruins,--near St. Albans, and +close to the little river Ver, which still conceals in its quiet pools +the speckled trout. If this attribution be correct, Dame Berners was the +first woman to write a book in English. Although the question of the +authorship is by no means settled, yet it is clear that the printer +believed the treatise on hunting to have been written by this lady, and +the critics now generally assign a portion at least of the volume to +her. In the sixteenth century the book became very popular, and was +reprinted many times. + +Of the several treatises it contains, that on fishing has the greatest +interest, an interest increased by the fact that it probably suggested +'The Compleat Angler' of Izaak Walton, which appeared one hundred and +sixty years later. + + +HERE BEGYNNYTH + +THE TREATYSE OF FYSSHYNGE WYTH AN ANGLE + +Salomon in his parablys sayth that a glad spyryte makyth a flourynge +aege, that is a fayre aege and a longe. And syth it is soo: I aske this +questyon, whiche ben the meanes and the causes that enduce a man in to a +mery spyryte: Truly to my beste dyscrecon it seemeth good dysportes and +honest gamys in whom a man Joyeth without any repentaunce after. + +Thenne folowyth it yt gode dysportes and honest games ben cause of +mannys fayr aege and longe life. And therefore now woll I chose of foure +good disportes and honest gamys, that is to wyte: of huntynge: hawkynge: +fysshynge: and foulynge. The best to my symple dyscrecon whyche is +fysshynge: called Anglynge wyth a rodde: and a lyne and an hoke. And +thereof to treate as my symple wytte may suffyce: both for the said +reason of Salomon and also for the reason that phisyk makyth in this +wyse. _Si tibi deficiant medici tibi fiant: hec tria mens leta labor et +moderata dieta_. Ye shall vnderstonde that this is for to saye, Yf a man +lacke leche or medicyne he shall make thre thynges his leche and +medicyne: and he shall nede neuer no moo. The fyrste of theym is a mery +thought. The seconde is labour not outrageo. The thyrd is dyete +mesurable.... + +Here folowyth the order made to all those whiche shall haue the +vnderstondynge of this forsayd treatyse & vse it for theyr pleasures. + +Ye that can angle & take fysshe to your pleasures as this forsayd +treatyse techyth & shewyth you: I charge & requyre you in the name of +alle noble men that ye fysshe not in noo poore mannes seuerall water: as +his ponde: stewe: or other necessary thynges to kepe fysshe in wythout +his lycence & good wyll. Nor that ye vse not to breke noo mannys gynnys +lyenge in theyr weares & in other places dve vuto theym. Ne to take the +fysshe awaye that is taken in theym. For after a fysshe is taken in a +mannys gynne yf the gynne be layed in the comyn waters: or elles in +suche waters as he hireth, it is his owne propre goodes. And yf ye take +it awaye ye robbe hym: whyche is a ryght shamfull dede to ony noble man +to do yt that theuys & brybours done: whyche are punysshed for theyr +evyll dedes by the necke & other wyse whan they maye be aspyed & taken. +And also yf ye do in lyke manere as this treatise shewyth you: ye shal +haue no nede to take of other menys: whiles ye shal haue ynough of your +owne takyng yf ye lyste to labour therfore. Whyche shall be to you a +very pleasure to se the fayr bryght shynynge scalyd fysshes dysceyved by +your crafty meanes & drawen vpon londe. Also that ye breke noo mannys +heggys in goynge abowte your dysportes: ne opyn noo mannes gates but +that ye shytte theym agayn. Also ye shall not vse this forsayd crafty +dysporte for no covety senes to thencreasynge & sparynge of your money +oonly, but pryncypally for your solace & to cause the helthe of your +body, and specyally of your soule. For whanne ye purpoos to goo on your +disportes in fysshyng ye woll not desyre gretly many persones wyth you, +whiche myghte lette you of your game. And thenne ye maye serue God +deuowtly in sayenge affectuously youre custumable prayer. And thus +doynge ye shall eschewe & voyde many vices, as ydylnes whyche is +pryncypall cause to enduce man to many other vyces, as it is ryght +well knowen. + +Also ye shall not be to rauenous in takyng of your sayd game as to moche +at one tyme: whyche ye maye lyghtly doo, yf ye doo in euery poynt as +this present treatyse shewyth you in euery poynt, whyche lyghtly be +occasyon to dystroye your owne dysportes & other mennys also. As whan ye +haue a suffycyent mese ye sholde coveyte nomore as at that tyme. Also ye +shall besye yourselfe to nouryssh the game in all that ye maye: & to +dystroye all such thynges as ben devourers of it. And all those that +done after this rule shall haue the blessynge of god & saynt Petyr, +whyche be theym graunte that wyth his precyous blood vs boughte. + +And for by cause that this present treatyse sholde not come to the +hondys of eche ydle persone whyche wolde desire it yf it were enpryntyd +allone by itself & put in a lytyll plaunflet therfore I have compylyd it +in a greter volume of dyverse bokys concernynge to gentyll & noble men +to the entent that the forsayd ydle persones whyche sholde have but +lytyll mesure in the sayd dysporte of fyshyng sholde not by this meane +utterly dystroye it. + +EMPRYNTED AT WESTMESTRE BY WYNKYN THE WORDE THE YERE THYN-CARNACON OF +OUR LORD M.CCCC.LXXXXVI. + +Reprinted by Thomas White, Crane Court + +MDCCCXXVII. + + + + +WALTER BESANT + +(1838-) + + +Walter Besant, born in Portsmouth, England, in 1838, did not begin his +career as a novelist till he was thirty years old. His preparation for +the works that possess so certain a maturity of execution, with as +certain an ideal of performance, was made at King's College, London, and +afterwards at Christ's College, Cambridge, where he took mathematical +honors. Abandoning his idea of entering the Church, he taught for seven +years in the Royal College of Mauritius. Ill health compelled his return +to England, and he then took up literature as a profession. His first +novel he had the courage to burn when the first publisher to whom he +showed it refused it. + +But the succeeding years brought forth 'Studies in Early French Poetry,' +a delicate and scholarly series of essays; an edition of Rabelais, of +whom he is the biographer and disciple, and, with Professor Palmer, a +'History of Jerusalem,' a work for which he had equipped himself when +secretary of the Palestine Exploration Fund. + +[Illustration: WALTER BESANT] + +Mr. Besant was also a student in another special field. He knew his +Dickens as no other undergraduate in the University knew that branch of +polite literature, and passed an examination on the 'Pickwick Papers' +which the author declared that he himself would have failed in. By these +processes Mr. Besant fitted himself mentally and socially for the task +of story-telling. The relations of a man of letters to the rest of the +world are comprehensively revealed in the long list of his novels. + +From the beginning he was one who comes with a tale "which holdeth +children from play and old men from the chimney corner"; nor is the +charm lessened by the sense of a living and kindly voice addressing the +hearer. His novels are easy reading, and do not contain an obscure +sentence. As art is an expression of the artist's mind, and not a rigid +ecclesiastical canon, it may be expressed in as many formulas as there +are artists. Therefore, while to few readers life casts the rosy +reflection that we have learned to call Besantine, one would not wish it +to disappear nor to be discredited. + +It was in the year 1869 that Walter Besant, by a happy chance, made the +acquaintance of James Rice, the editor of Once a Week, and became a +contributor to that magazine. In 1871 that literary partnership between +them began, which is interesting in the history of collaboration. Mr. +Rice had been a barrister, and added legal lore to Mr. Besant's varied +and accurate literary equipment. The brilliant series of novels that +followed includes 'Ready-Money Morti-boy,' 'My Little Girl,' 'With Harp +and Crown,' 'The Golden Butterfly,' 'The Seamy Side,' and 'The Chaplain +of the Fleet.' The latter story, that of an innocent young country girl +left to the guardianship of her uncle, chaplain of the Fleet prison, by +the death of her father, is delicately and surprisingly original. The +influence of Dickens is felt in the structure of the story, and the +faithful, almost photographic fidelity to locality betrays in whose +footsteps the authors have followed; but the chaplain, though he belongs +to a family whose features are familiar to the readers of 'Little +Dorrit' and 'Great Expectations,' has not existed until he appears in +these pages,--pompous, clever, and without principle, but not lacking in +natural affection. The young girl whose guileless belief in everybody +forces the worst people to assume the characters her purity and +innocence endows them with, is to the foul prison what Picciola was to +Charney. Nor will the moralist find fault with the author whose kind +heart teaches him to include misfortune in his catalogue of virtues. + +Mr. Rice died in 1882, and 'All Sorts and Conditions of Men,' Mr. +Besant's first independent novel, appeared the same year. It is a novel +with a purpose, and accomplished its purpose because an artist's hand +was necessary to paint the picture of East London that met with such a +response as the People's Palace. The appeal to philanthropy was a new +one. It was a plea for a little more of the pleasures and graces of life +for the two million of people who inhabit the east end of the great +city. It is not a picture of life in the lowest phases, where the scenes +are as dramatic as in the highest social world, but a story of human +life; the nobility, the meanness, the pathos of it in hopelessly +commonplace surroundings, where the fight is not a hand-to-hand struggle +with bitter poverty or crime, but with dullness and monotony. The +characters in 'All Sorts and Conditions of Men' are possibly more +typical than real, but one hesitates to question either characters or +situation. The "impossible story" has become true, and the vision that +the enthusiastic young hero and heroine dream has materialized into a +lovely reality. + +'The Children of Gibeon' (1884) and 'The World Went Very Well Then' +(1885) are written with the same philanthropic purpose; but if Sir +Walter Besant were not first of all a story-teller, the possessor of a +living voice that holds one spellbound till he has finished his tale, +the reader would be more sensible of the wide knowledge of the novelist, +and his familiarity with life in its varied forms. + +Here are about thirty novels, displaying an intimate knowledge of many +crafts, trades, and professions, the ways of landsman and voyager, of +country and town, of the new world and the old, of modern charlatanism +as shown in 'Herr Paulus,' of the "woman question" among London Jews as +in the 'Rebel Queen,' and the suggestion of the repose and sufficiency +of life's simple needs as told in 'Call Her Mine' and 'Celia's Arbor.' + +In the 'Ivory Gate' the hero is the victim of a remarkable +hallucination; in the story of 'The Inner House' the plummet of +suggestion plunges into depths not sounded before, and the soul's +regeneration is unfolded in the loveliest of parables. + +The range of Sir Walter Besant reaches from the somewhat +conventionalized 'Dorothy Forster' to 'St. Katharine's Tower,' where +deep tragedy approaches the melodramatic, or from the fascination of +'The Master Craftsman' to the 'Wapping Idyll' of the heaps of miser's +treasure. There is largeness of stroke in this list, and a wide +prospect. His humor is of the cheerful outdoor kind, and the laugh is at +foibles rather than weakness. He pays little attention to fashion in +literature, except to give a good-natured nod to a passing fad. + +It would be difficult to classify him under any school. His stories are +not analytical, nor is one conscious of that painstaking fidelity to art +which is no longer classed among the minor virtues. When he fights, it +is with wrong and oppression and the cheerless monotony of the lives of +the poor; but he fights classes rather than individuals, although +certain characters like Fielding the plagiarist, in 'Armorel of +Lyonesse,' are studied from life. The village of bankrupts in 'All in a +Garden Fair' is a whimsical conceit, like the disguise of Angela in 'All +Sorts and Conditions of Men,' and the double identity of Edmund Gray in +'The Ivory Gate.' In reading Besant we are constantly reminded that +humanity is wider than the world; and though its simplest facts are its +greatest, there is both interest and edification in eccentricities. + +In 1895 he was made a baronet, and is president of the Society of +Authors, of whom he has been a gallant champion against the publishers. + + +OLD-TIME LONDON + +From Sir Walter Besant's 'London': Harper and Brothers + +The London house, either in Saxon or Norman time, presented no kind of +resemblance to the Roman villa. It had no cloisters, no hypocaust, no +suite or sequence of rooms. This unlikeness is another proof, if any +were wanting, that the continuity of tenure had been wholly broken. If +the Saxons went into London, as has been suggested, peaceably, and left +the people to carry on their old life and their trade in their own way, +the Roman and British architecture--no new thing, but a style grown up +in course of years and found fitted to the climate--would certainly have +remained. That, however, was not the case. The Englishman developed his +house from the patriarchal idea. + +First, there was the common hall; in this the household lived, fed, +transacted business, and made their cheer in the evenings. It was built +of timber, and to keep out the cold draughts it was afterwards lined +with tapestry. At first they used simple cloths, which in great houses +were embroidered and painted; _perches_ of various kinds were affixed to +the walls, whereon the weapons, the musical instruments, the cloaks, +etc., were hung up. The lord and lady sat on a high seat; not, I am +inclined to think, on a dais at the end of the hall, which would have +been cold for them, but on a great chair near the fire, which was +burning in the middle of the hall. This fashion long continued. I have +myself seen a college hall warmed by a fire in a brazier burning under +the lantern of the hall. The furniture consisted of benches; the table +was laid on trestles, spread with a white cloth, and removed after +dinner; the hall was open to all who came, on condition that the guest +should leave his weapons at the door. + +The floor was covered with reeds, which made a clean, soft, and warm +carpet, on which the company could, if they pleased, lie round the fire. +They had carpets or rugs also, but reeds were commonly used. The +traveler who chances to find himself at the ancient and most interesting +town of Kingston-on-Hull, which very few English people, and still fewer +Americans, have the curiosity to explore, should visit the Trinity +House. There, among many interesting things, he will find a hall where +reeds are still spread, but no longer so thickly as to form a complete +carpet. I believe this to be the last survival of the reed carpet. + +The times of meals were: the breakfast at about nine; the "noon-meat," +or dinner, at twelve; and the "even-meat," or supper, probably at a +movable time, depending on the length of the day. When lighting was +costly and candles were scarce, the hours of sleep would be naturally +longer in winter than in the summer. + +In their manner of living the Saxons were fond of vegetables, especially +of the leek, onion, and garlic. Beans they also had (these were +introduced probably at the time when they commenced intercourse with the +outer world), pease, radishes, turnips, parsley, mint, sage, cress, rue, +and other herbs. They had nearly all our modern fruits, though many show +by their names, which are Latin or Norman, a later introduction. They +made use of butter, honey, and cheese. They drank ale and mead. The +latter is still made, but in small quantities, in Somerset and Hereford +shires. The Normans brought over the custom of drinking wine. + +In the earliest times the whole family slept in the common hall. The +first improvement was the erection of the solar, or upper chamber. This +was above the hall, or a portion of it, or over the kitchen and buttery +attached to the hall. The arrangement may be still observed in many of +the old colleges of Oxford or Cambridge. The solar was first the +sleeping-room of the lord and lady; though afterward it served not only +this purpose, but also for an ante-chamber to the dormitory of the +daughters and the maid-servants. The men of the household still slept in +the hall below. Later on, bed recesses were contrived in the wall, as +one may find in Northumberland at the present day. The bed was commonly, +but not for the ladies of the house, merely a big bag stuffed with +straw. A sheet wrapped round the body formed the only night-dress. But +there were also pillows, blankets, and coverlets. The early English bed +was quite as luxurious as any that followed after, until the invention +of the spring mattress gave a new and hitherto unhoped-for joy to the +hours of night. + +The second step in advance was the ladies' bower, a room or suite of +rooms set apart for the ladies of the house and their women. For the +first time, as soon as this room was added, the women could follow their +own vocations of embroidery, spinning, and needlework of all kinds, +apart from the rough and noisy talk of the men. + +The main features, therefore, of every great house, whether in town or +country, from the seventh to the twelfth century, were the hall, the +solar built over the kitchen and buttery, and the ladies' bower. + +There was also the garden. In all times the English have been fond of +gardens. Bacon thought it not beneath his dignity to order the +arrangement of a garden. Long before Bacon, a writer of the twelfth +century describes a garden as it should be. "It should be adorned on +this side with roses, lilies, and the marigold; on that side with +parsley, cost, fennel, southernwood, coriander, sage, savery, hyssop, +mint, vine, dettany, pellitory, lettuce, cresses, and the peony. Let +there be beds enriched with onions, leeks, garlic, melons, and +scallions. The garden is also enriched by the cucumber, the soporiferous +poppy, and the daffodil, and the acanthus. Nor let pot herbs be wanting, +as beet-root, sorrel, and mallow. It is useful also to the gardener to +have anise, mustard, and wormwood.... A noble garden will give you +medlars, quinces, the pear main, peaches, pears of St. Regle, +pomegranates, citrons, oranges, almonds, dates, and figs." The latter +fruits were perhaps attempted, but one doubts their arriving at +ripeness. Perhaps the writer sets down what he hoped would be some +day achieved. + +The indoor amusements of the time were very much like our own. We have a +little music in the evening; so did our forefathers. We sometimes have a +little dancing; so did they, but the dancing was done for them. We go to +the theatres to see the mime; in their days the mime made his theatre in +the great man's hall. He played the fiddle and the harp; he sang songs, +he brought his daughter, who walked on her hands and executed +astonishing capers; the gleeman, minstrel, or jongleur was already as +disreputable as when we find him later on with his _ribauderie_. Again, +we play chess; so did our ancestors. We gamble with dice; so did they. +We feast and drink together; so did they. We pass the time in talk; so +did they. In a word, as Alphonse Karr put it, the more we change, the +more we remain the same. + +Out-of-doors, as Fitz-Stephen shows, the young men skated, wrestled, +played ball, practiced archery, held water tournaments, baited bull and +bear, fought cocks, and rode races. They were also mustered sometimes +for service in the field, and went forth cheerfully, being specially +upheld by the reassuring consciousness that London was always on the +winning side. + +The growth of the city government belongs to the history of London. +Suffice it here to say that the people in all times enjoyed a freedom +far above that possessed by any other city of Europe. The history of +municipal London is a history of continual struggle to maintain this +freedom against all attacks, and to extend it and to make it +impregnable. Already the people are proud, turbulent, and confident in +their own strength. They refuse to own any other lord but the king +himself; there is no Earl of London. They freely hold their free and +open meetings, their folk-motes,--in the open space outside the +northwest corner of St. Paul's Churchyard. That they lived roughly, +enduring cold, sleeping in small houses in narrow courts; that they +suffered much from the long darkness of winter; that they were always in +danger of fevers, agues, "putrid" throats, plagues, fires by night, and +civil wars; that they were ignorant of letters,--three schools only for +the whole of London,--all this may very well be understood. But these +things do not make men and women wretched. They were not always +suffering from preventable disease; they were not always hauling their +goods out of the flames; they were not always fighting. The first and +most simple elements of human happiness are three; to wit, that a man +should be in bodily health, that he should be free, that he should enjoy +the produce of his own labor. All these things the Londoner possessed +under the Norman kings nearly as much as in these days they can be +possessed. His city has always been one of the healthiest in the world; +whatever freedom could be attained he enjoyed; and in that rich trading +town all men who worked lived in plenty. + +The households, the way of living, the occupations of the women, can be +clearly made out in every detail from the Anglo-Saxon literature. The +women in the country made the garments, carded the wool, sheared the +sheep, washed the things, beat the flax, ground the corn, sat at the +spinning-wheel, and prepared the food. In the towns they had no shearing +to do, but all the rest of their duty fell to their province. The +English women excelled in embroidery. "English" work meant the best kind +of work. They worked church vestments with gold and pearls and precious +stones. "Orfrey," or embroidery in gold, was a special art. Of course +they are accused by the ecclesiastics of an overweening desire to wear +finery; they certainly curled their hair, and, one is sorry to read, +they painted, and thereby spoiled their pretty cheeks. If the man was +the hlaf-ord [lord],--the owner or winner of the loaf,--the wife was the +hlaf-dig [lady], its distributor; the servants and the retainers were +hlaf-oetas, or eaters of it. When nunneries began to be founded, the +Saxon ladies in great numbers forsook the world for the cloister. And +here they began to learn Latin, and became able at least to carry on +correspondence--specimens of which still exist--in that language. Every +nunnery possessed a school for girls. They were taught to read and to +write their own language and Latin, perhaps also rhetoric and +embroidery. As the pious Sisters were fond of putting on violet +chemises, tunics, and vests of delicate tissue, embroidered with silver +and gold, and scarlet shoes, there was probably not much mortification +of the flesh in the nunneries of the later Saxon times. + +This for the better class. We cannot suppose that the daughters of the +craftsmen became scholars of the nunnery. Theirs were the lower +walks--to spin the linen and to make the bread and carry on the +housework. + + +THE SYNAGOGUE + +From 'The Rebel Queen': Harper and Brothers + + "D'un jour interieur je me sens eclaire, + Et j'entends une voix qui me dit d'esperer."--LAMARTINE. + +"Are you ready, Francesca?" + +Nelly ran lightly down the narrow stairs, dressed for Sabbath and +Synagogue. She was dainty and pretty at all times in the matter of +dress, but especially on a summer day, which affords opportunity for +bright color and bright drapery and an ethereal appearance. This morning +she was full of color and light. When, however, she found herself +confronted with Francesca's simple gray dress, so closely fitting, so +faultless, and her black-lace hat with its single rose for color, +Nelly's artistic sense caused her heart to sink like lead. It is not for +nothing that one learns and teaches the banjo; one Art leads to another; +she who knows music can feel for dress. "Oh!" she cried, clasping her +hands. "That's what we can never do!" + +"What?" + +"That fit! Look at me! Yet they call me clever. Clara gives me the new +fashions and I copy them, and the girls in our street copy me--poor +things!--and the dressmaker comes to talk things over and to learn from +me. I make everything for myself. And they call me clever! But I can't +get near it; and if I can't nobody can."