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diff --git a/13623-h/13623-h.htm b/13623-h/13623-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7098bc9 --- /dev/null +++ b/13623-h/13623-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21186 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 1st February 2004), see www.w3.org"> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Library of the World's Best +Literature, Ancient And Modern, by Charles Dudley Warner.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .heading {margin-left: 12em; margin-right: 12em;} /* heading indent */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i1 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i3 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i5 {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 6em;} + .poem p.i7 {margin-left: 7em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 8em;} + .poem p.i9 {margin-left: 9em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 10em;} + .poem p.i11 {margin-left: 11em;} + .poem p.i12 {margin-left: 12em;} + + blockquote {text-align: justify; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%;} + IMG { + BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; + BORDER-TOP: 0px; + BORDER-LEFT: 0px; + BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px } + .loc { TEXT-ALIGN: right; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%;} + .ctr { TEXT-ALIGN: center } + .sign { float: right; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: -5%; + margin-right: 0%; + TEXT-ALIGN: center } + .rgt { float: right; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: -5%; + margin-right: -5%; + TEXT-ALIGN: center } + .lft { float: left; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: -5%; + margin-right: -10%; + TEXT-ALIGN: center } + .par { float: left; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: -6%; + margin-right: -12%; + TEXT-ALIGN: center } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + // --> +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13623 ***</div> + +<br> +<a name="cover.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/cover.jpg"><img src= +"images/cover.jpg" width="40%" alt=""></a></p> +<br> +<h2>LIBRARY OF THE</h2> +<h1>WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE</h1> +<h3>ANCIENT AND MODERN</h3> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<h2>CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER</h2> +<h4>EDITOR</h4> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<h3>HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE<br> +LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE<br> +GEORGE HENRY WARNER</h3> +<h4>ASSOCIATE EDITORS</h4> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<h3>Connoisseur Edition</h3> +<h4>VOL. VI.</h4> +<h5>1896</h5> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<h2>THE ADVISORY COUNCIL</h2> +<br> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>CRAWFORD H. TOY, A.M., LL.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of Hebrew,</p> +<p class="i2">HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific +School of</p> +<p class="i2">YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH.D., L.H.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of History and Political Science,</p> +<p class="i2">PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N.J.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>BRANDER MATTHEWS, A.M., LL.B.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of Literature,</p> +<p class="i2">COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>JAMES B. ANGELL, LL.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">President of the</p> +<p class="i2">UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>WILLARD FISKE, A.M., PH.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian +Languages and Literatures,</p> +<p class="i2">CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N.Y.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A.M., LL.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer</p> +<p class="i2">UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>ALCÉE FORTIER, LIT.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of the Romance Languages,</p> +<p class="i2">TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>WILLIAM P. TRENT, M.A.,</p> +<p class="i2">Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and +Professor of English and History,</p> +<p class="i2">UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>PAUL SHOREY, PH.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of Greek and Latin Literature,</p> +<p class="i2">UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">United States Commissioner of Education,</p> +<p class="i2">BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D.C.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A.M., LL.D.,</p> +<p class="i2">Professor of Literature in the</p> +<p class="i2">CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D.C.</p> +</div> +</div> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> +<br> +<h3>VOL. VI</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRANTOME">THE ABBÉ DE BRANTÔME</a> +(Pierre de Bourdeille) -- 1527-1614</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRANTOME01">The Dancing of Royalty</a> +('Lives of Notable Women')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRANTOME02">The Shadow of a Tomb</a> +('Lives of Courtly Women')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRANTOME03">M. le Constable Anne de +Montmorency</a></p> +<p class="i4">('Lives of Distinguished Men and Great Captains')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRANTOME04">Two Famous Entertainments</a> +('Lives of Courtly Women')</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BREMER">FREDRIKA BREMER</a> -- 1801-1865</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BREMER01">A Home-Coming</a> ('The +Neighbors')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BREMER02">The Landed Proprietor</a> ('The +Home')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BREMER03">A Family Picture</a> (same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#CLEMENS_BRENTANO">CLEMENS BRENTANO</a> -- +1778-1842</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRENTANO01">The Nurse's Watch</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRENTANO02">The Castle in Austria</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#ELIZABETH_BRENTANO">ELISABETH BRENTANO</a> (Bettina +von Arnim) -- 1785-1859</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRENTANO11">Dedication: To Goethe</a> +('Goethe's Correspondence with a Child')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRENTANO12">Letter to Goethe</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRENTANO13">Bettina's Last Meeting with +Goethe</a> (Letter to Her Niece)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRENTANO14">In Goethe's Garden</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRIGHT">JOHN BRIGHT</a> -- 1811-1889</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRIGHT01">From Speech on the Corn Laws</a> +(1843)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRIGHT02">From Speech on Incendiarism in +Ireland</a> (1844)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRIGHT03">From Speech on Non-Recognition of +the Southern Confederacy</a> (1861)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRIGHT04">From Speech on the State of +Ireland</a> (1866)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRIGHT05">From Speech on the Irish +Established Church</a> (1868)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRILLAT">BRILLAT-SAVARIN</a> -- 1755-1826</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRILLAT01">From 'Physiology of +Taste':</a></p> +<p class="i4"><a href="#BRILLAT01">The Privations;</a></p> +<p class="i4"><a href="#BRILLAT02">On the Love of Good +Living;</a></p> +<p class="i4"><a href="#BRILLAT03">On People Fond of Good +Living</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRONTE">CHARLOTTE BRONTÉ AND HER SISTERS</a> +--1816-1855</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRONTE01">Jane Eyre's Wedding-Day</a> +('Jane Eyre')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRONTE02">Madame Beck</a> ('Villette')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRONTE03">A Yorkshire Landscape</a> +('Shirley')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRONTE04">The End of Heathcliff</a> (Emily +Bronté's 'Wuthering Heights')</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BROOKS">PHILLIPS BROOKS</a> -- 1835-1893</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROOKS01">O Little Town of +Bethlehem</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROOKS02">Personal Character</a> ('Essays +and Addresses')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROOKS03">The Courage of Opinions</a> +(same)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROOKS04">Literature and Life</a> +(same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#CHARLES_BROWN">CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN</a> -- +1771-1810</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWN01">Wieland's Statement</a> +('Wieland')</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#JOHN_BROWN">JOHN BROWN</a> -- 1810-1882</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWN11">Marjorie Fleming</a> ('Spare +Hours')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWN12">Death of Thackeray</a> (same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#CHARLES_BROWNE">CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE</a> (Artemus +Ward) -- 1834-1867</p> +<p class="i6">By Charles F. Johnson</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE01">Edwin Forrest as Othello</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE02">High-Handed Outrage at +Utica</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE03">Affairs Round the Village +Green</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE04">Mr. Pepper</a> ('Artemus Ward: +His Travels')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE05">Horace Greeley's Ride to +Placerville</a> (same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#THOMAS_BROWNE">SIR THOMAS BROWNE</a> -- 1605-1682</p> +<p class="i6">By Francis Bacon</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE11">From the 'Religio Medici'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE12">From 'Christian Morals'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE13">From 'Hydriotaphia, or +Urn-Burial'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE14">From 'A Fragment on +Mummies'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE15">From 'A Letter to a +Friend'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE16">Some Relations Whose Truth We +Fear</a> ('Pseudoxia Epidemica')</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#WILLIAM_BROWNE">WILLIAM BROWNE</a> -- 1591-1643</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE21">Circe's Charm</a> ('Inner Temple +Masque')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE22">The Hunted Squirrel</a> +('Britannia's Pastorals')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE23">As Careful Merchants Do Expecting +Stand</a> (same)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE24">Song of the Sirens</a> ('Inner +Temple Masque')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE25">An Epistle on Parting</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNE26">Sonnets to Cælia</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BROWNELL">HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL</a> -- 1820-1872</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNELL01">Annus Memorabilis</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNELL02">Words for the 'Hallelujah +Chorus'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNELL03">Coming</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNELL04">Psychaura</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNELL05">Suspiria Noctis</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#ELIZABETH_BROWNING">ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING</a> -- +1809-1861</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING01E">A Musical Instrument</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING02E">My Heart and I</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING03E">From 'Catarina to +Camoens'</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING04E">The Sleep</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING05E">The Cry of the +Children</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING06E">Mother and Poet</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING07E">A Court Lady</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING08E">The Prospect</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING09E">De Profundis</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING10E">The Cry of the Human</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING11E">Romance of the Swan's +Nest</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING12E">The Best Thing in the +World</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING13E">Sonnets from the +Portuguese</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING14E">A False Step</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING15E">A Child's Thought of +God</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING16E">Cheerfulness Taught by +Reason</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#ROBERT_BROWNING">ROBERT BROWNING</a> -- 1812-1889</p> +<p class="i6">By E.L. Burlingame</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING01R">Andrea del Sarto</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING02R">A Toccata of Galuppi's</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING03R">Confessions</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING04R">Love among the Ruins</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING05R">A Grammarian's Funeral</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING06R">My Last Duchess</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING07R">Up at a Villa--Down in the +City</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING08R">In Three Days</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING09R">In a Year</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING10R">Evelyn Hope</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING11R">Prospice</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING12R">The Patriot</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNING13R">One Word More</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BROWNSON">ORESTES AUGUSTUS BROWNSON</a> -- +1803-1876</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BROWNSON01">Saint-Simonism</a> ('The +Convert')</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRUNETIERE">FERDINAND BRUNETIÈRE</a> -- +1849-</p> +<p class="i6">By Adolphe Cohn</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNETIERE01">Taine and Prince +Napoleon</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNETIERE02">The Literatures of France, +England, and Germany</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRUNO">GIORDANO BRUNO</a> --1548-1600</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO01">A Discourse of Poets</a> ('The +Heroic Enthusiasts')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO02">Canticle of the Shining Ones: A +Tribute to English Women</a> ('The Nolan')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO03">Song of the Nine Singers</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO04">Of Immensity</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO05">Life Well Lost</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO06">Parnassus Within</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO07">Compensation</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRUNO08">Life for Song</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRYANT">WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT</a> --1794-1878</p> +<p class="i6">By George Parsons Lathrop</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT01">Thanatopsis</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT02">The Crowded Street</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT03">Death of the Flowers</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT04">The Conqueror's Grave</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT05">The Battle-Field</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT06">To a Water-fowl</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT07">Robert of Lincoln</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT08">June</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT09">To the Fringed Gentian</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT10">The Future Life</a></p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYANT11">To the Past</a></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BRYCE">JAMES BRYCE</a> -- 1838-</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYCE01">Position of Women in the United +States</a> ('The American Commonwealth')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYCE02">Ascent of Ararat</a> +('Trans-Caucasia and Ararat')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BRYCE03">The Work of the Roman Empire</a> +('The Holy Roman Empire')</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BUCKLAND">FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND</a> -- +1826-1880</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUCKLAND01">A Hunt in a Horse-Pond</a> +('Curiosities of Natural History')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUCKLAND02">On Rats</a> (same)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUCKLAND03">Snakes and their Poison</a> +(same)</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUCKLAND04">My Monkey Jacko</a> (same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BUCKLE">HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE</a> -- 1821-1862</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUCKLE01">Moral versus Intellectual +Principles in Human Progress</a></p> +<p class="i5">('History of Civilization in England')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUCKLE02">Mythical Origin of History</a> +(same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BUFFON">GEORGE LOUIS LE CLERC BUFFON</a> -- +1707-1788</p> +<p class="i6">By Spencer Trotter</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUFFON01">Nature</a> ('Natural +History')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BUFFON02">The Humming-Bird</a> (same)</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a href="#BULWER">EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON</a> -- 1803-1873</p> +<p class="i6">By Julian Hawthorne</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BULWER01">The Amphitheatre</a> ('The Last +Days of Pompeii')</p> +<p class="i3"><a href="#BULWER02">Kenelm and Lily</a> ('Kenelm +Chillingly')</p> +</div> +</div> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<h2>FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<h3>VOLUME VI</h3> +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr> +<td><a href="#cover.jpg">"Les Satyres"</a> (Colored Plate)</td> +<td><a href="#cover.jpg">Frontispiece</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#bronte.jpg">Charlotte Bronté</a> +(Portrait)</td> +<td><a href="#bronte.jpg">2382</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#brooks.jpg">Phillips Brooks</a> (Portrait)</td> +<td><a href="#brooks.jpg">2418</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#illus-2420.jpg">"The Holy Child of