... + +A large detached structure of red brick stood east and west, with a flat +facade and round windows that bore out the truth of the +date--1700--carved upon the front. A word or two in that square +character--that tongue which presents so few attractions to most of us +compared with other tongues--probably corroborated the internal evidence +of the facade and the windows. + +"This is the synagogue," said Nelly. She entered, and turning to the +right, led the way up-stairs to a gallery running along the whole side +of the building. On the other side was another gallery. In front of both +was a tolerably wide grill, through which the congregation below could +be seen perfectly. + +"This is the women's gallery," whispered Nell--there were not many women +present. "We'll sit in the front. Presently they will sing. They sing +beautifully. Now they're reading prayers and the Law. They've got to +read the whole Law through once a week, you know." Francesca looked +curiously through the grill. When one is in a perfectly strange place, +the first observations made are of small and unimportant things. She +observed that there was a circular inclosure at the east end, as if for +an altar; but there was no altar: two doors indicated a cupboard in the +wall. There were six tall wax-lights burning round the inclosure, +although the morning was fine and bright. At the west end a high screen +kept the congregation from the disturbance of those who entered or went +out. Within the screen was a company of men and boys, all with their +hats and caps on their heads; they looked like the choir. In front of +the choir was a platform railed round. Three chairs were placed at the +back of the platform. There was a table covered with red velvet, on +which lay the book of the Law, a ponderous roll of parchment provided +with silver staves or handles. Before this desk or table stood the +Reader. He was a tall and handsome man, with black hair and full black +beard, about forty years of age. He wore a gown and large Geneva bands, +like a Presbyterian minister; on his head he had a kind of biretta. Four +tall wax candles were placed round the front of the platform. The chairs +were occupied by two or three elders. A younger man stood at the desk +beside the Reader. The service was already begun--it was, in fact, +half over. + +Francesca observed next that all the men wore a kind of broad scarf, +made of some white stuff about eight feet long and four feet broad. +Bands of black or blue were worked in the ends, which were also provided +with fringes. "It is the Talleth," Nelly whispered. Even the boys wore +this white robe, the effect of which would have been very good but for +the modern hat, tall or pot, which spoiled all. Such a robe wants a +turban above it, not an English hat. The seats were ranged along the +synagogue east and west. The place was not full, but there were a good +many worshipers. The service was chanted by the Reader. It was a kind of +chant quite new and strange to Francesca. Like many young persons +brought up with no other religion than they can pick up for themselves, +she was curious and somewhat learned in the matter of ecclesiastical +music and ritual, which she approached, owing to her education, with +unbiased mind. She knew masses and anthems and hymns and chants of all +kinds; never had she heard anything of this kind before. It was not +congregational, or Gregorian; nor was it repeated by the choir from +side to side; nor was it a monotone with a drop at the end; nor was it a +florid, tuneful chant such as one may hear in some Anglican services. +This Reader, with a rich, strong voice, a baritone of great power, took +nearly the whole of the service--it must have been extremely +fatiguing--upon himself, chanting it from beginning to end. No doubt, as +he rendered the reading and the prayers, so they had been given by his +ancestors in Spain and Portugal generation after generation, back into +the times when they came over in Phoenician ships to the Carthaginian +colonies, even before the dispersion of the Ten Tribes. It was a +traditional chant of antiquity beyond record--not a monotonous chant. +Francesca knew nothing of the words; she grew tired of trying to make +out whereabouts on the page the Reader might be in the book lent her, +which had Hebrew on one side and English on the other. Besides, the man +attracted her--by his voice, by his energy, by his appearance. She +closed her book and surrendered herself to the influence of the voice +and the emotions which it expressed. + +There was no music to help him. From time to time the men in the +congregation lifted up their voices--not seemingly in response, but as +if moved to sudden passion and crying out with one accord. This helped +him a little, otherwise he was without any assistance. + +A great Voice. The man sometimes leaned over the Roll of the Law, +sometimes he stood upright, always his great Voice went up and down and +rolled along the roof and echoed along the benches of the women's +gallery. Now the Voice sounded a note of rejoicing; now, but less often, +a note of sadness; now it was a sharp and sudden cry of triumph. Then +the people shouted with him--it was as if they clashed sword on shield +and yelled for victory; now it was a note of defiance, as when men go +forth to fight an enemy; now it sank to a murmur, as of one who consoles +and soothes and promises things to come; now it was a note of rapture, +as if the Promised Land was already recovered. + +Was all that in the Voice? Did the congregation, all sitting wrapped in +their white robes, feel these emotions as the Voice thundered and +rolled? I know not. Such was the effect produced upon one who heard this +Voice for the first time. At first it seemed loud, even barbaric; there +was lacking something which the listener and stranger had learned to +associate with worship. What was it? Reverence? But she presently found +reverence In plenty, only of a kind that differed from that of Christian +worship. Then the listener made another discovery. In this ancient +service she missed the note of humiliation. There was no Litany at a +Faldstool. There was no kneeling in abasement; there was no appearance +of penitence, sorrow, or the confession of sins. The Voice was as the +Voice of a Captain exhorting his soldiers to fight. The service was +warlike, the service of a people whose trust in their God is so great +that they do not need to call perpetually upon Him for the help and +forgiveness of which they are assured. Yes, yes--she thought--this is +the service of a race of warriors; they are fighting men: the Lord is +their God; He is leading them to battle: as for little sins, and +backslidings, and penitences, they belong to the Day of Atonement--which +comes once a year. For all the other days in the year, battle and +victory occupy all the mind. The service of a great fighting people; a +service full of joy, full of faith, full of assurance, full of hope and +confidence--such assurance as few Christians can understand, and of +faith to which few Christians can attain. Perhaps Francesca was wrong; +but these were her first impressions, and these are mostly true. + +In the body of the synagogue men came late. Under one gallery was a +school of boys, in the charge of a graybeard, who, book in hand, +followed the service with one eye, while he admonished perpetually the +boys to keep still and to listen. The boys grew restless; it was tedious +to them--the Voice which expressed so much to the stranger who knew no +Hebrew at all was tedious to the children; they were allowed to get up +and run into the court outside and then to come back again; nobody +heeded their going in and out. One little boy of three, wrapped, like +the rest, in a white Talleth, ran up and down the side aisle without +being heeded--even by the splendid Beadle with the gold-laced hat, which +looked so truly wonderful above the Oriental Talleth. The boys in the +choir got up and went in and out just as they pleased. Nobody minded. +The congregation, mostly well-to-do men with silk hats, sat in their +places, book in hand, and paid no attention. + +Under the opposite gallery sat two or three rows of worshipers, who +reminded Francesca of Browning's poem of St. John's Day at Rome. For +they nudged and jostled each other; they whispered things; they even +laughed over the things they whispered. But they were clad like those in +the open part in the Talleth, and they sat book in hand, and from time +to time they raised their voices with the congregation. They showed no +reverence except that they did not talk or laugh loudly. They were like +the children, their neighbors,--just as restless, just as uninterested, +just as perfunctory. Well, they were clearly the poorer and the more +ignorant part of the community. They came here and sat through the +service because they were ordered so to do; because, like Passover, and +the Feast of Tabernacles, and the Fast of Atonement, it was the Law of +their People. + +The women in the gallery sat or stood. They neither knelt nor sang +aloud; they only sat when it was proper to sit, or stood when it was +proper to stand. They were like the women, the village women, in a +Spanish or Italian church, for whom everything is done. Francesca, for +the moment, felt humiliated that she should be compelled to sit apart +from the congregation, railed off in the women's gallery, to have her +religion done for her, without a voice of her own in it at all. So, I +have heard, indignation sometimes fills the bosom of certain ladies when +they reflect upon the fact that they are excluded from the choir, and +forbidden even to play the organ in their own parish church. + +The chanting ceased; the Reader sat down. Then the Choir began. They +sang a hymn--a Hebrew hymn--the rhythm and metre were not English; the +music was like nothing that can be heard in a Christian Church. "It is +the music," said Nelly, "to which the Israelites crossed the Red Sea:" a +bold statement, but--why not? If the music is not of Western origin and +character, who can disprove such an assertion? After the hymn the +prayers and reading went on again. + +There came at last--it is a long service, such as we poor weak-kneed +Anglicans could not endure--the end. There was a great bustle and +ceremony on the platform; they rolled up the Roll of the Law; they +wrapped it in a purple velvet cloth; they hung over it a silver +breastplate set with twelve jewels for the Twelve Tribes--in memory of +the Urim and Thummim. Francesca saw that the upper ends of the staves +were adorned with silver pomegranates and with silver bells, and they +placed it in the arms of one of those who had been reading the law; then +a procession was formed, and they walked, while the Choir sang one of +the Psalms of David--but not in the least like the same Psalm sung in +an English Cathedral--bearing the Roll of the Law to the Ark, that is to +say, to the cupboard, behind the railing and inclosure at the east end. + +The Reader came back. Then with another chanted Prayer--it sounded like +a prolonged shout of continued Triumph--he ended his part of +the service. + +And then the choir sang the last hymn--a lovely hymn, not in the least +like a Christian, or at least an English hymn--a psalm that breathed a +tranquil hope and a perfect faith. One needed no words to understand the +full meaning and beauty and depth of that hymn. + +The service was finished. The men took off their white scarfs and folded +them up. They stood and talked in groups for a few minutes, gradually +melting away. As for the men under the gallery, who had been whispering +and laughing, they trooped out of the synagogue all together. Evidently, +to them the service was only a form. What is it, in any religion, but a +form, to the baser sort? + +The Beadle put out the lights. Nelly led the way down the stairs. +Thinking of what the service had suggested to herself--- all those +wonderful things above enumerated--Francesca wondered what it meant to a +girl who heard it every Sabbath morning. But she refrained from asking. +Custom too often takes the symbolism out of the symbols and the poetry +out of the verse. Then the people begin to worship the symbols and make +a fetich of the words. We have seen this elsewhere--in other forms of +faith. Outside they found Emanuel. They had not seen him in the +congregation, probably because it is difficult to recognize a man merely +by the top of his hat. + +"Come," he said, "let us look around the place. Afterwards, perhaps, we +will talk of our Service. This synagogue is built on the site of the one +erected by Manasseh and his friends when Oliver Cromwell permitted them +to return to London after four hundred years of exile. They were forced +to wear yellow hats at first, but that ordinance soon fell into disuse, +like many other abominable laws. When you read about mediaeval laws, +Francesca, remember that when they were cruel or stupid they were seldom +carried into effect, because the arm of the executive was weak. Who was +there to oblige the Jews to wear the yellow hat? The police? There were +no police. The people? What did the people care about the yellow hat? +When the Fire burned down London, sparing not even the great Cathedral, +to say nothing of the Synagogue, this second Temple arose, equal in +splendor to the first. At that time all the Jews in London were +Sephardim of Spain and Portugal and Italy. Even now there are many of +the people here who speak nothing among themselves but Spanish, just as +there are Askenazim who speak nothing among themselves but Yiddish. Come +with me; I will show you something that will please you." + +He led the way into another flagged court, larger than the first. There +were stone staircases, mysterious doorways, paved passages, a suggestion +of a cloister, an open space or square, and buildings on all sides with +windows opening upon the court. + +"It doesn't look English at all," said Francesca. "I have seen something +like it in a Spanish convent. With balconies and a few bright hangings +and a black-haired woman at the open windows, and perhaps a coat of arms +carved upon the wall, it would do for part of a Spanish street. It is a +strange place to find in the heart of London." + +"You see the memory of the Peninsula. What were we saying yesterday? +Spain places her own seal upon everything that belongs to her--people, +buildings, all. What you see here is the central Institute of our +People, the Sephardim--the Spanish part of our People. Here is our +synagogue, here are schools, alms-houses, residence of the Rabbi, and +all sorts of things. You can come here sometimes and think of Spain, +where your ancestors lived. Many generations in Spain have made you--as +they have made me--a Spaniard." + +They went back to the first court. On their way out, as they passed the +synagogue, there came running across the court a girl of fifteen or so. +She was bareheaded; a mass of thick black hair was curled round her +shapely head; her figure was that of an English girl of twenty; her eyes +showed black and large and bright as she glanced at the group standing +in the court; her skin was dark; she was oddly and picturesquely dressed +in a grayish-blue skirt, with a bright crimson open jacket. The color +seemed literally to strike the eye. The girl disappeared under a +doorway, leaving a picture of herself in Francesca's mind--a picture to +be remembered. + +"A Spanish Jewess," said Emanuel. "An Oriental. She chooses by instinct +the colors that her great-grandmother might have worn to grace the +triumph of David the King." + + + + +BESTIARIES AND LAPIDARIES + +BY L. OSCAR KUHNS + + +One of the marked features of literary investigation during the present +century is the interest which it has manifested in the Middle Ages. Not +only have specialists devoted themselves to the detailed study of the +Sagas of the North and the great cycles of Romance in France and +England, but the stories of the Edda, of the Nibelungen, and of +Charlemagne and King Arthur have become popularized, so that to-day they +are familiar to the general reader. There is one class of literature, +however, which was widespread and popular during the Middle Ages, but +which is to-day known only to the student,--that is, the so-called +Bestiaries and Lapidaries, or collections of stories and superstitions +concerning the marvelous attributes of animals and of precious stones. + +The basis of all Bestiaries is the Greek Physiologus, the origin of +which can be traced back to the second century before Christ. It was +undoubtedly largely influenced by the zooelogy of the Bible; and in the +references to the Ibex, the Phoenix, and the tree Paradixion, traces of +Oriental and old Greek superstitions can be seen. It was from the Latin +versions of the Greek original that translations were made into nearly +all European languages. There are extant to-day, whole or in fragments, +Bestiaries in German, Old English, Old French, Provencal, Icelandic, +Italian, Bohemian, and even Armenian, Ethiopic, and Syriac. These +various versions differ more or less in the arrangement and number of +the animals described, but all point back to the same ultimate source. + +The main object of the Bestiaries was not so much to impart scientific +knowledge, as by means of symbols and allegories to teach the doctrines +and mysteries of the Church: At first this symbolical application was +short and concise, but later became more and more expanded, until it +often occupied more space than the description of the animal which +served as a text. + +Some of these animals are entirely fabulous, such as the siren, the +phoenix, the unicorn; others are well known, but possess certain +fabulous attributes. The descriptions of them are not the result of +personal observation, but are derived from stories told by travelers or +read in books, or are merely due to the imagination of the author; these +stories, passing down from hand to hand, gradually became +accepted facts. + +These books were enormously popular during the Middle Ages, a fact which +is proved by the large number of manuscripts still extant. Their +influence on literature was likewise very great. To say nothing of the +encyclopaedic works,--such as 'Li Tresors' of Brunetto Latini, the +'Image du Monde,' the 'Roman de la Rose,'--which contain extracts from +the Bestiaries,--there are many references to them in the great writers, +even down to the present day. There are certain passages in Dante, +Chaucer, and Shakespeare, that would be unintelligible without some +knowledge of these mediaeval books of zooelogy. + +Hence, besides the interest inherent in these quaint and childish +stories, besides their value in revealing the scientific spirit and +attainments of the times, some knowledge of the Bestiaries is of +undoubted value and interest to the student of literature. + +Closely allied to the Bestiaries (and indeed often contained in the same +manuscript) are the Lapidaries, in which are discussed the various kinds +of precious stones, with their physical characteristics,--shape, size, +color, their use in medicine, and their marvelous talismanic properties. +In spite of the fact that they contain the most absurd fables and +superstitions, they were actually used as text-books in the schools, and +published in medical treatises. The most famous of them was written in +Latin by Marbode, Bishop of Rennes (died in 1123), and translated many +times into Old French and other languages. + +The following extracts from the Bestiaries are translated from 'Le +Bestiaire' of Guillaume Le Clerc, composed in the year 1210 (edited by +Dr. Robert Reinsch, Leipzig, 1890). While endeavoring to retain somewhat +of the quaintness and naivete of the original, I have omitted those +repetitions and tautological expressions which are so characteristic of +mediaeval literature. The religious application of the various animals +is usually very long, and often is the mere repetition of the same idea. +The symbolical meaning of the lion here given may be taken as a type of +all the rest. + +[Illustration: Signature: L. OSCAR KUHNS] + + +THE LION + +It is proper that we should first speak of the nature of the lion, which +is a fierce and proud beast and very bold. It has three especially +peculiar characteristics. In the first place it always dwells upon a +high mountain. From afar off it can scent the hunter who is pursuing it. +And in order that the latter may not follow it to its lair it covers +over its tracks by means of its tail. Another wonderful peculiarity of +the lion is that when it sleeps its eyes are wide open, and clear and +bright. The third characteristic is likewise very strange. For when the +lioness brings forth her young, it falls to the ground, and gives no +sign of life until the third day, when the lion breathes upon it and in +this way brings it back to life again. + +The meaning of all this is very clear. When God, our Sovereign father, +who is the Spiritual lion, came for our salvation here upon earth, so +skillfully did he cover his tracks that never did the hunter know that +this was our Savior, and nature marveled how he came among us. By the +hunter you must understand him who made man to go astray and seeks after +him to devour him. This is the Devil, who desires only evil. + +When this lion was laid upon the Cross by the Jews, his enemies, who +judged him wrongfully, his human nature suffered death. When he gave up +the spirit from his body, he fell asleep upon the holy cross. Then his +divine nature awoke. This must you believe if you wish to live again. + +When God was placed in the tomb, he was there only three days, and on +the third day the Father breathed upon him and brought him to life +again, just as the lion did to its young. + + +THE PELICAN + +The pelican is a wonderful bird which dwells in the region about the +river Nile. The written history[4] tells us that there are two +kinds,--those which dwell in the river and eat nothing but fish, and +those which dwell in the desert and eat only insects and worms. There is +a wonderful thing about the pelican, for never did mother-sheep love her +lamb as the pelican loves its young. When the young are born, the +parent bird devotes all his care and thought to nourishing them. But the +young birds are ungrateful, and when they have grown strong and +self-reliant they peck at their father's face, and he, enraged at their +wickedness, kills them all. + +[Footnote 4: The reference here is probably to the 'Liber de Bestiis et +Aliis Rebus' of Hugo de St. Victor.] + +On the third day the father comes to them, deeply moved with pity and +sorrow. With his beak he pierces his own side, until the blood flows +forth. With the blood he brings back life into the body of his young[5]. + +[Footnote 5: There are many allusions in literature to this story. Cf. +Shakespeare,-- + + "Like the kind life-rendering pelican, + Repast them with my blood."--'Hamlet,' iv. 5. + +"Those pelican daughters."--Lear, iii. 4. Cf. also the beautiful metaphor +of Alfred de Musset, in his 'Nuit de Mai.'] + + +THE EAGLE + +The eagle is the king of birds. When it is old it becomes young again in +a very strange manner. When its eyes are darkened and its wings are +heavy with age, it seeks out a fountain clear and pure, where the water +bubbles up and shines in the clear sunlight. Above this fountain it +rises high up into the air, and fixes its eyes upon the light of the sun +and gazes upon it until the heat thereof sets on fire its eyes and +wings. Then it descends down into the fountain where the water is +clearest and brightest, and plunges and bathes three times, until it is +fresh and renewed and healed of its old age[6]. + +[Footnote 6: "Bated like eagles having lately bathed."--'I Henry IV.,' +iv. I.] + +The eagle has such keen vision, that if it is high up among the clouds, +soaring through the air, it sees the fish swimming beneath it, in river +or sea; then down it shoots upon the fish and seizes and drags it to the +shore. Again, if unknown to the eagle its eggs should be changed and +others put into its nest,--when the young are grown, before they fly +away, it carries them up into the air when the sun is shining its +brightest. Those which can look at the rays of the sun, without +blinking, it loves and holds dear; those which cannot stand to look at +the light, it abandons, as base-born, nor troubles itself henceforth +concerning them[7]. + +[Footnote 7: + "Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, + Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun."--'3 Henry VI.,' ii. I.] + + +THE PHOENIX + +There is a bird named the phoenix, which dwells in India and is never +found elsewhere. This bird is always alone and without companion, for +its like cannot be found, and there is no other bird which resembles it +in habits or appearance[8]. At the end of five hundred years it feels +that it has grown old, and loads itself with many rare and precious +spices, and flies from the desert away to the city of Leopolis. There, +by some sign or other, the coming of the bird is announced to a priest +of that city, who causes fagots to be gathered and placed upon a +beautiful altar, erected for the bird. And so, as I have said, the bird, +laden with spices, comes to the altar, and smiting upon the hard stone +with its beak, it causes the flame to leap forth and set fire to the +wood and the spices. When the fire is burning brightly, the phoenix lays +itself upon the altar and is burned to dust and ashes. + +[Footnote 8: "Were man as rare as phoenix."--'As You Like It,' iv. 3.] + +Then comes the priest and finds the ashes piled up, and separating them +softly he finds within a little worm, which gives forth an odor sweeter +than that of roses or of any other flower. The next day and the next the +priest comes again, and on the third day he finds that the worm has +become a full-grown and full-fledged bird, which bows low before him and +flies away, glad and joyous, nor returns again before five +hundred years[9]. + +[Footnote 9: + "But as when + The Bird of Wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, + Her ashes new create another heir."--'Henry VIII.,' v. 5.] + + +THE ANT + +There is another kind of ant up in Ethiopia, which is of the shape and +size of dogs. They have strange habits, for they scratch into the ground +and extract therefrom great quantities of fine gold. If any one wishes +to take this gold from them, he soon repents of his undertaking; for the +ants run upon him, and if they catch him they devour him instantly. The +people who live near them know that they are fierce and savage, and that +they possess a great quantity of gold, and so they have invented a +cunning trick. They take mares which have unweaned foals, and give them +no food for three days. On the fourth the mares are saddled, and to the +saddles are fastened boxes that shine like gold. Between these people +and the ants flows a very swift river. The famished mares are driven +across this river, while the foals are kept on the hither side. On the +other side of the river the grass is rich and thick. Here the mares +graze, and the ants seeing the shining boxes think they have found a +good place to hide their gold, and so all day long they fill and load +the boxes with their precious gold, till night comes on and the mares +have eaten their fill. When they hear the neighing of their foals they +hasten to return to the other side of the river. There their masters +take the gold from the boxes and become rich and powerful, but the ants +grieve over their loss. + + +THE SIREN + +The siren is a monster of strange fashion, for from the waist up it is +the most beautiful thing in the world, formed in the shape of a woman. +The rest of the body is like a fish or a bird. So sweetly and +beautifully does she sing that they who go sailing over the sea, as soon +as they hear the song, cannot keep from going towards her. Entranced by +the music, they fall asleep in their boat, and are killed by the siren +before they can utter a cry[10]. + +[Footnote 10: References to the siren are innumerable; the most famous +perhaps is Heine's 'Lorelei.' Cf. also Dante, 'Purgatorio,' xix. 19-20.] + + +THE WHALE + +In the sea, which is mighty and vast, are many kinds of fish, such as +the turbot, the sturgeon, and the porpoise. But there is one monster, +very treacherous and dangerous. In Latin its name is Cetus. It is a bad +neighbor for sailors. The upper part of its back looks like sand, and +when it rises from the sea, the mariners think it is an island. Deceived +by its size they sail toward it for refuge, when the storm comes upon +them. They cast anchor, disembark upon the back of the whale, cook their +food, build a fire, and in order to fasten their boat they drive great +stakes into what seems to them to be sand. When the monster feels the +heat of the fire which burns upon its back, it plunges down into the +depths of the sea, and drags the ship and all the people after it. + +When the fish is hungry it opens its mouth very wide, and breathes forth +an exceedingly sweet odor. Then all the little fish stream thither, and, +allured by the sweet smell, crowd into its throat. Then the whale closes +its jaws and swallows them into its stomach, which is as wide as a +valley[11]. + +[Footnote 11: "Who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it +finds."--'All's Well that Ends Well,' iv. 3.] + + +THE CROCODILE + +The crocodile is a fierce beast that lives always beside the river Nile. +In shape it is somewhat like an ox; it is full twenty ells long, and as +big around as the trunk of a tree. It has four feet, large claws, and +very sharp teeth; by means of these it is well armed. So hard and tough +is its skin, that it minds not in the least hard blows made by sharp +stones. Never was seen another such a beast, for it lives on land and in +water. At night it is submerged in water, and during the day it reposes +upon the land. If it meets and overcomes a man, it swallows him entire, +so that nothing remains. But ever after it laments him as long as it +lives[12]. The upper jaw of this beast is immovable when it eats, and +the lower one alone moves. No other living creature has this +peculiarity. The other beast of which I have told you (the +water-serpent), which always lives in the water, hates the crocodile +with a mortal hatred. When it sees the crocodile sleeping on the ground +with its mouth wide open, it rolls itself in the slime and mud in order +to become more slippery. Then it leaps into the throat of the crocodile +and is swallowed down into its stomach. Here it bites and tears its way +out again, but the crocodile dies on account of its wounds. + +[Footnote 12: "Crocodile tears" are proverbial. Cf: + "As the mournful crocodile + With sorrow snares relenting passengers."--'2 Henry VI.,' iii. 1. + "Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile."--'Othello' iv. 1.] + + +THE TURTLE-DOVE + +Now I must tell you of another bird which is courteous and beautiful, +and which loves much and is much loved. This is the turtle-dove. The +male and the female are always together in mountain or in desert, and if +perchance the female loses her companion never more will she cease to +mourn for him, never more will she sit upon green branch or leaf. +Nothing in the world can induce her to take another mate, but she ever +remains loyal to her husband. When I consider the faithfulness of this +bird, I wonder at the fickleness of man and woman. Many husbands and +wives there are who do not love as the turtle-dove; but if the man bury +his wife, before he has eaten two meals he desires to have another woman +in his arms. The turtle-dove does not so, but remains patient and +faithful to her companion, waiting if haply he might return[13]. + +[Footnote 13: + "Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, + That could not live asunder day or night."--'I Henry VI.,' ii. 2.] + + +THE MANDRAGORA + +The mandragora is a wild plant, the like of which does not exist. Many +kinds of medicine can be made of its root; this root, if you look at it +closely, will be seen to have the form of a man. The bark is very +useful; when well boiled in water it helps many diseases. The skillful +physicians gather this plant when it is old, and they say that when it +is plucked it weeps and cries, and if any one hears the cry he will +die[14]. But those who gather it do this so carefully that they receive +no evil from it. If a man has a pain in his head or in his body, or in +his hand or foot, it can be cured by this herb. If you take this plant +and beat it and let the man drink of it, he will fall asleep very +softly, and no more will he feel pain[15]. There are two kinds of this +plant,--male and female. The leaves of both are beautiful. The leaf of +the female is thick like that of the wild lettuce. + +[Footnote 14: "Would curses kill as doth the mandrake's groan."--'2 +Henry VI.,' iii. 2. ] + +[Footnote 15: + "Not poppy, nor mandragora, + Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world."--'Othello,' iii. 3.] + + +SAPPHIRE + +The following two extracts are translated from 'Les Lapidaires Francais +du Moyen Age,' by Leopold Pannier, Paris, 1882. + +The sapphire is beautiful, and worthy to shine on the fingers of a king. +In color it resembles the sky when it is pure and free from clouds[16]. +No precious stone has greater virtue or beauty. One kind of sapphire is +found among the pebbles in the country of Libya; but that which comes +from the land of the Turk is more precious. It is called the gem of +gems, and is of great value to men and women. It gives comfort to the +heart and renders the limbs strong and sound. It takes away envy and +perfidy and can set the prisoner at liberty. He who carries it about him +will never have fear. It pacifies those who are angry, and by means of +it one can see into the unknown. + +[Footnote 16: Cf. the exquisite line of Dante, 'Purgatorio,' i. 13:-- + 'Dolce color d'oriental zaffiro.'] + + +It is very valuable in medicine. It cools those who are feverish and who +on account of pain are covered with perspiration. When powdered and +dissolved in milk it is good for ulcers. It cures headache and diseases +of the eyes and tongue. He who wears it must live chastely and +honorably; so shall he never feel the distress of poverty. + + +CORAL + +Coral grows like a tree in the sea, and at first its color is green. +When it reaches the air it becomes hard and red. It is half a foot in +length. He who carries it will never be afraid of lightning or tempest. +The field in which it is placed will be very fertile, and rendered safe +from hail or any other kind of storm. It drives away evil spirits, and +gives a good beginning to all undertakings and brings them to a +good end. + + + + +MARIE-HENRI BEYLE (STENDHAL) + +(1783-1842) + +BY FREDERIC TABER COOPER + + +Marie-Henri Beyle, French novelist and man of letters, who is better +known under his bizarre pseudonym of Stendhal, is a somewhat unusual +figure among French writers. He was curiously misappreciated by his own +generation, whose literary movements he in turn confessedly ignored. He +is recognized to-day as an important link in the development of modern +fiction, and is even discussed concurrently with Balzac, in the same way +that we speak of Dickens and Thackeray, Emerson and Lowell. + +[Illustration: HENRI BEYLE] + +There is nothing dramatic in Stendhal's life, which, viewed impartially, +is a simple and somewhat pathetic record of failure and disillusion. He +was six years older than Balzac, having been born January 23d, 1783, in +the small town of Grenoble, in Dauphine, which, with its narrow +prejudices and petty formalism, seemed to him in after years "the +souvenir of an abominable indigestion." He early developed an abnormal +sensibility, which would have met with ready response had his mother +lived, but which a keen dread of ridicule taught him to hide from an +unsympathetic father and a still more unkind aunt,--later his +step-mother, Seraphie Gagnon. He seemed predestined to be +misunderstood--even his school companions finding him odd, and often +amusing themselves at his expense. Thus he grew up with a sense of +isolation in his own home, and when, in 1800, he had the opportunity of +going to some distant relatives in Paris, the Daru family, he seized it +eagerly. The following year he accompanied the younger Darus to Italy, +and was present at the battle of Marengo. This was the turning-point of +Stendhal's career. He was dazzled by Napoleon's successes, and +fascinated with the beauty and gayety of Milan, where he found himself +for the first time in a congenial atmosphere, and among companions +animated by a common cause. His consequent sense of freedom and +exaltation knew no bounds. Henceforth Napoleon was to be his hero, and +Italy the land of his election; two lifelong passions which furnish the +clew to much that is enigmatic in his character. + +During the ensuing years, while he followed the fortunes of Napoleon +throughout the Prussian campaign and until after the retreat from +Moscow, Italy was always present in his thoughts, and when Waterloo +ended his political and military aspirations he hastened back to Milan, +declaring that he "had ceased to be a Frenchman," and settled down to a +life of tranquil Bohemianism, too absorbed in the paintings of Correggio +and in the operas of Rossini to be provident of the future. The +following years, the happiest of his life, were also the period of +Stendhal's chief intellectual growth,--due quite as much to the +influence exerted on him by Italian art and music as by his contact with +men like Manzoni, Monti, and Silvio Pellico. Unfortunately, his +relations with certain Italian patriots aroused the suspicions of the +Austrian police, and he was abruptly banished. He returned to Paris, +where to his surprise life proved more than tolerable, and where he made +many valuable acquaintances, such as Benjamin Constant, Destutt de +Tracy, and Prosper Merimee. The revolution of July brought him a change +of fortune; for he was in sympathy with Louis Philippe, and did not +scruple to accept the consulship offered him at Civita Vecchia. He soon +found, however, that a small Mediterranean seaport was a poor substitute +for his beloved Milan, while its trying climate undoubtedly shortened +his life. In 1841 failing health forced him to abandon his duties and +return to Paris, where he died of apoplexy on March 23d, 1842. + +So much at least of Stendhal's life must be known in order to understand +his writings; all of which, not excepting the novels, belong to what +Ferdinand Brunetiere stigmatizes as "personal literature." Indeed, the +chief interest of many of his books lies in the side-lights they throw +upon his curious personality. He was a man of violent contrasts, a +puzzle to his best friends; one day making the retreat from Moscow with +undaunted zeal, the next settling down contentedly in Milan, to the very +_vie de cafe_ he affected to despise. He was a strange combination of +restless energy and philosophic contemplation; hampered by a morbid +sensibility which tended to increase, but which he flattered himself +that he "had learned to hide under an irony imperceptible to the +vulgar," yet continually giving offense to others by his caustic tongue. +He seemed to need the tonic of strong emotions, and was happiest when +devoting himself heart and soul to some person or cause, whether a +Napoleon, a mistress, or a question of philosophy. His great +preoccupation was the analysis of the human mind, an employment which in +later years became a positive detriment. He was often led to attribute +ulterior motives to his friends, a course which only served to render +him morbid and unjust; while his equally pitiless dissection of his own +sensations often robbed them of half their charm. Even love and war, his +favorite emotions, left him disillusioned, asking "Is that all it +amounts to?" He always had a profound respect for force of character, +regarding even lawlessness as preferable to apathy; but he was +implacable towards baseness or vulgarity. Herein lies, perhaps, the +chief reason for Stendhal's ill success in life; he would never stoop to +obsequiousness or flattery, and in avoiding even the semblance of +self-interest, allowed his fairest chances to pass him by. "I have +little regret for my lost opportunities," he wrote in 1835. "In place of +ten thousand, I might be getting twenty; in place of Chevalier, I might +be Officer of the Legion of Honor: but I should have had to think three +or four hours a day of those platitudes of ambition which are dignified +by the name of politics; I should have had to commit many base acts:" a +brief but admirable epitome of Stendhal's whole life and character. + +Aside from his works of fiction, Stendhal's works may be conveniently +grouped under biographies,--'Vie de Haydn, de Mozart, et de Metastase,' +'Vie de Napoleon,' 'Vie de Rossini'; literary and artistic +criticism,--'Histoire de la Peinture en Italie,' 'Racine et +Shakespeare,' 'Melanges d'Art et de Litterature'; travels,--'Rome, +Naples, et Florence,' 'Promenades dans Rome,' 'Memoires d'un Touriste'; +and one volume of sentimental psychology, his 'Essai sur l'Amour,' to +which Bourget owes the suggestion of his 'Physiologie de l'Amour +Moderne.' Many of these works merit greater popularity, being written in +an easy, fluent style, and relieved by his inexhaustible fund of +anecdote and personal reminiscence. His books of travel, especially, are +charming _causeries_, full of a sympathetic spontaneity which more than +atones for their lack of method; his 'Walks in Rome' is more readable +than two-thirds of the books since written on that subject. + +Stendhal's present vogue, however, is due primarily to his novels, to +which he owes the almost literal fulfillment of his prophecy that he +would not be appreciated until 1880. Before that date they had been +comparatively neglected, in spite of Balzac's spontaneous and +enthusiastic tribute to the 'Chartreuse de Parme,' and the appreciative +criticisms of Taine and Prosper Merimee. The truth is that Stendhal was +in some ways a generation behind his time, and often has an odd, +old-fashioned flavor suggestive of Marivaux and Crebillon _fils_. On the +other hand, his psychologic tendency is distinctly modern, and not at +all to the taste of an age which found Chateaubriand or Madame de Stael +eminently satisfactory. But he appeals strongly to the speculating, +self-questioning spirit of the present day, and Zola and Bourget in turn +have been glad to claim kinship with him. + +Stendhal, however, cannot be summarily labeled and dismissed as a +realist or psychologue in the modern acceptation of the term, although +he was a pioneer in both fields. He had a sovereign contempt for +literary style or method, and little dreamed that he would one day be +regarded as the founder of a school. It must be remembered that he was a +soldier before he was a man of letters, and his love of adventure +occasionally got the better of his love of logic, making his novels a +curious mixture of convincing truth and wild romanticism. His heroes are +singularly like himself, a mixture of morbid introspection and restless +energy: he seems to have taken special pleasure in making them succeed +where he had failed in life, and when the spirit of the story-teller +gets the better of the psychologist, he sends them on a career of +adventure which puts to shame Dumas _pere_ or Walter Scott. And yet +Stendhal was a born analyst, a self-styled "observer of the human +heart"; and the real merit of his novels lies in the marvelous fidelity +with which he interprets the emotions, showing the inner workings of his +hero's mind from day to day, and multiplying petty details with +convincing logic. But in his preoccupation for mental conditions he is +apt to lose sight of the material side of life, and the symmetry of his +novels is marred by a meagreness of physical detail and a lack of +atmosphere. Zola has laid his finger upon Stendhal's real weakness when +he points out that "the landscape, the climate, the time of day, the +weather,.--Nature herself, in other words,--never seems to intervene and +exert an influence on his characters"; and he cites a passage which in +point of fact admirably illustrates his meaning, the scene from the +'Rouge et Noir', where Julien endeavors to take the hand of Mme. de +Renal, which he characterizes as "a little mute drama of great power," +adding in conclusion:--"Give that episode to an author for whom the +_milieu_ exists, and he will make the night, with its odors, its voices, +its soft voluptuousness, play a part in the defeat of the woman. And +that author will be in the right; his picture will be more complete." It +is this tendency to leave nature out of consideration which gives +Stendhal's characters a flavor of abstraction, and caused Sainte-Beuve +to declare in disgust that they were "not human beings, but ingeniously +constructed automatons." Yet it is unfair to conclude with Zola, that +Stendhal was a man for whom the outside world did not exist; he was not +insensible to the beauties of nature, only he looked upon them as a +secondary consideration. After a sympathetic description of the Rhone +valley, he had to add, "But the interest of a landscape is insufficient; +in the long run, some moral or historical interest is indispensable." +Yet he recognized explicitly the influence of climate and environment +upon character, and seems to have been sensible of his own shortcomings +as an author. "I abhor material descriptions," he confesses in +'Souvenirs d'Egotisme': "the _ennui_ of making them deters me from +writing novels." + +Nevertheless, aside from his short 'Chroniques' and 'Nouvelles,' and +the posthumous 'Lamiel' which he probably intended to destroy, Stendhal +has left four stories which deserve detailed consideration: 'Armance,' +'Le Rouge et Le Noir,' 'La Chartreuse de Parme,' and the fragmentary +novel 'Lucien Leuwen.' + +As has been justly pointed out by Stendhal's sympathetic biographer, +Edouard Rod, the heroes of the four books are essentially of one type, +and all more or less faithful copies of himself; having in common a need +of activity, a thirst for love, a keen sensibility, and an unbounded +admiration for Napoleon--and differing only by reason of the several +_milieus_ in which he has placed them. The first of these, 'Armance,' +appeared in 1827. The hero, Octave, is an aristocrat, son of the Marquis +de Malivert, who "was very rich before the Revolution, and when he +returned to Paris in 1814, thought himself beggared on an income of +twenty or thirty thousand." Octave is the most exaggerated of all +Stendhal's heroes; a mysterious, sombre being, "a misanthrope before his +time"; coupling with his pride of birth a consciousness of its +vanity:--"Had heaven made me the son of a manufacturer of cloth, I +should have worked at my desk from the age of sixteen, while now my sole +occupation has been luxury. I should have had less pride and more +happiness. Ah, how I despise myself!" Yet it is part of Octave's +pretensions to regard himself as superior to love. When he discovers his +passion for his cousin Armance, he is overwhelmed with despair: "I am in +love," he said in a choked voice. "I, in love! Great God!" The object of +this reluctant passion, Armance de Zohiloff, is a poor orphan, dependent +upon a rich relative. Like Octave, she struggles against her affection, +but for better reasons: "The world will look upon me as a lady's-maid +who has entrapped the son of the family." The history of their long and +secret struggle against this growing passion, complicated by outside +incidents and intrigues, forms the bulk of the volume. At last Octave is +wounded in a duel, and moved by the belief that he is dying, they +mutually confess their affection. Octave unexpectedly recovers, and as +Armance about this time receives an inheritance from a distant relative, +the story promises to end happily; but at the last moment he is induced +to credit a calumny against her, and commits suicide, when Armance +retires to a convent. The book is distinctly inferior to his later +efforts, and M. Rod is the first to find hidden beauties in it. + +Very different was his next book, 'Le Rouge et Le Noir,' the Army and +the Priesthood, which appeared in 1830, and is now recognized as +Stendhal's masterpiece. As its singular name is intended to imply, it +deals with the changed social conditions which confronted the young men +of France after the downfall of Napoleon,--the reaction against war and +military glory in favor of the Church; a topic which greatly occupied +Stendhal, and which is well summed up in the words of his hero +Julien:--"When Bonaparte made himself talked about, France was afraid of +invasion; military merit was necessary and fashionable. Today one sees +priests of forty with appointments of a hundred thousand francs, three +times that of Napoleon's famous generals;" and he concludes, "The thing +to do is to be a priest." + +This Julien Sorel is the son of a shrewd but ignorant peasant, owner of +a prosperous saw-mill in the small town of Verrieres, in Franche-Comte. +"He was a small young man, of feeble appearance, with irregular but +delicate features, and an aquiline nose; ... who could have divined that +that girlish face, so pale, and gentle, hid an indomitable resolution to +expose himself to a thousand deaths sooner than not make his fortune?" +His only schooling is gained from a cousin, an old army surgeon, who +taught him Latin and inflamed his fancy with stories of Napoleon, and +from the aged Abbe Chelan who grounds him in theology,--for Julien had +proclaimed his intention of studying for the priesthood. By unexpected +good luck, his Latin earned him an appointment as tutor to the children +of M. de Renal, the pompous and purse-proud Mayor of Verrieres. Julien +is haunted by his peculiar notions of duties which he owes it to himself +to perform as steps towards his worldly advancement; for circumstances +have made him a consummate hypocrite. One of these duties is to make +love to Mme. de Renal: "Why should he not be loved as Bonaparte, while +still poor, had been loved by the brilliant Mme. de Beauharnais?" His +pursuit of the Mayor's gentle and inexperienced wife proves only too +successful, but at last reaches the ears of the Abbe Chelan, whose +influence compels Julien to leave Verrieres and go to the Seminary at +Besancon, to finish his theological studies. His stay at the Seminary +was full of disappointment, for "it was in vain that he made himself +small and insignificant, he could not please: he was too different." At +last he has a chance to go to Paris, as secretary to the influential +Marquis de La Mole, who interests himself in Julien and endeavors to +advance him socially. The Marquis has a daughter, Mathilde, a female +counterpart of Stendhal's heroes; with exalted ideas of duty, and a +profound reverence for Marguerite of Navarre, who dared to ask the +executioner for the head of her lover, Boniface de La Mole, executed +April 30th, 1574. Mathilde always assumed mourning on April 30th. "I +know of nothing," she declared, "except condemnation to death, which +distinguishes a man: it is the only thing which cannot be bought." +Julien soon conceives it his duty to win Mathilde's affections, and the +love passages which ensue between these two "esprits superieurs" are +singular in the extreme: they arrive at love only through a complicated +intellectual process, in which the question of duty, either to +themselves or to each other, is always paramount. At last it becomes +necessary to confess their affection to the Marquis, who is naturally +furious. "For the first time in his life this nobleman forgot his +manners: he overwhelmed him with atrocious insults, worthy of a +cab-driver. Perhaps the novelty of these oaths was a distraction." What +hurts him most is that Mathilde will be plain Mme. Sorel and not a +duchess. But at this juncture the father receives a letter from Mme. de +Renal, telling of her relations with Julien, and accusing him of having +deliberately won Mathilde in order to possess her wealth. Such baseness +the Marquis cannot pardon, and at any cost he forbids the marriage. +Julien returns immediately to Verrieres, and finding Mme. de Renal in +church, deliberately shoots her. She ultimately recovers from her wound, +but Julien is nevertheless condemned and guillotined. Mme. de Renal dies +of remorse, while Mathilde, emulating Marguerite de Navarre, buries +Julien's head with her own hands. + +The 'Chartreuse de Parme,' although written the same year as the 'Rouge +et Noir', was not published until 1839, two years before his death, and +was judged his best effort. "He has written 'The Modern Prince,'" +declared Balzac, "the book which Macchiavelli would have written if he +had been living exiled from Italy in the nineteenth century." The action +takes place at Parma; and as a picture of court life in a small Italian +principality, with all its jealousies and intrigues, the book is +certainly a masterpiece. But it is marred by the extravagance of its +plot. The hero, Fabrice, is the younger son of a proud and bigoted +Milanese nobleman, the Marquis del Dongo, who "joined a sordid avarice +to a host of other fine qualities," and in his devotion to the House of +Austria was implacable towards Napoleon. Fabrice, however, was "a young +man susceptible of enthusiasm," and on learning of Napoleon's return +from Elba, hastened secretly to join him, and participated in the battle +of Waterloo. This escapade is denounced by his father to the Austrian +police, and on his return Fabrice is forced to take refuge in Swiss +territory. About this time his aunt Gina, the beautiful Countess +Pietranera, goes to live at Parma; and to conceal a love affair with the +prime minister Mosca marries the old Duke of Sanseverina-Taxis, who +obligingly leaves on his wedding-day for a distant embassy. Gina has +always felt a strong interest for Fabrice, which later ripens into a +passion. It is agreed that Fabrice shall study for the priesthood, and +that Count Mosca will use his influence to have him made Archbishop of +Parma, an office frequently held in the past by Del Dongos. +Unfortunately Fabrice is drawn into a quarrel with a certain Giletti, a +low comedy actor, whom he kills in self-defense. Ordinarily the killing +of a fellow of Giletti's stamp by a Del Dongo would have been +considered a trifling matter; but this offense assumes importance +through the efforts of a certain political faction to discredit the +minister through his protege. The situation is further complicated by +the Prince, Ernest IV., who has come under the spell of Gina's beauty, +and furious at finding her obdurate, is glad of an opportunity to +humiliate her. Fabrice is condemned to ten years' imprisonment in the +Farnese tower, the Prince treacherously disregarding his promise of +pardon. From this point the plot becomes fantastic. From his window in +the tower, Fabrice overlooks that of Clelia, daughter of General Fabio +Conti, governor of the prison. It is a case of mutual love at first +sight, and for months the two hold communication by signs above the +heads of the passing sentries. After his fabulous escape, effected by +the help of his aunt, Fabrice is inconsolable, and at length returns +voluntarily to the tower in order to be near Clelia. It is not until +after the death of the Prince that the Duchess obtains Fabrice's pardon +from his son and successor. At last Clelia dies, and Fabrice enters the +neighboring monastery, the Chartreuse of Parma. + +Fabrice's experiences on the battle-field of Waterloo, where as a raw +youth he first "smelled powder," are recounted with a good deal of +realistic detail. They suggest a comparison with a book of more recent +date devoted to a similar subject, Stephen Crane's 'Red Badge of +Courage,' though of course the latter does not approach Stendhal in +artistic self-restraint and mastery over form. + +The remaining novel, 'Lucien Leuwen,' was left in an unfinished state, +and thus published after the author's death, under the title of 'Le +Chasseur Vert.' Recently they have been republished, under the name of +'Lucien Leuwen,' with additional material which the editor, M. Jean de +Mitty, claims to have deciphered from almost illegible manuscripts found +in the library at Grenoble. But even without these additions there is +enough to show that 'Lucien Leuwen' would have been one of his best +efforts, second only, perhaps, to the 'Rouge et Noir.' The hero, Lucien, +is the son of a rich financier, who "was never out of temper and never +took a serious tone with his son," but cheerfully paid his debts, saying +"A son is a creditor provided by nature." Out of mere _ennui_ from lack +of serious employment, Lucien enters as sub-lieutenant a regiment of +Lancers in garrison at Nancy. He has no illusions about military life in +times of peace:--"I shall wage war only upon cigars; I shall become the +pillager of a military cafe in the gloomy garrison of an ill-paved +little town.... What glory! My soul will be well caught when I present +myself to Napoleon in the next world. 'No doubt,' he will say, 'you were +dying of hunger when you took up this life?' 'No, General,' I shall +reply, 'I thought I was imitating you.'" His early experiences at +Nancy, his subsequent meeting with and love for Mme. de Chasteller, are +admirable equally for their moderation and their fidelity. + +Since Stendhalism has become a cult, so much has been written on the +subject that a complete bibliography of Stendhaliana would occupy +several pages. Aside from the well-known criticisms of Balzac, Taine, +and Sainte-Beuve, the most important contributions to the subject are +the article by Zola in 'Romanciers Naturalistes,' that by Bourget in +'Essais de Psychologie Contemporaine,' and the biography by Edouard Rod +in the 'Grands Ecrivains Francais' (Great French Writers) Series. Thanks +to the zeal of M. Casimir Stryienski, a considerable amount of +autobiographical material has lately been brought to light: 'Journal de +Stendhal' 'Vie de Henri Broulard,' and 'Souvenirs d'Egotisme,' which, +together with his 'Correspondence,' are indispensable for a true +knowledge of the man. + +[Illustration: Signature: FREDERIC TABER COOPER] + + +PRINCESS SANSEVERINA'S INTERVIEW + +From 'La Chartreuse de Parme' + +While Fabrice was gone a-hunting after love adventures in a small +village close by Parma, the Fiscal General, Rassi, unaware that he was +so near, continued to treat his case as though he had been a Liberal. +The witnesses for the defense he pretended that he could not find, or +rather that he had frightened them off; and finally, after nearly a year +of such sharp practice, and about two months after Fabrice's last return +to Bologna, on a certain Friday, the Marquise Raversi, intoxicated with +joy, stated publicly in her salon that on the following day "the +sentence which had just been passed upon that little Del Dongo would be +presented to the Prince for signature, and would be approved by him." +Shortly afterwards the Duchess learned these remarks of her enemy. + +"The Count must be very poorly served by his agents," she said to +herself: "only this morning he was sure that sentence could not be +passed inside of a week: perhaps he would not be sorry to have my young +Grand Vicar removed from Parma some day. But," she added, "we shall see +him come back, and he shall be our Archbishop." The Duchess rang. + +"Summon all the servants to the waiting-room," she said to her +valet-de-chambre, "even the cooks; go and obtain from the officer in +command the requisite permit for four post-horses; and see that in less +than half an hour these horses are attached to my landau." All her women +were soon busied in packing the trunks: the Duchess hastily donned a +traveling dress, without once sending word to the Count; the idea of +amusing herself at his expense filled her with joy. + +"My friend," she said to the assembled servants, "is about to suffer +condemnation by default for having had the audacity to defend his life +against a madman; it was Giletti who meant to kill him. You have all +been able to see how gentle and inoffensive Fabrice's character is. +Justly incensed at this atrocious injury, I am starting for Florence. I +shall leave ten years' wages for each of you; if you are unhappy, write +to me; and so long as I have a sequin, there shall be something +for you." + +The Duchess felt exactly as she spoke, and at her last words the +servants burst into tears; she herself had moist eyes. She added in a +voice of emotion:--"Pray to God for me and for Monsigneur Fabrice del +Dongo, first Grand Vicar of this Diocese, who will be condemned +to-morrow morning to the galleys, or what would be less stupid, to the +penalty of death." + +The tears of the servants redoubled, and little by little changed into +cries which were very nearly seditious. The Duchess entered her carriage +and drove directly to the palace of the Prince. In spite of the untimely +hour, she solicited an audience, through General Fontana, acting +aide-de-camp. She was nowise in full court toilette, a fact which threw +that aide-de-camp into a profound stupor. + +The Prince, for his part, was by no means surprised, still less annoyed, +at this request for an audience. "We are going to see tears shed by +lovely eyes," said he, rubbing his hands; "she is coming to ask for +grace; at last that proud beauty has to humble herself! Really she has +been too insupportable with her little independent airs! Those eloquent +eyes always seemed to be saying to me, at the least thing which annoyed +her, 'Naples or Milan would be an abode offering very different +attractions from those of your small town of Parma.' True enough, I do +not reign over Naples or Milan; but all the same, this fine lady has +come to ask me something which depends exclusively upon me, and which +she is burning to obtain. I always thought the coming of that nephew +would give me some hold upon her." + +While the Prince was smiling over his thoughts, and giving himself up to +all these agreeable anticipations, he was striding up and down his +cabinet, at the door of which General Fontana still remained standing, +erect and stiff as a soldier at carry-arms. Seeing the Prince's flashing +eye and recalling the Duchess's traveling dress, he prepared for a +dissolution of the monarchy. His confusion knew no bounds when he heard +the Prince's order: "Beg Madame the Duchess to wait a small quarter of +an hour." The general-aide-de-camp executed a right-about-face, like a +soldier on parade; the Prince still smiled. "Fontana is not accustomed," +he said to himself, "to see our proud Duchess kept waiting. The +astonished face with which he has gone to tell her 'to wait that small +quarter of an hour' will pave the way for those touching tears which +this cabinet is about to witness." This small quarter of an hour was +delicious to the Prince; he paced the floor with a firm and measured +step, he _reigned_. "The important thing now is to say nothing which is +not perfectly in keeping. It will not do to forget that she is one of +the highest ladies of my court. How would Louis XIV. have spoken to the +princesses his daughters when he had occasion to be displeased with +them?" and his eyes sought the portrait of the great king. + +The amusing part of the matter was that the Prince did not even think of +asking himself whether he would show clemency to Fabrice, and how far +such clemency would go. Finally, at the end of twenty minutes, the +faithful Fontana presented himself anew at the door, but without +uttering a word. "The Duchess Sanseverina may enter," cried the Prince +with a theatrical air. "The tears are about to commence," he told +himself, and as if to be prepared for such a spectacle, he drew out his +handkerchief. + +Never had the Duchess appeared so gay and charming; she did not look +twenty-five. The poor aide-de-camp, seeing that her light and rapid +footstep barely seemed to skim the carpet, was on the point of losing +his reason once for all. + +"I must crave many pardons of your Most Serene Highness," said the +Duchess in her soft tones of careless gayety: "I have taken the liberty +of presenting myself in a toilette which is not altogether appropriate; +but your Highness has so accustomed me to his favors that I have +ventured to hope that he would accord me this additional grace." + +The Duchess spoke quite slowly, so as to give herself time to enjoy the +expression of the Prince. It was delicious, on account of his profound +astonishment, and that remnant of grand airs which the pose of his head +and arms still betrayed. The Prince had remained as if struck by a +thunderbolt; from time to time, he exclaimed, in his high-pitched voice, +shrill and perturbed, as though articulating with difficulty: _"How is +this? how is this?"_ After concluding her compliment, the Duchess, as +though from respect, afforded him ample time to reply; then she added:-- + +"I venture to hope that your Most Serene Highness will deign to pardon +the incongruity of my costume:" but as she spoke, her mocking eyes +flashed with so bright a gleam that the Prince could not meet them. He +looked at the ceiling, a sign with him of the most extreme +embarrassment. + +"How is this? how is this?" he said to himself again; then by good luck, +he found a phrase: "Madame la Duchesse, pray be seated," and he himself +pushed forward a chair, with fairly good grace. The Duchess was by no +means insensible to this attention, and she moderated the petulance of +her glance. + +"How is this? how is this?" still repeated the Prince inwardly, shifting +so uneasily in his chair that one would have said that he could not find +a secure position. + +"I am going to take advantage of the freshness of the night to travel +post," resumed the Duchess, "and as my absence may be of some duration, +I was unwilling to leave the territory of your Most Serene Highness +without expressing my thanks for all the favors which for five years +your Highness has deigned to show me." At these words the Prince at last +understood; he turned pale. It was as man of the world that he felt it +most keenly, on finding himself mistaken in his predictions. Then he +assumed a grand air, in every way worthy of the portrait of Louis XIV., +which was before his eyes. "Admirable," said the Duchess to herself, +"there is a man." + +"And what is the motive of this sudden departure?" asked the Prince, in +a fairly firm tone. + +"I have contemplated leaving, for some time," replied the Duchess, "and +a slight insult which has been shown to _Monsignor_ del Dongo, who is to +be condemned to-morrow to death or to the galleys makes me hasten my +departure." + +"And to what city are you going?" + +"To Naples, I think." As she arose, she added, "It only remains for me +to take leave of your Most Serene Highness, and to thank him very humbly +for all his _earlier_ kindnesses." She, on her part, spoke with so firm +an air that the Prince saw clearly that in a few seconds all would be +finished. He knew that if a triumphant departure was once effected, all +compromise would be impossible. She was not the woman to retrace her +steps. He hastened after her. + +"But you know very well, Madame la Duchesse," he said, taking her hand, +"that I have always regarded you with a friendship to which it needed +only a word from you to give another name. But a murder has been +committed; there is no way of denying that. I have intrusted the conduct +of the case to my best judges ..." + +At these words the Duchess drew herself up to her full height: All +semblance of respect, or even of urbanity, disappeared in a flash. The +outraged woman was clearly revealed, the outraged woman addressing +herself to the one whom she knows to be of bad faith. It was with an +expression of keenest anger and even of contempt that she said to the +Prince, dwelling upon every word:-- + +"I am leaving forever the States of your Most Serene Highness, in order +that I shall never again hear mentioned the Fiscal Rassi, or the other +infamous assassins who have condemned my nephew and so many others to +death. If your Most Serene Highness does not wish to mingle a tinge of +bitterness with the last moments which I am to pass with a prince who is +both polite and entertaining when he is not misled, I beg him very +humbly not to recall the thought of those infamous judges who sell +themselves for a thousand crowns or a decoration." + +The admirable accent, and above all the tone of sincerity, with which +these words were uttered, made the Prince tremble; for an instant he +feared to see his dignity compromised by a still more direct accusation. +On the whole, however, his sensations quickly culminated in one of +pleasure. He admired the Duchess, and at this moment her entire person +attained a sublime beauty. + +"Heavens! how beautiful she is," the Prince said to himself: "one may +well overlook something in so unique a woman, one whose like perhaps is +not to be found in all Italy.--Well, with a little diplomacy it might +not be altogether impossible to make her mine.--There is a wide +difference between such a being and that doll of a Marquise Balbi; +besides, the latter steals at least three hundred thousand francs a year +from my poor subjects.--But did I understand her aright?" he thought all +of a sudden: "she said, 'condemned my nephew and so many others.'" His +anger came to the surface, and it was with a haughtiness worthy of +supreme rank that the Prince said, "And what must be done to keep Madame +from leaving?" + +"Something of which you are not capable," replied the Duchess, with an +accent of the bitterest irony and the most thinly disguised contempt. + +The Prince was beside himself, but thanks to his long practice of the +profession of absolute sovereign, he found the strength to resist his +first impulse. "That woman must be mine," he said to himself. "I owe +myself at least that; then I must let her perish under my contempt. If +she leaves this room, I shall never see her again." But, intoxicated as +he was at this moment with wrath and hatred, how was he to find words +which would at once satisfy what was due to himself and induce the +Duchess not to desert his court on the instant? "A gesture," he thought, +"is something which can neither be repeated nor turned into ridicule," +and he went and placed himself between the Duchess and the door of his +cabinet. Just then he heard a slight tapping at this door. + +"Who is this jackanapes?" he cried, at the top of his lungs, "who is +this jackanapes who comes here, thrusting his idiotic presence upon me?" +Poor General Fontana showed his face, pale and in evident discomfiture, +and with the air of a man at his last gasp, indistinctly pronounced +these words:--"His Excellency Count Mosca solicits the honor of being +admitted." + +"Let him enter," said the Prince in a loud voice; and as Mosca made his +salutation, greeted him with:-- + +"Well, sir, here is Madame the Duchess Sanseverina, who declares that +she is on the point of leaving Parma to go and settle at Naples, and has +made me saucy speeches into the bargain." + +"How is this?" said Mosca, turning pale. + +"What, then you knew nothing of this project of departure?" + +"Not the first word. At six o'clock I left Madame joyous and contented." + +This speech produced an incredible effect upon the Prince. First he +glanced at Mosca, whose growing pallor proved that he spoke the truth +and was in no way the accomplice of the Duchess's sudden freak. "In that +case," he said to himself, "I am losing her forever. Pleasure and +vengeance, everything is escaping me at once. At Naples she will make +epigrams with her nephew Fabrice, about the great wrath of the little +Prince of Parma." He looked at the Duchess; anger and the most violent +contempt were struggling in her heart; her eyes were fixed at that +moment upon Count Mosca, and the fine lines of that lovely mouth +expressed the most bitter disdain. The entire expression of her face +seemed to say, "Vile courtier!" "So," thought the Prince, after having +examined her, "I have lost even this means of calling her back to our +country. If she leaves the room at this moment, she is lost to me. And +the Lord only knows what she will say in Naples of my judges, and with +that wit and divine power of persuasion with which heaven has endowed +her, she will make the whole world believe her. I shall owe her the +reputation of being a ridiculous tyrant, who gets up in the middle of +the night to look under his bed!" + +Then, by an adroit movement, and as if striving to work off his +agitation by striding up and down, the Prince placed himself anew before +the door of his cabinet. The count was on his right, pale, unnerved, and +trembling so that he had to lean for support upon the back of the chair +which the Duchess had occupied at the beginning of the audience, and +which the Prince, in a moment of wrath, had hurled to a distance. The +Count was really in love. "If the Duchess goes away, I shall follow +her," he told himself; "but will she tolerate my company? that is the +question." + +On the left of the Prince stood the Duchess, her arms crossed and +pressed against her breast, looking at him with superb intolerance; a +complete and profound pallor had succeeded the glowing colors which just +before had animated those exquisite features. + +The Prince, in contrast with both the others, had a high color and an +uneasy air; his left hand played in a nervous fashion with the cross +attached to the grand cordon of his order, which he wore beneath his +coat; with his right hand he caressed his chin. + +"What is to be done?" he said to the Count, not altogether realizing +what he was doing himself, but yielding to his habit of consulting the +latter about everything. + +"Indeed, Most Serene Highness, I know nothing about it," answered the +Count, with the air of a man who is rendering up his final sigh; he +could hardly utter the words of his response. His tone of voice gave the +Prince the first consolation which his wounded pride had found during +the interview, and this slight satisfaction helped him to a phrase which +was comforting to his self-esteem:-- + +"Well," said he, "I am the most reasonable of all three; I am quite +ready to leave my position in the world entirely out of consideration. +_I am going to speak as a friend_," and he added with a charming smile +of condescension, a fine imitation of the happy times of Louis XIV, "_as +a friend speaking to friends:_ Madame la Duchesse," he continued, "what +are we to do to make you forget your untimely resolution?" + +"Really, I am at a loss to say," replied the Duchess, with a deep sigh, +"really, I am at a loss to say: I have such a horror of Parma!" There +was no attempt at epigram in this speech; one could see that she spoke +in all sincerity. + +The Count turned sharply away from her; his courtier's soul was +scandalized. Then he cast a supplicating glance at the Prince. With much +dignity and self-possession the latter allowed a moment to pass; then, +addressing himself to the Count, "I see," said he, "that your charming +friend is altogether beside herself. It is perfectly simple, she +_adores_ her nephew;" and turning towards the Duchess, he added with the +most gallant glance, and at the same time with the air which one assumes +in borrowing a phrase from a comedy: _"What must we do to find favor in +these lovely eyes?"_ + +The Duchess had had time to reflect: She answered in a firm, slow tone, +as if she were dictating her ultimatum:-- + +"His Highness might write me a gracious letter, such as he knows so well +how to write: he might say to me, that being by no means convinced of +the guilt of Fabrice del Dongo, First Grand Vicar of the Archbishop, he +will refuse to sign the sentence when they come to present it to him, +and that this unjust procedure shall have no consequence in the future." + +"How is that? Unjust!" cried the Prince, coloring to the whites of his +eyes, and with renewed anger. + +"That is not all," replied the Duchess with truly Roman pride, "_this +very evening_--and," she interposed, glancing at the clock, "it is +already a quarter past eleven--this very evening, his Most Serene +Highness will send word to the Marquise Raversi that he advises her to +go into the country to recuperate from the fatigues which she must have +suffered from a certain trial which she was discussing in her salon +early in the evening." The Prince strode up and down his cabinet, like a +madman. "Did one ever see such a woman?" he exclaimed. "She is lacking +in respect for me." + +The Duchess replied with perfect grace:-- + +"I have never in my life dreamed of lacking respect for his Most Serene +Highness; His Highness has had the extreme condescension to say that he +was speaking _as a friend to friends_. What is more, I have not the +smallest desire to remain in Parma," she added, glancing at the Count +with the last degree of contempt. This glance decided the Prince, who up +to that moment had been quite uncertain, notwithstanding that his words +had seemed to imply a promise; he had a fine contempt for words. + +There were still a few more words exchanged; but at last Count Mosca +received the order to write the gracious note solicited by the Duchess. +He omitted the phrase "this unjust procedure shall have no consequence +in the future." "It is sufficient," said the Count to himself, "if the +Prince promises not to sign the sentence which is to be presented to +him." The Prince thanked him by a glance, as he signed. + +The Count made a great mistake; the Prince was wearied and would have +signed the whole. He thought that he was getting out of the scene well, +and the whole affair was dominated, in his eyes, by the thought--"If the +Duchess leaves, I shall find my court a bore inside of a week." The +Count observed that his master corrected the date, and substituted that +of the next day. He looked at the clock; it indicated almost midnight. +The minister saw, in this altered date, nothing more than a pedantic +desire to afford proof of exactitude and good government. As to the +exile of the Marquise Raversi, the Prince did not even frown; the Prince +had a special weakness for exiling people. + +"General Fontana!" he cried, half opening the door. + +The General appeared, with such an astonished and curious a face that a +glance of amusement passed between the Duchess and the Count, and this +glance established peace. + +"General Fontana," said the Prince, "you are to take my carriage, which +is waiting under the colonnade; you will go to the house of Mme. +Raversi, and have yourself announced: if she is in bed, you will add +that you are my representative, and when admitted to her chamber, you +will say precisely these words, and no others:--'Mme. la Marquise +Raversi, his Most Serene Highness requires that you shall depart before +eight o'clock to-morrow morning, for your chateau of Valleja. His +Highness will notify you when you may return to Parma.'" + +The Prince's eyes sought those of the Duchess, but the latter, omitting +the thanks which he had expected, made him an extremely respectful +reverence, and rapidly left the room. + +"What a woman!" said the Prince, turning towards Count Mosca. + +Copyrighted by George H. Richmond and Company. + + +CLELIA AIDS FABRICE TO ESCAPE + +From "La Chartreuse de Parme" + +One day--Fabrice had been a captive nearly three months, had had +absolutely no communication with the outside world, and yet was not +unhappy--Grillo had remained hanging about the cell until a late hour of +the morning. Fabrice could think of no way of getting rid of him, and +was on pins and needles; half-past twelve had struck when at last he was +enabled to open the little trap in the hateful shutter. + +Clelia was standing at the window of the aviary in an expectant +attitude, an expression of profound despair on her contracted features. +As soon as she saw Fabrice she signaled to him that all was lost; then, +hurrying to her piano, and adapting her words to the accompaniment of a +recitative from a favorite opera, in accents tremulous with her emotion +and the fear of being overheard by the sentry beneath, she sang:-- + +"Ah, do I see you still alive? Praise God for his infinite mercy! +Barbone, the wretch whose insolence you chastised the day of your +arrival here, disappeared some time ago and for a few days was not seen +about the citadel. He returned day before yesterday, and since then I +have reason to fear he has a design of poisoning you. He has been seen +prowling about the kitchen of the palace where your meals are prepared. +I can assert nothing positively, but it is my maid's belief that his +skulking there bodes you no good. I was frightened this morning, not +seeing you at the usual time; I thought you must be dead. Until you hear +more from me, do not touch the food they give you; I will try to manage +to convey a little chocolate to you. In any case, if you have a cord, or +can make one from your linen, let it down from your window among the +orange-trees this evening at nine o'clock. I will attach a stronger cord +to it, and with its aid you can draw up the bread and chocolate I will +have in readiness." + +Fabrice had carefully preserved the bit of charcoal he had found in the +stove; taking advantage of Clelia's more softened mood, he formed on the +palm of his hand a number of letters in succession, which taken together +made up these words:-- + +"I love you, and life is dear to me only when I can see you. Above all +else, send me paper and a pencil." + +As Fabrice had hoped and expected, the extreme terror visible in the +young girl's face operated to prevent her from terminating the interview +on receipt of this audacious message; she only testified her displeasure +by her looks. Fabrice had the prudence to add:--"The wind blows so hard +to-day that I couldn't catch quite all you said; and then, too, the +sound of the piano drowns your voice. You were saying something about +poison, weren't you--what was it?" + +At these words the young girl's terror returned in all its violence; she +hurriedly set to work to describe with ink a number of large capital +letters on the leaves she tore from one of her books, and Fabrice was +delighted to see her at last adopt the method of correspondence that he +had been vainly advocating for the last three months. But this system, +although an improvement on the signals, was less desirable than a +regular exchange of letters, so Fabrice constantly feigned to be unable +to decipher the words of which she exhibited the component letters. + +A summons from her father obliged her to leave the aviary. She was in +great alarm lest he might come to look for her there; his suspicious +nature would have been likely to scent danger in the proximity of his +daughter's window to the prisoner's. It had occurred to Clelia a short +time before, while so anxiously awaiting Fabrice's appearance, that +pebbles might be made factors in their correspondence, by wrapping the +paper on which the message was written round them and throwing them up +so they should fall within the open upper portion of the screen. The +device would have worked well unless Fabrice's keeper chanced to be in +the room at the time. + +Our prisoner proceeded to tear one of his shirts into narrow strips, +forming a sort of ribbon. Shortly after nine o'clock that evening he +heard a tapping on the boxes of the orange-trees under his window; he +cautiously lowered his ribbon, and on drawing it up again found attached +to its free end a long cord by means of which he hauled up a supply of +chocolate, and, to his inexpressible satisfaction, a package of +note-paper and a pencil. He dropped the cord again, but to no purpose; +perhaps the sentries on their rounds had approached the orange-trees. +But his delight was sufficient for one evening. He sat down and wrote a +long letter to Clelia; scarcely was it ended when he fastened it to the +cord and let it down. For more than three hours he waited in vain for +some one to come and take it; two or three times he drew it up and made +alterations in it. "If Clelia does not get my letter to-night," he said +to himself, "while those ideas of poison are troubling her brain, it is +more than likely that to-morrow she will refuse to receive it." + +The fact was that Clelia had been obliged to drive to the city with her +father. Fabrice knew how matters stood when he heard the General's +carriage enter the court about half-past twelve; he knew it was the +General's carriage by the horses' step. What was his delight when, +shortly after hearing the jingle of the General's spurs as he crossed +the esplanade, and the rattle of muskets as the sentries presented arms, +he felt a gentle tug at the cord, the end of which he had kept wrapped +around his wrist! Something heavy was made fast to the cord; two little +jerks notified him to haul up. He had some difficulty in landing the +object over a cornice that projected under his window. + +The article that he had secured at expense of so much trouble proved to +be a carafe of water wrapped in a shawl. The poor young man, who had +been living for so long a time in such complete solitude, covered the +shawl with rapturous kisses. But words are inadequate to express his +emotion when, after so many days of vain waiting, he discovered a scrap +of paper pinned to the shawl. + +"Drink no water but this; satisfy your hunger with chocolate," said this +precious missive. "To-morrow I will try to get some bread to you; I will +mark the crust at top and bottom with little crosses made with ink. It +is a frightful thing to say, but you must know it:--I believe others are +implicated in Barbone's design to poison you. Could you not have +understood that the subject you spoke of in your letter in pencil is +displeasing to me? I should not think of writing to you were it not for +the great peril that is hanging over us. I have seen the Duchess; she is +well, as is the Count, but she is very thin. Write no more on that +subject which you know of: would you wish to make me angry?" + +It cost Clelia an effort to write the last sentence but one of the above +note. It was in everybody's mouth in court circles that Mme. Sanseverina +was manifesting a great deal of friendly interest in Count Baldi, that +extremely handsome man and quondam friend of the Marquise Raversi. The +one thing certain was that he and the Marquise had separated, and he was +alleged to have behaved most shamefully toward the lady who for six +years had been to him a mother and given him his standing in society. + +The next morning, long before the sun was up, Grillo entered Fabrice's +cell, laid down what seemed to be a pretty heavy package, and vanished +without saying a word. The package contained a good-sized loaf of bread, +plentifully ornamented with, little crosses made with a pen. Fabrice +covered them with kisses. Why? Because he was in love. Beside the loaf +lay a rouleau incased in many thicknesses of paper; it contained six +thousand francs in sequins. Finally, Fabrice discovered a handsome +brand-new prayer-book: these words, in a writing he was beginning to be +acquainted with, were written on the fly-leaf:-- + +"_Poison!_ Beware the water, the wine, everything; confine yourself to +chocolate. Give the untasted dinner to the dog; it will not do to show +distrust; the enemy would have recourse to other methods. For God's +sake, be cautious! no rashness!" + +Fabrice made haste to remove the telltale writing which might have +compromised Clelia, and to tear out a number of leaves from the +prayer-book, with which he made several alphabets; each letter was +neatly formed with powdered charcoal moistened with wine. The alphabets +were quite dry when at a quarter to twelve Clelia appeared at the window +of the aviary. "The main thing now is to persuade her to use them," said +Fabrice to himself. But as it happened, fortunately, she had much to say +to the young prisoner in regard to the plan to poison him (a dog +belonging to one of the kitchen-maids had died after eating a dish +cooked for Fabrice), so that Clelia not only made no objection to the +use of the alphabets, but had herself prepared one in the highest style +of art with ink. Under this method, which did not work altogether +smoothly at the beginning, the conversation lasted an hour and a half, +which was as long as Clelia dared remain in the aviary. Two or three +times, when Fabrice trespassed on forbidden ground and alluded to +matters that were taboo, she made no answer and walked away to feed +her birds. + +Fabrice requested that when she sent him his supply of water at evening +she would accompany it with one of her alphabets, which, being traced in +ink, were legible at a greater distance. He did not fail to write her a +good long letter, and was careful to put in it no soft nonsense--at +least, of a nature to offend. + +The next day, in their alphabetical conversation, Clelia had no reproach +to make him. She informed him that there was less to be apprehended from +the poisoners. Barbone had been waylaid and nearly murdered by the +lovers of the Governor's scullery-maids; he would scarcely venture to +show his face in the kitchens again. She owned up to stealing a +counter-poison from her father; she sent it to him with directions how +to use it, but the main thing was to reject at once all food that seemed +to have an unnatural taste. + +Clelia had subjected Don Cesare to a rigorous examination, without +succeeding in discovering whence came the six thousand francs received +by Fabrice. In any case, it was a good sign: it showed that the severity +of his confinement was relaxing. + +The poison episode had a very favorable effect on our hero's amatory +enterprise: still, he could never extort anything at all resembling a +confession of love; but he had the felicity of living on terms of +intimacy with Clelia. Every morning, and often at evening also, there +was a long conversation with the alphabets; every evening at nine +o'clock Clelia received a lengthy letter, and sometimes accorded it a +few brief words of answer; she sent him the daily paper and an +occasional new book; finally, the rugged Grillo had been so far tamed as +to keep Fabrice supplied with bread and wine, which were handed him +daily by Clelia's maid. This led honest Grillo to conclude that the +Governor was not of the same mind as those who had engaged Barbone to +poison the young Monsignor; at which he rejoiced exceedingly, as did his +comrades, for there was a saying current in the prison--"You have only +to look Monsignor del Dongo in the face; he is certain to give +you money." + +Fabrice was very pale; lack of exercise was injuring his health: but for +all that he had never been so happy. The tone of the conversation +between Clelia and him was familiar and often gay. The only moments of +the girl's life not beset with dark forebodings and remorse were those +spent in conversing with him. She was so thoughtless as to remark +one day:-- + +"I admire your delicacy: because I am the Governor's daughter you have +nothing to say to me of the pleasures of freedom!" + +"That's because I am not so absurd as to have aspirations in that +direction," replied Fabrice. "How often could I hope to see you if I +were living in Parma, a free man again? And life would not be worth +living if I could not tell you all my thoughts--no, not that exactly: +you take precious good care I don't tell you _all_ my thoughts! But in +spite of your cruel tyranny, to live without seeing you daily would be a +far worse punishment than captivity; in all my life I was never so +happy! Isn't it strange to think happiness was awaiting me in a prison?" + +"There is a good deal to be said on that point," rejoined Clelia, with +an air that all at once became very serious, almost threatening. + +"What!" exclaimed Fabrice, in alarm, "am I in danger of losing the small +place I have won in your heart, my sole joy in this world?" + +"Yes," she replied. "Although your reputation in society is that of a +gentleman and gallant man, I have reason to believe you are not acting +ingenuously toward me. But I don't wish to discuss this matter to-day." + +This strange exordium cast an element of embarrassment into the +conversation, and tears were often in the eyes of both. + +Copyrighted by George H. Richmond and Company. + + + + +WILLEM BILDERDIJK + +(1756-1831) + + +Willem Bilderdijk's personality, even more than his genius, exerted so +powerful an influence over his time that it has been said that to think +of a Dutchman of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century was to +think of Bilderdijk. He stands as the representative of the great +literary and intellectual awakening which took place in Holland +immediately after that country became part of the French empire. The +history of literature has many examples of how, under political +disturbances, the agitated mind has sought refuge in literary and +scientific pursuits, and it seemed at that time as if Dutch literature +was entering a new Golden Age. The country had never known better poets; +but it was the poetry of the eighteenth century, to quote Ten Brink, +"ceremonious and stagy." + +In 'Herinnering van mijne Kindheit' (Reminiscences of My Childhood), a +book which is not altogether to be relied upon, Bilderdijk gives a +charming picture of his father, a physician in Amsterdam, but speaks of +his mother in less flattering terms. He was born in Amsterdam in 1756. +At an early age he suffered an injury to his foot, a peasant boy having +carelessly stepped on it; attempts were made to cure him by continued +bleedings, and the result was that he was confined to his bed for twelve +years. These years laid the foundation of a character lacking in power +to love and to call forth love, and developing into an almost fierce +hypochondria, full of complaints and fears of death. In these years, +however, he acquired the information and the wonderful power of language +which appear in his sinewy verse. + +One of his poems, dated 1770, has been preserved, but is principally +interesting as a first attempt. Others, written in his twentieth year, +were prize poems, and are sufficiently characterized by their +titles:--'Kunst wordt door Arbeid verkregen' (Art came through Toil), +and 'Inloed der Dichthunst op het Staets bestuur' (Influence of Poetry +on Statesmanship). When he went to Leyden in 1780 to study law, he was +already famous. His examinations passed, he settled at the Hague to +practice, and in 1785 married Katharina Rebekka Woesthoven. The +following year he published his romance, 'Elius,' in seven songs. The +romance ultimately became his favorite form of verse; but this was not +the form now called romance. It was the rhymed narrative of the +eighteenth century, written with endless care and reflection, and in +his case with so superior a treatment of language that no Dutch poet +since Huygens had approached it. + +The year 1795 was the turning-point in Bilderdijk's life. He had been +brought up in unswerving faith in the cause of the house of Orange, was +a fanatic monarchist and Calvinist, "anti-revolutionary, +anti-Barneveldtian, anti-Loevesteinisch, anti-liberal" (thus Da Costa), +a warm supporter of William the Fifth, and at the entrance of the French +in 1795 he refused to give his oath of allegiance to the cause of the +citizens and the sovereignty of the people. He was exiled, left the +Hague, and went to London, and later to Brunswick. This was not +altogether a misfortune for him, nor an unrelieved sorrow. He had been +more successful as poet than as husband or financier, and by his +compulsory banishment escaped his financial difficulties and what he +considered the chains of his married life. In London Bilderdijk met his +countryman the painter Schweikhardt; and with this meeting begins a +period of his life over which his admirers would fain draw a veil. With +Schweikhardt were his two daughters, of whom the younger, Katherina +Wilhelmina, became Bilderdijk's first pupil, and, excepting his +"intellectual son," Isaak da Costa, probably his only one. Besides her +great poetic gifts she possessed beauty and charm. She fell in love with +her teacher and followed him to Brunswick, where she lived in his house +under the name of Frau van Heusden. In spite of this arrangement, the +poet seems to have considered himself a most faithful husband; and he +did his best to persuade his wife to join him with their children, but +naturally without success. In 1802 the marriage was legally annulled, +and Frau van Heusden took his name. She did her best to atone for the +blot on her repute by a self-sacrificing lovableness, and was in close +sympathy with Bilderdijk on the intellectual side. Like him she was +familiar with all the resources of the art of poetry. Most famous of her +poems are the long one 'Rodrigo de Goth,' and her touching, graceful +'Gedichten voor Kinderen' (Poems for Children). Bilderdijk's verses show +what she was to him:-- + + In the shadow of my verdure, firmly on my trunk depending, + Grew the tender branch of cedar, never longing once to leave me; + Faithfully through rain and tempest, modest at my side it rested, + Bearing to my honor solely the first twig it might its own call; + Fair the wreath thy flowers made me for my knotted trunk fast withering, + And my soul with pride was swelling at the crown of thy young blossoms; + Straight and strong and firmly rooted, tall and green thy head arises, + Bright the glory of its freshness; never yet by aught bedimmed. + Lo! my crown to thine now bending, only thine the radiant freshness, + And my soul finds rest and comfort in thy sheltering foliage. + +Meanwhile he was no better off materially. The Duke of Brunswick, who +had known him previously, received the famous Dutch exile with open +arms, and granted him a pension; but it never sufficed. Many efforts +were made to have his decree of exile annulled; but they failed through +his own peevish insolence and his boundless ingratitude. King Louis +(Bonaparte) of Holland extended his protection to the dissatisfied old +poet; and all these royal gentlemen were most generous. When the house +of Orange returned to Holland, William I. continued the favor already +shown him, obtained a high pension for him, and when it proved +insufficient, supplemented it with gifts. In this way Bilderdijk's +income in the year 1816 amounted to twenty thousand gold pieces. That +this should be sufficient to keep the wolf from the door in a city like +Amsterdam, Bilderdijk thought too much to expect, and consequently left +in great indignation and went to Leyden in 1817. + +But these personal troubles in no way interfered with his talent. On the +contrary, the history of literature has seldom known so great an +activity and productiveness; all in all, his works amounted to almost a +hundred volumes. What he accomplished during his stay in Germany was +almost incredible. He gave lessons to exiled Dutch in a great variety of +branches, he saw volume upon volume through print; he wrote his famous +'Het Buitenleven' (Country Life) after Delille, he translated Fingal +after Ossian, he wrote 'Vaderlandsche Orangezucht' (Patriotic Love for +Orange). After his return to Holland he wrote 'De Ziekte der Geleerden' +(The Disease of Genius: 1817), 'Leyden's Kamp' (Leyden's Battle: 1808), +and the first five songs of 'De Ondergang der eerste Wereld' +(Destruction of the First World: 1809), probably his masterpiece; +moreover, the dramas 'Floris V.,' 'Willem van Holland,' and 'Kounak.' +The volumes published between 1815 and 1819 bore the double signature +Willem and Wilhelmina Katherina Bilderdijk. + +But it was as though time had left him behind. The younger Holland shook +its head over the old gentleman of the past century, with his antagonism +for the poetry of the day and his rage against Shakespeare and the +latter's "puerile" 'King Lear.' For to Bilderdijk even more than to +Voltaire, Shakespeare was an abomination. Then in 1830 he received the +severest blow of his life: Katherina Wilhelmina died. This happened in +Haarlem, whither he had gone in 1827. With this calamity his strength +was broken and his life at an end. He followed her in 1831. + +He was in every way a son of the eighteenth century; he began as a +didactic and patriotic poet, and might at first be considered a follower +of Jakob Cats. He became principally a lyric poet, but his lyric knew no +deep sentiment, no suppressed feeling; its greatness lay in its +rhetorical power. His ode to Napoleon may therefore be one of the best +to characterize his genius. When he returned to his native country after +eleven years' exile, with heart and mind full of Holland, it was old +Holland he sought and did not find. He did not understand young Holland. +In spite of this, his fame and powerful personality had an attraction +for the young; but it was the attraction of a past time, the fascination +of the glorious ruin. Young Holland wanted freedom, individual +independence, and this Bilderdijk considered a misfortune. "One should +not let children, women, and nations know that they possess other rights +than those naturally theirs. This matter must be a secret between the +prince and his heart and reason,--to the masses it ought always to be +kept as hidden as possible." The new age which had made its entry with +the cry of Liberty would not tolerate such sentiments, and he stood +alone, a powerful, demonic, but incomprehensible spirit. + +Aside from his fame as a poet, he deserves to be mentioned as Jacob +Grimm's correspondent, as philologist, philosopher, and theologian. + + + ODE TO BEAUTY + + Child of the Unborn! dost thou bend + From Him we in the day-beams see, + Whose music with the breeze doth blend?-- + To feel thy presence is to be. + Thou, our soul's brightest effluence--thou + Who in heaven's light to earth dost bow, + A Spirit 'midst unspiritual clods-- + Beauty! who bear'st the stamp profound + Of Him with all perfection crowned, + Thine image--thine alone--is God's.... + + How shall I catch a single ray + Thy glowing hand from nature wakes-- + Steal from the ether-waves of day + One of the notes thy world-harp shakes-- + Escape that miserable joy, + Which dust and self with darkness cloy, + Fleeting and false--and, like a bird, + Cleave the air-path, and follow thee + Through thine own vast infinity, + Where rolls the Almighty's thunder-word? + + Perfect thy brightness in heaven's sphere, + Where thou dost vibrate in the bliss + Of anthems ever echoing there! + That, that is life--not this--not this: + There in the holy, holy row-- + And not on earth, so deep below-- + Thy music unrepressed may speak; + Stay, shrouded, in that holy place;-- + Enough that we have seen thy face, + And kissed the smiles upon thy cheek. + + We stretch our eager hands to thee, + And for thine influence pray in vain; + The burden of mortality + Hath bent us 'neath its heavy chain;-- + And there are fetters forged by art, + And science cold hath chilled the heart, + And wrapped thy god-like crown in night; + On waxen wings they soar on high, + And when most distant deem, thee nigh-- + They quench thy torch, and dream of light. + + Child of the Unborn! joy! for thou + Shinest in every heavenly flame, + Breathest in all the winds that blow, + While self-conviction speaks thy name: + Oh, let one glance of thine illume + The longing soul that bids thee come, + And make me feel of heaven, like thee! + Shake from thy torch one blazing drop, + And to my soul all heaven shall ope, + And I--dissolve in melody! + + Translated in Westminster Review. + + + FROM THE 'ODE TO NAPOLEON' + + Poesy, nay! Too long art silent! + Seize now the lute! Why dost thou tarry? + Let sword the Universe inherit, + Noblest as prize of war be glory. + Let thousand mouths sing hero-actions: + E'en so, the glory is not uttered. + Earth-gods--an endless life, ambrosial, + Find they alone in song enchanting. + + Watch thou with care thy heedless fingers + Striking upon the lyre so godlike; + Hold thou in check thy lightning-flashes, + That where they chance to fall are blighting. + He who on eagle's wing soars skyward + Must at the sun's bright barrier tremble. + Frederic, though great in royal throning, + Well may amaze the earth, and heaven, + When clothed by thunder and the levin + Swerves he before the hero's fanfare. + + * * * * * + + Pause then, Imagination! Portals + Hiding the Future, ope your doorways! + Earth, the blood-drenched, yields palms and olives. + Sword that hath cleft on bone and muscle, + Spear that hath drunk the hero's lifeblood, + Furrow the soil, as spade and ploughshare. + Blasts that alarm from blaring trumpets + Laws of fair Peace anon shall herald: + Heaven's shame, at last, its end attaining. + + Earth, see, O see your sceptres bowing. + Gone is the eagle once majestic; + On us a cycle new is dawning; + Look, from the skies it hath descended. + O potent princes, ye the throne-born! + See what Almighty will hath destined. + Quit ye your seats, in low adoring, + Set all the earth, with you, a-kneeling; + Or--as the free-born men should perish-- + Sink in grave with crown and kingdom. + + Glorious in lucent rays, already + Brighter than gold a sceptre shineth; + No warring realm shall dim its lustre, + No earth-storm veil its blaze to dimness. + Can it be true that, centuries ended, + God's endless realm, the Hebrew, quickens + Lifting its horns--though not for always? + Shines in the East the sun, like noonday? + Shall Hagar's wandering sons be heartened + After the Moslem's haughty baiting? + + Speed toward us, speed, O days so joyous! + Even if blood your cost be reckoned; + Speed as in Heaven's gracious favor, + Bringing again Heaven's earthly kingdom. + Yea, though through waters deep we struggle, + Joining in fight with seas of troubles. + Suffer we, bear we--hope--be silent! + On us shall dawn a coming daybreak-- + With it, the world of men be happy! + +Translated in the metre of the original, by E. Irenaeus Stevenson, for +the (World's Best Literature) + + + SLIGHTED LOVE + + AN ORIENTAL ROMANCE + + Splendid rose the star of evening, and the gray dusk was + a-fading. + O'er it with a hand of mildness, now the Night her veil was + drawing: + Abensaid, valiant soldier, from Medina's ancient gateway, + To the meadows, rich with blossoms, walked in darkest mood of + musing-- + Where the Guadalete's wild waves foaming wander through the + flat lands, + Where, within the harbor's safety, loves to wait the weary seaman. + Neither hero's mood nor birth-pride eased his spirit of its suffering + For his youth's betrothed, Zobeide; she it was who caused him + anguish. + Faithless had she him forsaken, she sometime his best-beloved, + Left him, though already parted by strange fate, from realm and + heirship. + Oh, that destiny he girds not--strength it gave him, hero-courage, + Added to his lofty spirit, touches of nobler feeling-- + 'Tis that she, ill-starred one, leaves him! takes the hand so + wrinkled + Of that old man, Seville's conqueror! + Into the night, along the river, Abensaid now forth rushes: + Loudly to the rocky limits, Echo bears his lamentations. + "Faithless maid, more faithless art thou than the sullen water! + Harder thou than even the hardened bosom of yon rigid rockwall! + Ah, bethinkest thou, Zobeide, still upon our solemn love-oath? + How thy heart, this hour so faithless, once belonged to me, me only? + Canst thou yield thy heart, thy beauty, to that old man, dead to + love-thoughts? + Wilt thou try to love the tyrant lacking love despite his treasure? + Dost thou deem the sands of desert higher than are virtue-- + honor? + Allah grant, then, that he hate thee! That thou lovest yet + another! + That thou soon thyself surrender to the scorned one's bitter feeling. + Rest may night itself deny thee, and may day to thee be terror! + Be thy face before thy husband as a thing of nameless loathing! + May his eye avoid thee ever, flee the splendor of thy beauty! + May he ne'er, in gladsome gathering, stretch his hand to thee for + partner! + Never gird himself with girdle which for him thy hand embroidered! + Let his heart, thy love forsaking, in another love be fettered; + The love-tokens of another may his scutcheon flame in battle, + While behind thy grated windows year by year, away thou + mournest! + To thy rival may he offer prisoners that his hand has taken! + May the trophies of his victory on his knees to _her_ be proffered! + May he hate thee! and thy heart's faith to him be but thing + accursed! + These things, aye and more still! be thy cure for all my sting + and sorrow!" + Silent now goes Abensaid, unto Xeres, in the midnight; + Dazzling shone the palace, lighted, festal for the loathsome marriage, + Richly-robed Moors were standing 'neath the shimmer of the + tapers, + On the jubilant procession of the marriage-part proceeded. + In the path stands Abensaid, frowning, as the bridegroom nears + him; + Strikes the lance into his bosom, with the rage of sharpest + vengeance. + 'Gainst the heaven rings a loud cry, those at hand their swords + are baring-- + But he rushes through the weapons, and in safety gains his own + hearth. + +Translation through the German, in the metre of the original, by E. +Irenaeus Stevenson. + + + THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER[17] + + From "Country Life" + + There he sits; his figure and his rigid bearing + Let us know most clearly what is his ideal:-- + Confidence in self, in his lofty standing; + Thereto add conceit in his own great value. + Certain, he can read--yes, and write and cipher; + In the almanac no star-group's a stranger. + In the church he, faithful, leads the pious chorus; + Drums the catechism into young ones' noddles. + Disputation to him's half the joy of living; + Even though he's beaten, he will not give over. + Watch him, when he talks, in how learned fashion! + Drags on every word, spares no play of muscle. + Ah, what pains he takes to forget no syllable-- + Consonants and vowels rightly weighed and measured. + Often is he, too, of this and that a poet! + Every case declines with precisest conscience; + Knows the history of Church and State, together-- + Every Churchly light,--of pedant-deeds the record. + All the village world speechless stands before him. + Asking "How can _one_ brain be so ruled by Wisdom?" + Sharply, too, he looks down on one's transgressions. + 'Gainst his judgment stern, tears and prayers avail not. + He appears--one glance (from a god that glance comes!) + At a flash decides what the youngster's fate is. + At his will a crowd runs, at his beck it parteth. + Doth he smile? all frolic; doth he frown--all cower. + By a tone he threatens, gives rewards, metes justice. + Absent though he be, every pupil dreads him, + For he sees, hears, knows, everything that's doing. + On the urchin's forehead he can see it written. + He divines who laughs, idles, yawns, or chatters, + Who plays tricks on others, or in prayer-time's lazy. + With its shoots, the birch-rod lying there beside him + Knows how all misdeeds in a trice are settled. + Surely by these traits you've our dorf-Dionysius! + + [Footnote 17: Compare Goldsmith's famous portrait in + "The Deserted Village".] + +Translation through the German, in the meter of the original, by E. +Irenaetis Stevenson, for the "World's Best Literature". + + + + +BION + +(275 B.C.) + + +Of Bion, the second of the Sicilian idyllists, of whom Theocritus was +the first and Moschus the third and last, but little knowledge and few +remains exist. He was born near Smyrna, says Suidas; and from the elegy +on his death, attributed to his pupil Moschus, we infer that he lived in +Sicily and died there of poison. "Say that Bion the herdsman is dead," +says the threnody, appealing to the Sicilian muses, "and that song has +died with Bion, and the Dorian minstrelsy hath perished.... Poison came, +Bion, to thy mouth. What mortal so cruel as to mix poison for thee!" As +Theocritus is also mentioned in the idyl, Bion is supposed to have been +his contemporary, and to have flourished about 275 B. C. + +Compared with Theocritus, his poetry is inferior in simplicity and +naivete, and declines from the type which Theocritus had established for +the out-door, open-field idyl. With Bion, bucolics first took on the air +of the study. Although at first this art and affectation were rarely +discernible, they finally led to the mold of brass in which for +centuries Italian and English pastorals were cast, and later to the +complete devitalizing which marks English pastoral poetry in the +eighteenth century, with the one exception of Allan Ramsay's "Gentle +Shepherd". Theocritus had sung with genuine feeling of trees and +wandering winds, of flowers and the swift mountain stream. His poetry +has atmosphere; it is vital with sunlight, color, and the beauty which +is cool and calm and true. Although Bion's poems possess elegance and +sweetness, and abound in pleasing imagery, they lack the naturalness of +the idyls of Theocritus. Reflection has crept into them; they are in +fact love-songs, with here and there a tinge of philosophy, + +The most famous as well as the most powerful and original of Bion's +poems remaining to us is the threnody upon Adonis. It was doubtless +composed in honor of the rites with which Greek women celebrated certain +Eastern festivals; for the worship of Adonis still lingered among them, +mixed with certain Syrian customs. + + "Thammuz came next behind, + Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured + The Syrian damsels to lament his fate + In amorous ditties all a summer's day, + While smooth Adonis from his native rock + Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood + Of Thammuz yearly wounded." + +Thammuz is identified with Adonis. "We came to a fair large river," +writes an old English traveler, "doubtless the ancient river Adonis, +which at certain seasons of the year, especially about the feast of +Adonis, is of a bloody color, which the heathens looked upon as +proceeding from a kind of sympathy in the river for the death of Adonis, +who was killed by a wild boar in the mountains out of which the stream +issues. Something like this we saw actually come to pass; for the water +was stained to a surprising redness, and, as we observed in traveling, +had discolored the sea a great way into a reddish hue, occasioned +doubtless by a sort of minium, or red earth, washed into the river by +the violence of the rain." + +The poem is colored by the Eastern nature of its subject, and its +rapidity, vehemence, warmth, and unrestraint are greater than the strict +canon of Greek art allows. It is noteworthy, aside from its varied +beauties, because of its fine abandonment to grief and its appeal for +recognition of the merits of the dead youth it celebrates. Bion's +threnody has undoubtedly become a criterion and given the form to some +of the more famous "songs of tears". The laudatory clegy of Moschus for +his master--we say of Moschus, although Ahrens, in his recension, +includes the lament under 'Incertorum Idyllia' at the end of 'Moschi +Reliquiae'--follows it faithfully. Milton in his great ode of 'Lycidas' +does not depart from the Greek lines; and Shelley, lamenting Keats in +his 'Adonais,' reverts still more closely to the first master, adding +perhaps an element of artificiality one does not find in other +threnodies. The broken and extended form of Tennyson's celebration of +Arthur Hallam takes it out of a comparison with the Greek; but the +monody of 'Thyrsis', Matthew Arnold's commemoration of Clough, +approaches nearer the Greek. Yet no other lament has the energy and +rapidity of Bion's; the refrain, the insistent repetition of the words +"I wail for Adonis",--"Alas for Cypris!" full of pathos and unspoken +irrepressible woe, is used only by his pupil Moschus, though hinted at +by Milton. + +The peculiar rhythm, the passion and delicate finish of the song, have +attracted a number of translators, among whose versions Mrs. Browning's +'The Lament for Adonis' is considered the best. The subjoined version in +the Spenserian stanza, by Anna C. Brackett, follows its model closely in +its directness and fervor of expression, and has moreover in itself +genuine poetic merit. The translation of a fragment of 'Hesperos' is +that of J.A. Symonds. Bion's fluent and elegant versification invites +study, and his few idyls and fragments have at various times been turned +into English by Fawkes (to be found in Chalmers's 'Works of English +Poets'), Polwhele, Banks, Chapman, and others. + + + THRENODY + + I weep for Adonais--he is dead! + Dead Adonais lies, and mourning all, + The Loves wail round his fair, low-lying head. + O Cypris, sleep no more! Let from thee fall + Thy purple vestments--hear'st thou not the call? + Let fall thy purple vestments! Lay them by! + Ah, smite thy bosom, and in sable pall + Send shivering through the air thy bitter cry + For Adonais dead, while all the Loves reply. + + I weep for Adonais--weep the Loves. + Low on the mountains beauteous lies he there, + And languid through his lips the faint breath moves, + And black the blood creeps o'er his smooth thigh, where + The boar's white tooth the whiter flesh must tear. + Glazed grow his eyes beneath the eyelids wide; + Fades from his lips the rose, and dies--Despair! + The clinging kiss of Cypris at his side-- + Alas, he knew not that she kissed him as he died! + + I wail--responsive wail the Loves with me. + Ah, cruel, cruel is that wound of thine, + But Cypris' heart-wound aches more bitterly. + The Oreads weep; thy faithful hounds low whine; + But Cytherea's unbound tresses fine + Float on the wind; where thorns her white feet wound, + Along the oaken glades drops blood divine. + She calls her lover; he, all crimsoned round + His fair white breast with blood, hears not the piteous sound. + + Alas! for Cytherea wail the Loves, + With the beloved dies her beauty too. + O fair was she, the goddess borne of doves, + While Adonais lived; but now, so true + Her love, no time her beauty can renew. + Deep-voiced the mountains mourn; the oaks reply; + And springs and rivers murmur sorrow through + The passes where she goes, the cities high; + And blossoms flush with grief as she goes desolate by. + + Alas for Cytherea! he hath died-- + The beauteous Adonais, he is dead! + And Echo sadly back "_is dead_" replied. + Alas for Cypris! Stooping low her head, + And opening wide her arms, she piteous said, + "O stay a little, Adonais mine! + Of all the kisses ours since we were wed, + But one last kiss, oh, give me now, and twine + Thine arms close, till I drink the latest breath of thine! + + "So will I keep the kiss thou givest me + E'en as it were thyself, thou only best! + Since thou, O Adonais, far dost flee-- + Oh, stay a little--leave a little rest!-- + And thou wilt leave me, and wilt be the guest + Of proud Persephone, more strong than I? + All beautiful obeys her dread behest-- + And I a goddess am, and _cannot_ die! + O thrice-beloved, listen!--mak'st thou no reply? + + "Then dies to idle air my longing wild, + As dies a dream along the paths of night; + And Cytherea widowed is, exiled + From love itself; and now--an idle sight-- + The Loves sit in my halls, and all delight + My charmed girdle moves, is all undone! + Why wouldst thou, rash one, seek the maddening fight? + Why, beauteous, wouldst thou not the combat shun?"-- + Thus Cytherea--and the Loves weep, all as one. + + Alas for Cytherea!--he is dead. + Her hopeless sorrow breaks in tears, that rain + Down over all the fair, beloved head,-- + Like summer showers, o'er wind-down-beaten grain; + They flow as fast as flows the crimson stain + From out the wound, deep in the stiffening thigh; + And lo! in roses red the blood blooms fair, + And where the tears divine have fallen close by, + Spring up anemones, and stir all tremblingly. + + I weep for Adonais--he is dead! + No more, O Cypris, weep thy wooer here! + Behold a bed of leaves! Lay down his head + As if he slept--as still, as fair, as dear,-- + In softest garments let his limbs appear, + As when on golden couch his sweetest sleep + He slept the livelong night, thy heart anear; + Oh, beautiful in death though sad he keep, + No more to wake when Morning o'er the hills doth creep. + + And over him the freshest flowers fling-- + Ah me! all flowers are withered quite away + And drop their petals wan! yet, perfumes bring + And sprinkle round, and sweetest balsams lay;-- + Nay, perish perfumes since thine shall not stay! + In purple mantle lies he, and around, + The weeping Loves his weapons disarray, + His sandals loose, with water bathe his wound, + And fan him with soft wings that move without a sound. + + The Loves for Cytherea raise the wail. + Hymen from quenched torch no light can shake. + His shredded wreath lies withered all and pale; + His joyous song, alas, harsh discords break! + And saddest wail of all, the Graces wake; + "The beauteous Adonais! He is dead!" + And sigh the Muses, "Stay but for our sake!" + Yet would he come, Persephone is dead;-- + Cease, Cypris! Sad the days repeat their faithful tread! + + Paraphrase of Anna C. Brackett, in Journal of Speculative Philosophy. + + + HESPER + + Hesper, thou golden light of happy love, + Hesper, thou holy pride of purple eve, + Moon among stars, but star beside the moon, + Hail, friend! and since the young moon sets to-night + Too soon below the mountains, lend thy lamp + And guide me to the shepherd whom I love. + No theft I purpose; no wayfaring man + Belated would I watch and make my prey: + Love is my goal; and Love how fair it is, + When friend meets friend sole in the silent night, + Thou knowest, Hesper! + + + + +AUGUSTINE BIRRELL + +(1850-) + + +Those to whom the discovery of a relishing new literary flavor means the +permanent annexation of a new tract of enjoyment have not forgotten what +happened in 1885. A slender 16mo volume entitled "Obiter Dicta", +containing seven short literary and biographic essays, came out in that +year, anonymous and unheralded, to make such way as it might among a +book-whelmed generation. It had no novelty of subject to help it to a +hearing; the themes were largely the most written-out, in all seeming, +that could have been selected,--a few great orthodox names on which +opinion was closed and analysis exhausted. Browning, Carlyle, Charles +Lamb, and John Henry Newman are indeed very beacons to warn off the +sated bookman. A paper on Benvenuto Cellini, one on Actors, and one on +Falstaff (by another hand) closed the list. Yet a few weeks made it the +literary event of the day. Among epicures of good reading the word +swiftly passed along that here was a new sensation of unusually +satisfying charm and freshness. It was a _tour de force_ like the +"Innocents Abroad", a journey full of new sights over the most staled +and beaten of tracks. The triumph was all the author's own. + +[Illustration: AUGUSTINE BIRRELL] + +Two years later came another volume as a "Second Series", of the same +general character but superior to the first. Among the subjects of its +eleven papers were Milton, Pope, Johnson, Burke, Lamb again, and +Emerson; with some general essays, including that on "The Office of +Literature", given below. + +In 1892 appeared "Res Judicatae", really a third volume of the same +series, and perhaps even richer in matter and more acute and original in +thought. Its first two articles, prepared as lectures on Samuel +Richardson and Edward Gibbon, are indeed his high-water, mark in both +substance and style. Cowper, George Borrow, Newman again, Lamb a third +time (and fresh as ever), Hazlitt, Matthew Arnold, and Sainte-Beuve are +brought in, and some excellent literary miscellanea. + +A companion volume called 'Men, Women, and Books' is disappointing +because composed wholly of short newspaper articles: Mr. Birrell's +special quality needs space to make itself felt. He needs a little time +to get up steam, a little room to unpack his wares; he is no pastel +writer, who can say his say in a paragraph and runs dry in two. Hence +these snippy editorials do him no justice: he is obliged to stop every +time just as he is getting ready to say something worth while. They are +his, and therefore readable and judicious; but they give no idea of his +best powers. + +He has also written a life of Charlotte Bronte. But he holds his place +in the front rank of recent essayists by the three 'Obiter Dicta' and +'Res Judicatae' volumes of manly, luminous, penetrating essays, full of +racy humor and sudden wit; of a generous appreciativeness that seeks +always for the vital principle which gave the writer his hold on men; +still more, of a warm humanity and a sure instinct for all the higher +and finer things of the spirit which never fail to strike chords in the +heart as well as the brain. No writer's work leaves a better taste in +the mouth; he makes us think better of the world, of righteousness, of +ourselves. Yet no writer is less of a Puritan or a Philistine; none +writes with less of pragmatic purpose or a less obtrusive load of +positive fact. He scorns such overladen pedantry, and never loses a +chance to lash it. He tells us that he has "never been inside the +reading-room of the British Museum," and "expounds no theory save the +unworthy one that literature ought to please." He says the one question +about a book which is to be part of _literature_ is, "Does it read?" +that "no one is under any obligation to read any one else's book," and +therefore it is a writer's business to make himself welcome to readers; +that he does not care whether an author was happy or not, he wants the +author to make him happy. He puts his theory in practice: he makes +himself welcome as a companion at once stimulating and restful, of +humane spirit and elevated ideals, of digested knowledge and original +thought, of an insight which is rarely other than kindly and a deep +humor which never lapses into cynicism. + +Mr. Birrell helps to justify Walter Bagehot's dictum that the only man +who can write books well is one who knows practical life well; but still +there are congruities in all things, and one feels a certain shock of +incongruity in finding that this man of books and purveyor of light +genial book-talk, who can hardly write a line without giving it a +quality of real literary savor, is a prominent lawyer and member of +Parliament, and has written a law book which ranks among recognized +legal authorities. This is a series of lectures delivered in 1896, and +collected into a volume on 'The Duties and Liabilities of Trustees.' But +some of the surprise vanishes on reading the book: even as 'Alice in +Wonderland' shows on every page the work of a logician trained to use +words precisely and criticize their misuse, so in exactly the opposite +way this book is full of the shrewd judgment, the knowledge of life, and +even the delightful humor which form so much of Birrell's best equipment +for a man of letters. + +Mr. Birrell's work is not merely good reading, but is a mental clarifier +and tonic. We are much better critics of other writers through his +criticisms on his selected subjects. After every reading of 'Obiter +Dicta' we feel ashamed of crass and petty prejudice, in the face of his +lessons in disregarding surface mannerisms for the sake of vital +qualities. Only in one case does he lose his impartiality: he so objects +to treating Emerson with fairness that he even goes out of his way to +berate his idol Matthew Arnold for setting Emerson aloft. But what he +says of George Borrow is vastly more true of himself: he is one of the +writers we cannot afford to be angry with. + + +DR. JOHNSON + +"Criticism," writes Johnson in the 60th Idler, "is a study by which men +grow important and formidable at a very small expense. The power of +invention has been conferred by nature upon few, and the labor of +learning those sciences which may by mere labor be obtained, is too +great to be willingly endured: but every man can exert such judgment as +he has upon the works of others; and he whom nature has made weak, and +idleness keeps ignorant, may yet support his vanity by the name of +a critick." + +To proceed with our task by the method of comparison is to pursue a +course open to grave objection; yet it is forced upon us when we find, +as we lately did, a writer in the Times newspaper, in the course of a +not very discriminating review of Mr. Froude's recent volumes, casually +remarking, as if it admitted of no more doubt than the day's price of +consols, that Carlyle was a greater man than Johnson. It is a good thing +to be positive. To be positive in your opinions and selfish in your +habits is the best recipe, if not for happiness, at all events for that +far more attainable commodity, comfort, with which we are acquainted. "A +noisy man," sang poor Cowper, who could not bear anything louder than +the hissing of a tea-urn, "a noisy man is always in the right," and a +positive man can seldom be proved wrong. Still, in literature it is very +desirable to preserve a moderate measure of independence, and we +therefore make bold to ask whether it is as plain as the "old hill of +Howth" that Carlyle was a greater man than Johnson? Is not the precise +contrary the truth? No abuse of Carlyle need be looked for, here or from +me. When a man of genius and of letters happens to have any striking +virtues, such as purity, temperance, honesty, the novel task of dwelling +on them has such attraction for us that we are content to leave the +elucidation of his faults to his personal friends, and to stern, +unbending moralists like Mr. Edmund Yates and the World newspaper. To +love Carlyle is, thanks to Mr. Froude's superhuman ideal of friendship, +a task of much heroism, almost meriting a pension; still it is quite +possible for the candid and truth-loving soul. But a greater than +Johnson he most certainly was not. + +There is a story in Boswell of an ancient beggar-woman who, whilst +asking an alms of the Doctor, described herself to him, in a lucky +moment for her pocket, as "an old struggler." Johnson, his biographer +tells us, was visibly affected. The phrase stuck to his memory, and was +frequently applied to himself. "I too," so he would say, "am an old +struggler." So too, in all conscience, was Carlyle. The struggles of +Johnson have long been historical; those of Carlyle have just become so. +We are interested in both. To be indifferent would be inhuman. Both men +had great endowments, tempestuous natures, hard lots. They were not +amongst Dame Fortune's favorites. They had to fight their way. What they +took they took by storm. But--and here is a difference indeed--Johnson +came off victorious, Carlyle did not. + +Boswell's book is an arch of triumph, through which, as we read, we see +his hero passing into eternal fame, to take up his place with those-- + + "Dead but sceptred sovereigns who still rule + Our spirits from their urns." + +Froude's book is a tomb over which the lovers of Carlyle's genius will +never cease to shed tender but regretful tears. + +We doubt whether there is in English literature a more triumphant book +than Boswell's. What materials for tragedy are wanting? Johnson was a +man of strong passions, unbending spirit, violent temper, as poor as a +church-mouse, and as proud as the proudest of Church dignitaries; +endowed with the strength of a coal-heaver, the courage of a lion, and +the tongue of Dean Swift, he could knock down booksellers and silence +bargees; he was melancholy almost to madness, "radically wretched," +indolent, blinded, diseased. Poverty was long his portion; not that +genteel poverty that is sometimes behindhand with its rent, but that +hungry poverty that does not know where to look for its dinner. Against +all these things had this "old struggler" to contend; over all these +things did this "old struggler" prevail. Over even the fear of death, +the giving up of "this intellectual being," which had haunted his gloomy +fancy for a lifetime, he seems finally to have prevailed, and to have +met his end as a brave man should. + +Carlyle, writing to his wife, says, and truthfully enough, "The more the +devil worries me the more I wring him by the nose;" but then if the +devil's was the only nose that was wrung in the transaction, why need +Carlyle cry out so loud? After buffeting one's way through the +storm-tossed pages of Froude's (Carlyle,)--in which the universe is +stretched upon the rack because food disagrees with man and cocks +crow,--with what thankfulness and reverence do we read once again the +letter in which Johnson tells Mrs. Thrale how he has been called to +endure, not dyspepsia or sleeplessness, but paralysis itself:-- + +"On Monday I sat for my picture, and walked a considerable way with +little inconvenience. In the afternoon and evening I felt myself light +and easy, and began to plan schemes of life. Thus I went to bed, and in +a short time waked and sat up, as has long been my custom; when I felt a +confusion in my head which lasted, I suppose, about half a minute; I was +alarmed, and prayed God that however much He might afflict my body He +would spate my understanding.... Soon after I perceived that I had +suffered a paralytic stroke, and that my speech was taken from me. I had +no pain, and so little dejection in this dreadful state that I wondered +at my own apathy, and considered that perhaps death itself, when it +should come, would excite less horror than seems now to attend it. In +order to rouse the vocal organs I took two drams.... I then went to bed, +and strange as it may seem I think slept. When I saw light it was time I +should contrive what I should do. Though God stopped my speech, He left +me my hand. I enjoyed a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend +Lawrence, who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, and rejoices +that I have what he wanted. My first note was necessarily to my servant, +who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend why he should +read what I put into his hands.... How this will be received by you I +know not. I hope you will sympathize with me; but perhaps + + "'My mistress, gracious, mild, and good, + Cries--Is he dumb? 'Tis time he should.' + +"I suppose you may wish to know how my disease is treated by the +physicians. They put a blister upon my back, and two from my ear to my +throat, one on a side. The blister on the back has done little, and +those on the throat have not risen. I bullied and bounced (it sticks to +our last sand), and compelled the apothecary to make his salve according +to the Edinburgh dispensatory, that it might adhere better. I have now +two on my own prescription. They likewise give me salt of hartshorn, +which I take with no great confidence; but I am satisfied that what can +be done is done for me. I am almost ashamed of this querulous letter, +but now it is written let it go." + +This is indeed tonic and bark for the mind. + +If, irritated by a comparison that ought never to have been thrust upon +us, we ask why it is that the reader of Boswell finds it as hard to help +loving Johnson as the reader of Froude finds it hard to avoid disliking +Carlyle, the answer must be that whilst the elder man of letters was +full to overflowing with the milk of human kindness, the younger one was +full to overflowing with something not nearly so nice; and that whilst +Johnson was pre-eminently a reasonable man, reasonable in all his +demands and expectations, Carlyle was the most unreasonable mortal that +ever exhausted the patience of nurse, mother, or wife. + +Of Dr. Johnson's affectionate nature nobody has written with nobler +appreciation than Carlyle himself. "Perhaps it is this Divine feeling of +affection, throughout manifested, that principally attracts us to +Johnson. A true brother of men is he, and filial lover of the earth." + +The day will come when it will be recognized that Carlyle, as a critic, +is to be judged by what he himself corrected for the press, and not by +splenetic entries in diaries, or whimsical extravagances in private +conversation. + +Of Johnson's reasonableness nothing need be said, except that it is +patent everywhere. His wife's judgment was a sound one--"He is the most +sensible man I ever met." + +As for his brutality, of which at one time we used to hear a great +deal, we cannot say of it what Hookham Frere said of Lander's +immorality, that it was-- + + "Mere imaginary classicality + Wholly devoid of criminal reality." + +It was nothing of the sort. Dialectically the great Doctor was a great +brute. The fact is, he had so accustomed himself to wordy warfare that +he lost all sense of moral responsibility, and cared as little for men's +feelings as a Napoleon did for their lives. When the battle was over, +the Doctor frequently did what no soldier ever did that I have heard +tell of,--apologized to his victims and drank wine or lemonade with +them. It must also be remembered that for the most part his victims +sought him out. They came to be tossed and gored. And after all, are +they so much to be pitied? They have our sympathy, and the Doctor has +our applause. I am not prepared to say, with the simpering fellow with +weak legs whom David Copperfield met at Mr. Waterbrook's dinner-table, +that I would sooner be knocked down by a man with blood than picked up +by a man without any; but, argumentatively speaking, I think it would be +better for a man's reputation to be knocked down by Dr. Johnson than +picked up by Mr. Froude. + +Johnson's claim to be the best of our talkers cannot, on our present +materials, be contested. For the most part we have only talk about other +talkers. Johnson's is matter of record. Carlyle no doubt was a great +talker--no man talked against talk or broke silence to praise it more +eloquently than he, but unfortunately none of it is in evidence. All +that is given us is a sort of Commination Service writ large. We soon +weary of it. Man does not live by curses alone. + +An unhappier prediction of a boy's future was surely never made than +that of Johnson's by his cousin, Mr. Cornelius Ford, who said to the +infant Samuel, "You will make your way the more easily in the world as +you are content to dispute no man's claim to conversation excellence, +and they will, therefore, more willingly allow your pretensions as a +writer." Unfortunate Mr. Ford! The man never breathed whose claim to +conversation excellence Dr. Johnson did not dispute on every possible +occasion; whilst, just because he was admittedly so good a talker, his +pretensions as a writer have been occasionally slighted. + +Johnson's personal character has generally been allowed to stand high. +It, however, has not been submitted to recent tests. To be the first to +"smell a fault" is the pride of the modern biographer. Boswell's artless +pages afford useful hints not lightly to be disregarded. During some +portion of Johnson's married life he had lodgings, first at Greenwich, +afterwards at Hampstead. But he did not always go home o' nights; +sometimes preferring to roam the streets with that vulgar ruffian +Savage, who was certainly no fit company for him. He once actually +quarreled with Tetty, who, despite her ridiculous name, was a very +sensible woman with a very sharp tongue, and for a season, like stars, +they dwelt apart. Of the real merits of this dispute we must resign +ourselves to ignorance. The materials for its discussion do not exist; +even Croker could not find them. Neither was our great moralist as sound +as one would have liked to see him in the matter of the payment of small +debts. When he came to die, he remembered several of these outstanding +accounts; but what assurance have we that he remembered them all? One +sum of L10 he sent across to the honest fellow from whom he had borrowed +it, with an apology for his delay; which, since it had extended over a +period of twenty years, was not superfluous. I wonder whether he ever +repaid Mr. Dilly the guinea he once borrowed of him to give to a very +small boy who had just been apprenticed to a printer. If he did not, it +was a great shame. That he was indebted to Sir Joshua in a small loan is +apparent from the fact that it was one of his three dying requests to +that great man that he should release him from it, as, of course, the +most amiable of painters did. The other two requests, it will be +remembered, were to read his Bible, and not to use his brush on Sundays. +The good Sir Joshua gave the desired promises with a full heart, for +these two great men loved one another; but subsequently discovered the +Sabbatical restriction not a little irksome, and after a while resumed +his former practice, arguing with himself that the Doctor really had no +business to extract any such promise. The point is a nice one, and +perhaps ere this the two friends have met and discussed it in the +Elysian fields. If so, I hope the Doctor, grown "angelical," kept his +temper with the mild shade of Reynolds better than on the historical +occasion when he discussed with him the question of "strong drinks." + +Against Garrick, Johnson undoubtedly cherished a smoldering grudge, +which, however, he never allowed any one but himself to fan into flame. +His pique was natural. Garrick had been his pupil at Edial, near +Lichfield; they had come up to town together with an easy united fortune +of fourpence--"current coin o' the realm." Garrick soon had the world at +his feet and garnered golden grain. Johnson became famous too, but +remained poor and dingy. Garrick surrounded himself with what only money +can buy, good pictures and rare books. Johnson cared nothing for +pictures--how should he? he could not see them; but he did care a great +deal about books, and the pernickety little player was chary about +lending his splendidly bound rarities to his quondam preceptor. Our +sympathies in this matter are entirely with Garrick; Johnson was one of +the best men that ever lived, but not to lend books to. Like Lady +Slattern, he had a "most observant thumb." But Garrick had no real cause +for complaint. Johnson may have soiled his folios and sneered at his +trade, but in life Johnson loved Garrick, and in death embalmed his +memory in a sentence which can only die with the English language:--"I +am disappointed by that stroke of death which has eclipsed the gayety of +nations, and impoverished the public stock of harmless pleasure." + +Will it be believed that puny critics have been found to quarrel with +this colossal compliment on the poor pretext of its falsehood? Garrick's +death, urge these dullards, could not possibly have eclipsed the gayety +of nations, since he had retired from the stage months previous to his +demise. When will mankind learn that literature is one thing, and sworn +testimony another? ... + +Johnson the author is not always fairly treated. Phrases are convenient +things to hand about, and it is as little the custom to inquire into +their truth as it is to read the letterpress on bank-notes. We are +content to count bank-notes and to repeat phrases. One of these phrases +is, that whilst everybody reads Boswell, nobody reads Johnson. The facts +are otherwise. Everybody does not read Boswell, and a great many people +do read Johnson. If it be asked, What do the general public know of +Johnson's nine volumes octavo? I reply, Beshrew the general public! What +in the name of the Bodleian has the general public got to do with +literature? The general public subscribes to Mudie, and has its +intellectual, like its lacteal sustenance, sent round to it in carts. On +Saturdays these carts, laden with "recent works in circulation," +traverse the Uxbridge Road; on Wednesdays they toil up Highgate Hill, +and if we may believe the reports of travelers, are occasionally seen +rushing through the wilds of Camberwell and bumping over Blackheath. It +is not a question of the general public, but of the lover of letters. Do +Mr. Browning, Mr. Arnold, Mr. Lowell, Mr. Trevelyan, Mr. Stephen, Mr. +Morley, know their Johnson? "To doubt would be disloyalty." And what +these big men know in their big way, hundreds of little men know in +their little way. We have no writer with a more genuine literary flavor +about him than the great Cham of literature. No man of letters loved +letters better than he. He knew literature in all its branches--he had +read books, he had written books, he had sold books, he had bought +books, and he had borrowed them. Sluggish and inert in all other +directions, he pranced through libraries. He loved a catalogue; he +delighted in an index. He was, to employ a happy phrase of Dr. Holmes, +at home amongst books as a stable-boy is amongst horses. He cared +intensely about the future of literature and the fate of literary men. +"I respect Millar," he once exclaimed; "he has raised the price of +literature." Now Millar was a Scotchman. Even Horne Tooke was not to +stand in the pillory: "No, no, the dog has too much literature for +that." The only time the author of 'Rasselas' met the author of the +'Wealth of Nations' witnessed a painful scene. The English moralist gave +the Scotch one the lie direct, and the Scotch moralist applied to the +English one a phrase which would have done discredit to the lips of a +costermonger; but this notwithstanding, when Boswell reported that Adam +Smith preferred rhyme to blank verse, Johnson hailed the news as +enthusiastically as did Cedric the Saxon the English origin of the +bravest knights in the retinue of the Norman king. "Did Adam say that?" +he shouted: "I love him for it. I could hug him!" Johnson no doubt +honestly believed he held George III. in reverence, but really he did +not care a pin's fee for all the crowned heads of Europe. All his +reverence was reserved for "poor scholars." When a small boy in a +wherry, on whom had devolved the arduous task of rowing Johnson and his +biographer across the Thames, said he would give all he had to know +about the Argonauts, the Doctor was much pleased, and gave him, or got +Boswell to give him, a double fare. He was ever an advocate of the +spread of knowledge amongst all classes and both sexes. His devotion to +letters has received its fitting reward, the love and respect of all +"lettered hearts." + + +THE OFFICE OF LITERATURE + +Dr. John Brown's pleasant story has become well known, of the countryman +who, being asked to account for the gravity of his dog, replied, "Oh, +sir! life is full of sairiousness to him--he can just never get eneugh +o' fechtin'." Something of the spirit of this saddened dog seems lately +to have entered into the very people who ought to be freest from +it,--our men of letters. They are all very serious and very quarrelsome. +To some of them it is dangerous even to allude. Many are wedded to a +theory or period, and are the most uxorious of husbands--ever ready to +resent an affront to their lady. This devotion makes them very grave, +and possibly very happy after a pedantic fashion. One remembers what +Hazlitt, who was neither happy nor pedantic, has said about pedantry:-- + +"The power of attaching an interest to the most trifling or painful +pursuits is one of the greatest happinesses of our nature. The common +soldier mounts the breach with joy, the miser deliberately starves +himself to death, the mathematician sets about extracting the cube-root +with a feeling of enthusiasm, and the lawyer sheds tears of delight over +'Coke upon Lyttleton.' He who is not in some measure a pedant, though he +may be a wise, cannot be a very happy man." + +Possibly not; but then we are surely not content that our authors should +be pedants in order that they may be happy and devoted. As one of the +great class for whose sole use and behalf literature exists,--the class +of readers,--I protest that it is to me a matter of indifference whether +an author is happy or not. I want him to make me happy. That is his +office. Let him discharge it. + +I recognize in this connection the corresponding truth of what Sydney +Smith makes his Peter Plymley say about the private virtues of Mr. +Perceval, the Prime Minister:-- + +"You spend a great deal of ink about the character of the present Prime +Minister. Grant all that you write--I say, I fear that he will ruin +Ireland, and pursue a line of policy destructive to the true interests +of his country; and then you tell me that he is faithful to Mrs. +Perceval and kind to the Master Percevals. I should prefer that he +whipped his boys and saved his country." + +We should never confuse functions or apply wrong tests. What can books +do for us? Dr. Johnson, the least pedantic of men, put the whole matter +into a nut-shell (a cocoa-nut shell, if you will--Heaven forbid that I +should seek to compress the great Doctor within any narrower limits than +my metaphor requires) when he wrote that a book should teach us either +to enjoy life or endure it. "Give us enjoyment!" "Teach us endurance!" +Hearken to the ceaseless demand and the perpetual prayer of an ever +unsatisfied and always suffering humanity! + +How is a book to answer the ceaseless demand? + +Self-forgetfulness is the essence of enjoyment, and the author who would +confer pleasure must possess the art, or know the trick, of destroying +for the time the reader's own personality. Undoubtedly the easiest way +of doing this is by the creation of a host of rival personalities--hence +the number and the popularity of novels. Whenever a novelist fails, his +book is said to flag; that is, the reader suddenly (as in skating) comes +bump down upon his own personality, and curses the unskillful author. No +lack of characters, and continual motion, is the easiest recipe for a +novel, which like a beggar should always be kept "moving on." Nobody +knew this better than Fielding, whose novels, like most good ones, are +full of inns. + +When those who are addicted to what is called "improving reading" +inquire of you petulantly why you cannot find change of company and +scene in books of travel, you should answer cautiously that when books +of travel are full of inns, atmosphere, and motion, they are as good as +any novel; nor is there any reason in the nature of things why they +should not always be so, though experience proves the contrary. + +The truth or falsehood of a book is immaterial. George Borrow's 'Bible +in Spain' is, I suppose, true; though now that I come to think of it in +what is to me a new light, one remembers that it contains some odd +things. But was not Borrow the accredited agent of the British and +Foreign Bible Society? Did he not travel (and he had a free hand) at +their charges? Was he not befriended by our minister at Madrid, Mr. +Villiers, subsequently Earl of Clarendon in the peerage of England? It +must be true: and yet at this moment I would as lief read a chapter of +the 'Bible in Spain' as I would 'Gil Bias'; nay, I positively would give +the preference to Senor Giorgio. Nobody can sit down to read Borrow's +books without as completely forgetting himself as if he were a boy in +the forest with Gurth and Wamba. + +Borrow is provoking and has his full share of faults, and though the +owner of a style, is capable of excruciating offences. His habitual use +of the odious word "individual" as a noun-substantive (seven times in +three pages of 'The Romany Rye') elicits the frequent groan, and he is +certainly once guilty of calling fish the "finny tribe." He believed +himself to be animated by an intense hatred of the Church of Rome, and +disfigures many of his pages by Lawrence-Boythorn-like tirades against +that institution; but no Catholic of sense need on this account deny +himself the pleasure of reading Borrow, whose one dominating passion was +_camaraderie_, and who hob-a-nobbed in the friendliest spirit with +priest and gipsy in a fashion as far beyond praise as it is beyond +description by any pen other than his own. Hail to thee, George Borrow! +Cervantes himself, 'Gil Bias,' do not more effectually carry their +readers into the land of the Cid than does this miraculous agent of the +Bible Society, by favor of whose pleasantness we can, any hour of the +week, enter Villafranca by night, or ride into Galicia on an Andalusian +stallion (which proved to be a foolish thing to do), without costing +anybody a _peseta_, and at no risk whatever to our necks--be they +long or short. + +Cooks, warriors, and authors must be judged by the effects they produce: +toothsome dishes, glorious victories, pleasant books--these are our +demands. We have nothing to do with ingredients, tactics, or methods. We +have no desire to be admitted into the kitchen, the council, or the +study. The cook may clean her saucepans how she pleases--the warrior +place his men as he likes--the author handle his material or weave his +plot as best he can--when the dish is served we only ask, Is it good? +when the battle has been fought, Who won? when the book comes out, +Does it read? + +Authors ought not to be above being reminded that it is their first duty +to write agreeably; some very disagreeable ones have succeeded in doing +so, and there is therefore no need for any one to despair. Every author, +be he grave or gay, should try to make his book as ingratiating as +possible. Reading is not a duty, and has consequently no business to be +made disagreeable. Nobody is under any obligation to read any other +man's book. + +Literature exists to please,--to lighten the burden of men's lives; to +make them for a short while forget their sorrows and their sins, their +silenced hearths, their disappointed hopes, their grim futures--and +those men of letters are the best loved who have best performed +literature's truest office. Their name is happily legion, and I will +conclude these disjointed remarks by quoting from one of them, as honest +a parson as ever took tithe or voted for the Tory candidate, the Rev. +George Crabbe. Hear him in 'The Frank Courtship':-- + + "I must be loved," said Sybil; "I must see + The man in terrors, who aspires to me: + At my forbidding frown his heart must ache, + His tongue must falter, and his frame must shake; + And if I grant him at my feet to kneel, + What trembling fearful pleasure must he feel! + Nay, such the rapture that my smiles inspire + That reason's self must for a time retire." + "Alas! for good Josiah," said the dame, + "These wicked thoughts would fill his soul with shame; + He kneel and tremble at a thing of dust! + He cannot, child:"--the child replied, "He must." + +Were an office to be opened for the insurance of literary reputations, +no critic at all likely to be in the society's service would refuse the +life of a poet who could write like Crabbe. Cardinal Newman, Mr. Leslie +Stephen, Mr. Swinburne, are not always of the same way of thinking, but +all three hold the one true faith about Crabbe. + +But even were Crabbe now left unread, which is very far from being the +case, his would be an enviable fame--for was he not one of the favored +poets of Walter Scott, and whenever the closing scene of the great +magician's life is read in the pages of Lockhart, must not Crabbe's name +be brought upon the reader's quivering lip? + +To soothe the sorrow of the soothers of sorrow, to bring tears to the +eyes and smiles to the cheeks of the lords of human smiles and tears, is +no mean ministry, and it is Crabbe's. + + +TRUTH-HUNTING + +Is truth-hunting one of those active mental habits which, as Bishop +Butler tells us, intensify their effects by constant use; and are weak +convictions, paralyzed intellects, and laxity of opinions amongst the +effects of Truth-hunting on the majority of minds? These are not +unimportant questions. + +Let us consider briefly the probable effects of speculative habits on +conduct. + +The discussion of a question of conduct has the great charm of +justifying, if indeed not requiring, personal illustration; and this +particular question is well illustrated by instituting a comparison +between the life and character of Charles Lamb and those of some of his +distinguished friends. + +Personal illustration, especially when it proceeds by way of comparison, +is always dangerous, and the dangers are doubled when the subjects +illustrated and compared are favorite authors. It behoves us to proceed +warily in this matter. A dispute as to the respective merits of Gray and +Collins has been known to result in a visit to an attorney and the +revocation of a will. An avowed inability to see anything in Miss +Austen's novels is reported to have proved destructive of an otherwise +good chance of an Indian judgeship. I believe, however, I run no great +risk in asserting that, of all English authors, Charles Lamb is the one +loved most warmly and emotionally by his admirers, amongst whom I reckon +only those who are as familiar with the four volumes of his 'Life and +Letters' as with 'Elia.' + +But how does he illustrate the particular question now engaging our +attention? + +Speaking of his sister Mary, who, as every one knows, throughout 'Elia' +is called his cousin Bridget, he says:-- + +"It has been the lot of my cousin, oftener perhaps than I could have +wished, to have had for her associates and mine free-thinkers, leaders +and disciples of novel philosophies and systems; but she neither +wrangles with nor accepts their opinions." + +Nor did her brother. He lived his life cracking his little jokes and +reading his great folios, neither wrangling with nor accepting the +opinions of the friends he loved to see around him. To a contemporary +stranger it might well have appeared as if his life were a frivolous and +useless one as compared with those of these philosophers and thinkers. +_They_ discussed their great schemes and affected to prove deep +mysteries, and were constantly asking, "What is truth?" _He_ sipped his +glass, shuffled his cards, and was content with the humbler inquiry, +"What are trumps?" But to us, looking back upon that little group, and +knowing what we now do about each member of it, no such mistake is +possible. To us it is plain beyond all question that, judged by whatever +standard of excellence it is possible for any reasonable human being to +take, Lamb stands head and shoulders a better man than any of them. No +need to stop to compare him with Godwin, or Hazlitt, or Lloyd; let us +boldly put him in the scales with one whose fame is in all the +churches--with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "logician, metaphysician, bard." + +There are some men whom to abuse is pleasant. Coleridge is not one of +them. How gladly we would love the author of 'Christabel' if we could! +But the thing is flatly impossible. His was an unlovely character. The +sentence passed upon him by Mr. Matthew Arnold (parenthetically, in one +of the 'Essays in Criticism')--"Coleridge had no morals"--is no less +just than pitiless. As we gather information about him from numerous +quarters, we find it impossible to resist the conclusion that he was a +man neglectful of restraint, irresponsive to the claims of those who had +every claim upon him, willing to receive, slow to give. + +In early manhood Coleridge planned a Pantisocracy where all the virtues +were to thrive. Lamb did something far more difficult: he played +cribbage every night with his imbecile father, whose constant stream of +querulous talk and fault-finding might well have goaded a far stronger +man into practicing and justifying neglect. + +That Lamb, with all his admiration for Coleridge, was well aware of +dangerous tendencies in his character, is made apparent by many letters, +notably by one written in 1796, in which he says:-- + +"O my friend, cultivate the filial feelings! and let no man think +himself released from the kind charities of relationship: these shall +give him peace at the last; these are the best foundation for every +species of benevolence. I rejoice to hear that you are reconciled with +all your relations." + +This surely is as valuable an "aid to reflection" as any supplied by the +Highgate seer. + +Lamb gave but little thought to the wonderful difference between the +"reason" and the "understanding." He preferred old plays--an odd diet, +some may think, on which to feed the virtues; but however that may be, +the noble fact remains, that he, poor, frail boy! (for he was no more, +when trouble first assailed him) stooped down, and without sigh or sign +took upon his own shoulders the whole burden of a lifelong sorrow. + +Coleridge married. Lamb, at the bidding of duty, remained single, +wedding himself to the sad fortunes of his father and sister. Shall we +pity him? No; he had his reward--the surpassing reward that is only +within the power of literature to bestow. It was Lamb, and not +Coleridge, who wrote 'Dream-Children: a Reverie':-- + +"Then I told how for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in +despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W---- n; and as +much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness and +difficulty and denial meant in maidens--when, suddenly turning to Alice, +the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality +of representment that I became in doubt which of them stood before me, +or whose that bright hair was; and while I stood gazing, both the +children gradually grew fainter to my view, receding and still receding, +till nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the +uttermost distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me +the effects of speech. 'We are not of Alice nor of thee, nor are we +children at all. The children of Alice call Bartrum father. We are +nothing, less than nothing, and dreams. We are only _what might +have been_.'" + +Godwin! Hazlitt! Coleridge! Where now are their "novel philosophies and +systems"? Bottled moonshine, which does _not_ improve by keeping. + + "Only the actions of the just + Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." + +Were we disposed to admit that Lamb would in all probability have been +as good a man as every one agrees he was--as kind to his father, as full +of self-sacrifice for the sake of his sister, as loving and ready a +friend--even though he had paid more heed to current speculations, it is +yet not without use in a time like this, when so much stress is laid +upon anxious inquiry into the mysteries of soul and body, to point out +how this man attained to a moral excellence denied to his speculative +contemporaries; performed duties from which they, good men as they were, +would one and all have shrunk: how, in short, he contrived to achieve +what no one of his friends, not even the immaculate Wordsworth or the +precise Southey, achieved--the living of a life the records of which are +inspiriting to read, and are indeed "the presence of a good diffused"; +and managed to do it all without either "wrangling with or accepting" +the opinions that "hurtled in the air" about him. + + +BENVENUTO CELLINI + +From 'Obiter Dicta' + +What a liar was Benvenuto Cellini!--who can believe a word he says? To +hang a dog on his oath would be a judicial murder. Yet when we lay down +his Memoirs and let our thoughts travel back to those far-off days he +tells us of, there we see him standing, in bold relief, against the +black sky of the past, the very man he was. Not more surely did he, with +that rare skill of his, stamp the image of Clement VII. on the papal +currency, than he did the impress of his own singular personality upon +every word he spoke and every sentence he wrote. + +We ought, of course, to hate him, but do we? A murderer he has written +himself down. A liar he stands self-convicted of being. Were any one in +the nether world bold enough to call him thief, it may be doubted +whether Rhadamanthus would award him the damages for which we may be +certain he would loudly clamor. Why do we not hate him? Listen to him:-- + +"Upon my uttering these words, there was a general outcry, the noblemen +affirming that I promised too much. But one of them, who was a great +philosopher, said in my favor, 'From the admirable symmetry of shape and +happy physiognomy of this young man, I venture to engage that he will +perform all he promises, and more.' The Pope replied, 'I am of the same +opinion;' then calling Trajano, his gentleman of the bedchamber, he +ordered him to fetch me five hundred ducats." + +And so it always ended: suspicions, aroused most reasonably, allayed +most unreasonably, and then--ducats. He deserved hanging, but he died in +his bed. He wrote his own memoirs after a fashion that ought to have +brought posthumous justice upon him, and made them a literary gibbet, +on which he should swing, a creaking horror, for all time; but nothing +of the sort has happened. The rascal is so symmetrical, and his +physiognomy, as it gleams upon us through the centuries, so happy, that +we cannot withhold our ducats, though we may accompany the gift with a +shower of abuse. + +This only proves the profundity of an observation made by Mr. Bagehot--a +man who carried away into the next world more originality of thought +than is now to be found in the Three Estates of the Realm. Whilst +remarking upon the extraordinary reputation of the late Francis Horner +and the trifling cost he was put to in supporting it, Mr. Bagehot said +that it proved the advantage of "keeping an atmosphere." + +The common air of heaven sharpens men's judgments. Poor Horner, but for +that kept atmosphere of his always surrounding him, would have been +bluntly asked "what he had done since he was breeched," and in reply he +could only have muttered something about the currency. As for our +special rogue Cellini, the question would probably have assumed this +shape: "Rascal, name the crime you have not committed, and account for +the omission." + +But these awkward questions are not put to the lucky people who keep +their own atmospheres. The critics, before they can get at them, have to +step out of the every-day air, where only achievements count and the +Decalogue still goes for something, into the kept atmosphere, which they +have no sooner breathed than they begin to see things differently, and +to measure the object thus surrounded with a tape of its own +manufacture. Horner--poor, ugly, a man neither of words nor +deeds--becomes one of our great men; a nation mourns his loss and erects +his statue in the Abbey. Mr. Bagehot gives several instances of the same +kind, but he does not mention Cellini, who is however in his own way an +admirable example. + +You open his book--a Pharisee of the Pharisees. Lying, indeed! Why, you +hate prevarication. As for murder, your friends know you too well to +mention the subject in your hearing, except in immediate connection with +capital punishment. You are of course willing to make some allowance for +Cellini's time and place--the first half of the sixteenth century and +Italy! "Yes," you remark, "Cellini shall have strict justice at my +hands." So you say as you settle yourself in your chair and begin to +read. We seem to hear the rascal laughing in his grave. His spirit +breathes upon you from his book--peeps at you roguishly as you turn the +pages. His atmosphere surrounds you; you smile when you ought to frown, +chuckle when you should groan, and--oh, final triumph!--laugh aloud +when, if you had a rag of principle left, you would fling the book into +the fire. Your poor moral sense turns away with a sigh, and patiently +awaits the conclusion of the second volume. + +How cautiously does he begin, how gently does he win your ear by his +seductive piety! I quote from Mr. Roscoe's translation:-- + +"It is a duty incumbent on upright and credible men of all ranks, who +have performed anything noble or praiseworthy, to record, in their own +writing, the events of their lives; yet they should not commence this +honorable task before they have passed their fortieth year. Such at +least is my opinion now that I have completed my fifty-eighth year, and +am settled in Florence, where, considering the numerous ills that +constantly attend human life, I perceive that I have never before been +so free from vexations and calamities, or possessed of so great a share +of content and health as at this period. Looking back on some delightful +and happy events of my life, and on many misfortunes so truly +overwhelming that the appalling retrospect makes me wonder how I have +reached this age in vigor and prosperity, through God's goodness I have +resolved to publish an account of my life; and ... I must, in commencing +my narrative, satisfy the public on some few points to which its +curiosity is usually directed; the first of which is to ascertain +whether a man is descended from a virtuous and ancient family.... I +shall therefore now proceed to inform the reader how it pleased God that +I should come into the world." + +So you read on page i; what you read on page 191 is this:-- + +"Just after sunset, about eight o'clock, as this musqueteer stood at his +door with his sword in his hand, when he had done supper, I with great +address came close up to him with a long dagger, and gave him a violent +back-handed stroke, which I aimed at his neck. He instantly turned +round, and the blow, falling directly upon his left shoulder, broke the +whole bone of it; upon which he dropped his sword, quite overcome by the +pain, and took to his heels. I pursued, and in four steps came up with +him, when, raising the dagger over his head, which he lowered down, I +hit him exactly upon the nape of the neck. The weapon penetrated so +deep that, though I made a great effort to recover it again, I found it +impossible." + +So much for murder. Now for manslaughter, or rather Cellini's notion of +manslaughter. + +"Pompeo entered an apothecary's shop at the corner of the Chiavica, +about some business, and stayed there for some time. I was told he had +boasted of having bullied me, but it turned out a fatal adventure to +him. Just as I arrived at that quarter he was coming out of the shop, +and his bravoes, having made an opening, formed a circle round him. I +thereupon clapped my hand to a sharp dagger, and having forced my way +through the file of ruffians, laid hold of him by the throat, so quickly +and with such presence of mind that there was not one of his friends +could defend him. I pulled him towards me to give him a blow in front, +but he turned his face about through excess of terror, so that I wounded +him exactly under the ear; and upon repeating my blow, he fell down +dead. It had never been my intention to kill him, but blows are not +always under command." + +We must all feel that it would never have done to have begun with these +passages; but long before the 191st page has been reached, Cellini has +retreated into his own atmosphere, and the scales of justice have been +hopelessly tampered with. + +That such a man as this encountered suffering in the course of his life +should be matter for satisfaction to every well-regulated mind; but +somehow or other, you find yourself pitying the fellow as he narrates +the hardships he endured in the Castle of St. Angelo. He is so +symmetrical a rascal! Just hear him! listen to what he says well on in +the second volume, after the little incidents already quoted:-- + +"Having at length recovered my strength and vigor, after I had composed +myself and resumed my cheerfulness of mind, I continued to read my +Bible, and so accustomed my eyes to that darkness, that though I was at +first able to read only an hour and a half, I could at length read three +hours. I then reflected on the wonderful power of the Almighty upon the +hearts of simple men, who had carried their enthusiasm so far as to +believe firmly that God would indulge them in all they wished for; and I +promised myself the assistance of the Most High, as well through His +mercy as on account of my innocence. Thus turning constantly to the +Supreme Being, sometimes in prayer, sometimes in silent meditation on +the divine goodness, I was totally engrossed by these heavenly +reflections, and came to take such delight in pious meditations that I +no longer thought of past misfortunes. On the contrary, I was all day +long singing psalms and many other compositions of mine, in which I +celebrated and praised the Deity." + +Thus torn from their context, these passages may seem to supply the best +possible falsification of the previous statement that Cellini told the +truth about himself. Judged by these passages alone, he may appear a +hypocrite of an unusually odious description. But it is only necessary +to read his book to dispel that notion. He tells lies about other +people; he repeats long conversations, sounding his own praises, during +which, as his own narrative shows, he was not present; he exaggerates +his own exploits, his sufferings--even, it may be, his crimes: but when +we lay down his book, we feel we are saying good-by to a man whom +we know. + +He has introduced himself to us, and though doubtless we prefer saints +to sinners, we may be forgiven for liking the company of a live rogue +better than that of the lay-figures and empty clock-cases labeled with +distinguished names, who are to be found doing duty for men in the works +of our standard historians. What would we not give to know Julius Caesar +one-half as well as we know this outrageous rascal? The saints of the +earth, too, how shadowy they are! Which of them do we really know? +Excepting one or two ancient and modern Quietists, there is hardly one +amongst the whole number who being dead yet speaketh. Their memoirs far +too often only reveal to us a hazy something, certainly not recognizable +as a man. This is generally the fault of their editors, who, though men +themselves, confine their editorial duties to going up and down the +diaries and papers of the departed saint, and obliterating all human +touches. This they do for the "better prevention of scandals"; and one +cannot deny that they attain their end, though they pay dearly for it. + +I shall never forget the start I gave when, on reading some old book +about India, I came across an after-dinner jest of Henry Martyn's. The +thought of Henry Martyn laughing over the walnuts and the wine was +almost, as Robert Browning's unknown painter says, "too wildly dear;" +and to this day I cannot help thinking that there must be a mistake +somewhere. + +To return to Cellini, and to conclude. On laying down his Memoirs, let +us be careful to recall our banished moral sense, and make peace with +her, by passing a final judgment on this desperate sinner; which perhaps +after all, we cannot do better than by employing language of his own +concerning a monk, a fellow-prisoner of his, who never, so far as +appears, murdered anybody, but of whom Cellini none the less felt +himself entitled to say:-- + +"I admired his shining qualities, but his odious vices I freely censured +and held in abhorrence." + + +ON THE ALLEGED OBSCURITY OF MR. BROWNING'S POETRY + +From 'Obiter Dicta' + +In considering whether a poet is intelligible and lucid, we ought not to +grope and grub about his work in search of obscurities and oddities, but +should, in the first instance at all events, attempt to regard his whole +scope and range; to form some estimate, if we can, of his general +purport and effect, asking ourselves for this purpose such questions as +these:--How are we the better for him? Has he quickened any passion, +lightened any burden, purified any taste? Does he play any real part in +our lives? When we are in love, do we whisper him in our lady's ear? +When we sorrow, does he ease our pain? Can he calm the strife of mental +conflict? Has he had anything to say which wasn't twaddle on those +subjects which, elude analysis as they may, and defy demonstration as +they do, are yet alone of perennial interest-- + + "On man, on nature, and on human life," + +on the pathos of our situation, looking back on to the irrevocable and +forward to the unknown? If a poet has said, or done, or been any of +these things to an appreciable extent, to charge him with obscurity is +both folly and ingratitude. + +But the subject may be pursued further, and one may be called upon to +investigate this charge with reference to particular books or poems. In +Browning's case this fairly may be done; and then another crop of +questions arises, such as: What is the book about, i.e., with what +subject does it deal, and what method of dealing does it employ? Is it +didactical, analytical, or purely narrative? Is it content to describe, +or does it aspire to explain? In common fairness these questions must be +asked and answered, before we heave our critical half-bricks at strange +poets. One task is of necessity more difficult than another. Students of +geometry who have pushed their researches into that fascinating science +so far as the fifth proposition of the first book, commonly called the +'Pons Asinorum' (though now that so many ladies read Euclid, it ought, +in common justice to them, to be at least sometimes called the 'Pons +Asinarum'), will agree that though it may be more difficult to prove +that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, and that +if the equal sides be produced, the angles on the other side of the base +shall be equal, than it was to describe an equilateral triangle on a +given finite straight line; yet no one but an ass would say that the +fifth proposition was one whit less intelligible than the first. When we +consider Mr. Browning in his later writings, it will be useful to bear +this distinction in mind. + +Looking then at the first period, we find in its front eight plays:-- + +1. 'Strafford,' written in 1836, when its author was twenty-four years +old, and put upon the boards of Covent Garden Theatre on the 1st of May, +1837; Macready playing Strafford, and Miss Helen Faucit Lady Carlisle. +It was received with much enthusiasm, but the company was rebellious and +the manager bankrupt; and after running five nights, the man who played +Pym threw up his part, and the theatre was closed. + +2. 'Pippa Passes.' + +3. 'King Victor and King Charles.' + +4. 'The Return of the Druses.' + +5. 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon.' + +This beautiful and pathetic play was put on the stage of Drury Lane on +the 11th of February, 1843, with Phelps as Lord Tresham, Miss Helen +Faucit as Mildred Tresham, and Mrs. Stirling, still known to us all, as +Guendolen. It was a brilliant success. Mr. Browning was in the +stage-box; and if it is any satisfaction for a poet to hear a crowded +house cry "Author, author!" that satisfaction has belonged to Mr. +Browning. The play ran several nights; and was only stopped because one +of Mr. Macready's bankruptcies happened just then to intervene. It was +afterwards revived by Mr. Phelps, during his "memorable management" of +Sadlers' Wells. + +6. 'Colombe's Birthday.' Miss Helen Faucit put this upon the stage in +1852, when it was reckoned a success. + +7. 'Luria.' + +8. 'A Soul's Tragedy.' + +To call any of these plays unintelligible is ridiculous; and nobody who +has ever read them ever did, and why people who have not read them +should abuse them is hard to see. Were society put upon its oath, we +should be surprised to find how many people in high places have not read +'All's Well that Ends Well,' or 'Timon of Athens'; but they don't go +about saying these plays are unintelligible. Like wise folk, they +pretend to have read them, and say nothing. In Browning's case they are +spared the hypocrisy. No one need pretend to have read 'A Soul's +Tragedy'; and it seems, therefore, inexcusable for any one to assert +that one of the plainest, most pointed and piquant bits of writing in +the language is unintelligible. But surely something more may be +truthfully said of these plays than that they are comprehensible. First +of all, they are _plays_, and not _works_--like the dropsical dramas of +Sir Henry Taylor and Mr. Swinburne. Some of them have stood the ordeal +of actual representation; and though it would be absurd to pretend that +they met with that overwhelming measure of success our critical age has +reserved for such dramatists as the late Lord Lytton, the author of +'Money,' the late Tom Taylor, the author of 'The Overland Route,' the +late Mr. Robertson, the author of 'Caste,' Mr. H. Byron, the author of +'Our Boys,' Mr. Wills, the author of 'Charles I.,' Mr. Burnand, the +author of 'The Colonel,' and Mr. Gilbert, the author of so much that is +great and glorious in our national drama; at all events they proved +themselves able to arrest and retain the attention of very ordinary +audiences. But who can deny dignity and even grandeur to 'Luria,' or +withhold the meed of a melodious tear from 'Mildred Tresham'? What +action of what play is more happily conceived or better rendered than +that of 'Pippa Passes'?--where innocence and its reverse, tender love +and violent passion, are presented with emphasis, and yet blended into a +dramatic unity and a poetic perfection, entitling the author to the very +first place amongst those dramatists of the century who have labored +under the enormous disadvantage of being poets to start with. + +Passing from the plays, we are next attracted by a number of splendid +poems, on whose base the structure of Mr. Browning's fame perhaps rests +most surely,--his dramatic pieces; poems which give utterance to the +thoughts and feelings of persons other than himself, or as he puts it +when dedicating a number of them to his wife:-- + + "Love, you saw me gather men and women, + Live or dead, or fashioned by my fancy, + Enter each and all, and use their service, + Speak from every mouth the speech--a poem;" + +or again in 'Sordello':-- + + "By making speak, myself kept out of view, + The very man as he was wont to do." + +At a rough calculation, there must be at least sixty of these pieces. +Let me run over the names of a very few of them. 'Saul,' a poem beloved +by all true women; 'Caliban,' which the men, not unnaturally perhaps, +often prefer. The 'Two Bishops': the sixteenth-century one ordering his +tomb of jasper and basalt in St. Praxed's Church, and his +nineteenth-century successor rolling out his post-prandial _Apologia_. +'My Last Duchess,' the 'Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister,' 'Andrea del +Sarto,' 'Fra Lippo Lippi,' 'Rabbi Ben Ezra,' 'Cleon,' 'A Death in the +Desert,' 'The Italian in England,' and 'The Englishman in Italy.' + +It is plain truth to say that no other English poet, living or dead, +Shakespeare excepted, has so heaped up human interest for his readers as +has Robert Browning.... + +Against these dramatic pieces the charge of unintelligibility fails as +completely as it does against the plays. They are all perfectly +intelligible; but--and here is the rub--they are not easy reading, like +the estimable writings of the late Mrs. Hemans. They require the same +honest attention as it is the fashion to give to a lecture of Professor +Huxley's or a sermon of Canon Liddon's; and this is just what too many +persons will not give to poetry. They + + "Love to hear + A soft pulsation in their easy ear; + To turn the page, and let their senses drink + A lay that shall not trouble them to think." + + * * * * * + +Next to these dramatic pieces come what we may be content to call +simply poems: some lyrical, some narrative. The latter are +straightforward enough, and as a rule full of spirit and humor; but this +is more than can always be said of the lyrical pieces. Now, for the +first time in dealing with this first period, excluding 'Sordello,' we +strike difficulty. The Chinese puzzle comes in. We wonder whether it all +turns on the punctuation. And the awkward thing for Mr. Browning's +reputation is this, that these bewildering poems are for the most part +very short. We say awkward, for it is not more certain that Sarah Gamp +liked her beer drawn mild than it is that your Englishman likes his +poetry cut short; and so, accordingly, it often happens that some +estimable paterfamilias takes up an odd volume of Browning his volatile +son or moonstruck daughter has left lying about, pishes and pshaws! and +then, with an air of much condescension and amazing candor, remarks that +he will give the fellow another chance, and not condemn him unread. So +saying, he opens the book, and carefully selects the very shortest poem +he can find; and in a moment, without sign or signal, note or warning, +the unhappy man is floundering up to his neck in lines like these, which +are the third and final stanza of a poem called 'Another Way of Love':-- + + "And after, for pastime, + If June be refulgent + With flowers in completeness, + All petals, no prickles, + Delicious as trickles + Of wine poured at mass-time, + And choose One indulgent + To redness and sweetness; + Or if with experience of man and of spider, + She use my June lightning, the strong insect-ridder + To stop the fresh spinning,--why June will consider." + +He comes up gasping, and more than ever persuaded that Browning's poetry +is a mass of inconglomerate nonsense, which nobody understands--least of +all members of the Browning Society. + +We need be at no pains to find a meaning for everything Mr. Browning has +written. But when all is said and done--when these few freaks of a +crowded brain are thrown overboard to the sharks of verbal criticism +who feed on such things--Mr. Browning and his great poetical achievement +remain behind to be dealt with and accounted for. We do not get rid of +the Laureate by quoting:-- + + "O darling room, my heart's delight, + Dear room, the apple of my sight, + With thy two couches soft and white + There is no room so exquisite-- + No little room so warm and bright + Wherein to read, wherein to write;" + +or of Wordsworth by quoting:-- + + "At this, my boy hung down his head: + He blushed with shame, nor made reply, + And five times to the child I said, + "'Why, Edward? tell me why?'" + +or of Keats by remembering that he once addressed a young lady as +follows:-- + + "O come, Georgiana! the rose is full blown, + The riches of Flora are lavishly strown: + The air is all softness and crystal the streams, + The west is resplendently clothed in beams." + +The strength of a rope may be but the strength of its weakest part; but +poets are to be judged in their happiest hours, and in their +greatest works. + +The second period of Mr. Browning's poetry demands a different line of +argument; for it is, in my judgment, folly to deny that he has of late +years written a great deal which makes very difficult reading indeed. No +doubt you may meet people who tell you that they read 'The Ring and the +Book' for the first time without much mental effort; but you will do +well not to believe them. These poems are difficult--they cannot help +being so. What is 'The Ring and the Book'? A huge novel in twenty +thousand lines--told after the method not of Scott but of Balzac; it +tears the hearts out of a dozen characters; it tells the same story from +ten different points of view. It is loaded with detail of every kind and +description: you are let off nothing. As with a schoolboy's life at a +large school, if he is to enjoy it at all, he must fling himself into +it, and care intensely about everything--so the reader of 'The Ring and +the Book' must be interested in everybody and everything, down to the +fact that the eldest daughter of the counsel for the prosecution of +Guido is eight years old on the very day he is writing his speech, and +that he is going to have fried liver and parsley for his supper. + +If you are prepared for this, you will have your reward; for the +_style_, though rugged and involved, is throughout, with the exception +of the speeches of counsel, eloquent and at times superb; and as for the +_matter_, if your interest in human nature is keen, curious, almost +professional--if nothing man, woman, or child has been, done, or +suffered, or conceivably can be, do, or suffer, is without interest for +you; if you are fond of analysis, and do not shrink from dissection--you +will prize 'The Ring and the Book' as the surgeon prizes the last great +contribution to comparative anatomy or pathology. + +But this sort of work tells upon style. Browning has, I think, fared +better than some writers. To me, at all events, the step from 'A Blot in +the 'Scutcheon' to 'The Ring and the Book' is not so marked as is the +_mauvais pas_ that lies between 'Amos Barton' and 'Daniel Deronda.' But +difficulty is not obscurity. One task is more difficult than another. +The angles at the base of the isosceles triangles are apt to get mixed, +and to confuse us all--man and woman alike. 'Prince Hohenstiel' +something or another is a very difficult poem, not only to pronounce but +to read; but if a poet chooses as his subject Napoleon III.--in whom the +cad, the coward, the idealist, and the sensualist were inextricably +mixed--and purports to make him unbosom himself over a bottle of +Gladstone claret in a tavern at Leicester Square, you cannot expect that +the product should belong to the same class of poetry as Mr. Coventry +Patmore's admirable 'Angel in the House.' + +It is the method that is difficult. Take the husband in 'The Ring and +the Book.' Mr. Browning remorselessly hunts him down, tracks him to the +last recesses of his mind, and there bids him stand and deliver. He +describes love, not only broken but breaking; hate in its germ; doubt at +its birth. These are difficult things to do either in poetry or prose, +and people with easy, flowing Addisonian or Tennysonian styles cannot +do them. + +I seem to overhear a still, small voice asking, But are they worth +doing? or at all events, is it the province of art to do them? The +question ought not to be asked. It is heretical, being contrary to the +whole direction of the latter half of this century. The chains binding +us to the rocks of realism are faster riveted every day; and the Perseus +who is destined to cut them is, I expect, some mischievous little boy at +a Board-school. But as the question has been asked, I will own that +sometimes, even when deepest in works of this, the now orthodox school, +I have been harassed by distressing doubts whether after all this +enormous labor is not in vain; and wearied by the effort, overloaded by +the detail, bewildered by the argument, and sickened by the pitiless +dissection of character and motive, have been tempted to cry aloud, +quoting--or rather, in the agony of the moment, misquoting--Coleridge:-- + + "Simplicity--thou better name + Than all the family of Fame." + +But this ebullition of feeling is childish and even sinful. We must take +our poets as we do our meals--as they are served up to us. Indeed, you +may, if full of courage, give a cook notice, but not the time-spirit who +makes our poets. We may be sure--to appropriate an idea of the late Sir +James Stephen--that if Robert Browning had lived in the sixteenth +century, he would not have written a poem like 'The Ring and the Book'; +and if Edmund Spenser had lived in the nineteenth century he would not +have written a poem like the 'Faerie Queene.' + +It is therefore idle to arraign Mr. Browning's later method and style +for possessing difficulties and intricacies which are inherent to it. +The method at all events has an interest of its own, a strength of its +own, a grandeur of its own. If you do not like it you must leave it +alone. You are fond, you say, of romantic poetry; well, then, take down +your Spenser and qualify yourself to join "the small transfigured band" +of those who are able to take their Bible-oaths they have read their +'Faerie Queene' all through. The company, though small, is delightful, +and you will have plenty to talk about without abusing Browning, who +probably knows his Spenser better than you do. Realism will not for ever +dominate the world of letters and art--the fashion of all things passeth +away--but it has already earned a great place: it has written books, +composed poems, painted pictures, all stamped with that "greatness" +which, despite fluctuations, nay, even reversals of taste and opinion, +means immortality. + +But against Mr. Browning's later poems it is sometimes alleged that +their meaning is obscure because their grammar is bad. A cynic was once +heard to observe with reference to that noble poem 'The Grammarian's +Funeral,' that it was a pity the talented author had ever since allowed +himself to remain under the delusion that he had not only buried the +grammarian, but his grammar also. It is doubtless true that Mr. Browning +has some provoking ways, and is something too much of a verbal acrobat. +Also, as his witty parodist, the pet poet of six generations of +Cambridge undergraduates, reminds us:-- + + He loves to dock the smaller parts of speech, + As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur." + +It is perhaps permissible to weary a little of his _i_'s and _o_'s, but +we believe we cannot be corrected when we say that Browning is a poet +whose grammar will bear scholastic investigation better than that of +most of Apollo's children. + +A word about 'Sordello.' One half of 'Sordello,' and that, with Mr. +Browning's usual ill-luck, the first half, is undoubtedly obscure. It is +as difficult to read as 'Endymion' or the 'Revolt of Islam,' and for the +same reason--the author's lack of experience in the art of composition. +We have all heard of the young architect who forgot to put a staircase +in his house, which contained fine rooms, but no way of getting into +them. 'Sordello' is a poem without a staircase. The author, still in his +twenties, essayed a high thing. For his subject-- + + "He singled out + Sordello compassed murkily about + With ravage of six long sad hundred years.'" + +He partially failed; and the British public, with its accustomed +generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage the others, has never +ceased girding at him because forty-two years ago he published at his +own charges a little book of two hundred and fifty pages, which even +such of them as were then able to read could not understand. + + +End of Volume IV. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Library Of The World's Best +Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 4, by Charles Dudley Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEST LITERATURE, VOL. 4 *** + +***** This file should be named 13220.txt or 13220.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/2/2/13220/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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