Bethlehem"</a> +(Photogravure)</td> +<td><a href="#illus-2420.jpg">2420</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#illus-2514.jpg">"Circe"</a> (Photogravure)</td> +<td><a href="#illus-2514.jpg">2514</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#browning_r.jpg">Robert Browning</a> (Portrait)</td> +<td><a href="#browning_r.jpg">2558</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#bryant.jpg">William Cullen Bryant</a> (Portrait)</td> +<td><a href="#bryant.jpg">2624</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#bulwer.jpg">Edward Bulwer-Lytton</a> (Portrait)</td> +<td><a href="#bulwer.jpg">2698</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#illus-2718.jpg">"In the Arena"</a> +(Photogravure)</td> +<td><a href="#illus-2718.jpg">2718</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#illus-2720.jpg">"Nydia"</a> (Photogravure)</td> +<td><a href="#illus-2720.jpg">2720</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<center>VIGNETTE PORTRAITS</center> +<br> +<center><a href="#BRANTOME">Abbé de Brantôme</a><br> +<a href="#BREMER">Fredrika Bremer</a><br> +<a href="#ELIZABETH_BRENTANO">Elisabeth Brentano</a><br> +<a href="#BRIGHT">John Bright</a><br> +<a href="#BRILLAT">Brillat-Savarin</a><br> +<a href="#CHARLES_BROWN">Charles Brockden Brown</a><br> +<a href="#JOHN_BROWN">John Brown</a><br> +<a href="#CHARLES_BROWNE">Charles Farrar Browne</a><br> +<a href="#THOMAS_BROWNE">Sir Thomas Browne</a><br> +<a href="#ELIZABETH_BROWNING">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a><br> +<a href="#BROWNSON">Orestes Augustus Brownson</a><br> +<a href="#BRUNETIERE">Ferdinand Brunetière</a><br> +<a href="#BRYCE">James Bryce</a><br> +<a href="#BUFFON">George Louis le Clere Buffon</a></center> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRANTOME"></a> +<h2>THE ABBÉ DE BRANTÔME (PIERRE DE BOURDEILLE)</h2> +<h3>(1527-1614)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-e.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>very historian of the Valois period is indebted to +Brantôme for preserving the atmosphere and detail of the +brilliant life in which he moved as a dashing courtier, a military +adventurer, and a gallant gentleman of high degree. He was not a +professional scribe, nor a student; but he took notes +unconsciously, and in the evening of his life turned back the pages +of his memory to record the scenes through which he had passed and +the characters which he had known. He has been termed the "valet de +chambre" of history; nevertheless the anecdotes scattered through +his works will ever be treasured by all students and historians of +that age of luxury and magnificence, art and beauty, beneath which +lay the fermentation of great religious and political movements, +culminating in the struggle between the Huguenots and +Catholics.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/brantome.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Abbé De Brantôme</b></p> +<p>Brantôme was the third son of the Vicomte de Bourdeille, a +Périgord nobleman, whose family had lived long in Guienne, +and whose aristocratic lineage was lost in myth. Upon the estate +stood the Abbey of Brantôme, founded by Charlemagne, and this +Henry II. gave to young Pierre de Bourdeille in recognition of the +military deeds of his brother, Jean de Bourdeille, who lost his +life in service. Thereafter the lad was to sign his name as the +Reverend Father in God, Messire Pierre de Bourdeille, Abbé +de Brantôme. Born in the old château in 1527, he was +destined for the church, but abandoned this career for arms. At an +early age he was sent to court as page to Marguerite, sister of +Francis I. and Queen of Navarre; after her death in 1549, he went +to Paris to study at the University. His title of Abbé being +merely honorary, he served in the army under François de +Guise, Duke of Lorraine, and became Gentleman of the Chamber to +Charles IX. His career extended through the reigns of Henry II., +Francis II., Charles IX., Henry III., and Henry IV., to that of +Louis XIII. With the exception of diplomatic missions, service on +the battle-field, and voyages for pleasure, he spent his life at +court.</p> +<p>About 1594 he retired to his estate, where until his death on +July 15th, 1614, he passed his days in contentions with the monks +of Brantôme, in lawsuits with his neighbors, and in writing +his books: 'Lives of the Illustrious Men and Great Captains of +France'; 'Lives of Illustrious Ladies'; 'Lives of Women of +Gallantry'; 'Memoirs, containing anecdotes connected with the Court +of France'; 'Spanish Rodomontades'; a 'Life' of his father, +François de Bourdeille; a 'Funeral Oration' on his sister +in-law; and a dialogue in verse, entitled 'The Tomb of Madame de +Bourdeille.' These were not published until long after his death, +first appearing in Leyden about 1665, at the Hague in 1740, and in +Paris in 1787. The best editions are by Fourcault (7 vols., Paris, +1822); by Lacour and Mérimée (3 vols., 1859); and +Lalande (10 vols., 1865-'81).</p> +<p>What Brantôme thought of himself may be seen by glancing +at that portion of the "testament mystique" which relates to his +writings:--</p> +<blockquote>"I will and expressly charge my heirs that they cause +to be printed the books which I have composed by my talent and +invention. These books will be found covered with velvet, either +black, green or blue, and one larger volume, which is that of the +Rodomontades, covered with velvet, gilt outside and curiously +bound. All have been carefully corrected. There will be found in +these books excellent things, such as stories, histories, +discourses, and witty sayings, which I flatter myself the world +will not disdain to read when once it has had a sight of them. I +direct that a sum of money be taken from my estate sufficient to +pay for the printing thereof, which certainly cannot be much; for I +have known many printers who would have given money rather than +charged any for the right of printing them. They print many things +without charge which are not at all equal to mine. I will also that +the said impression shall be in large type, in order to make the +better appearance, and that they should appear with the Royal +Privilege, which the King will readily grant. Also care must be +taken that the printers do not put on the title-page any +supposititious name instead of mine. Otherwise, I should be +defrauded of the glory which is my due."</blockquote> +<p>The old man delighted in complimenting himself and talking about +his "grandeur d'âme." This greatness of soul may be measured +from the command he gave his heirs to annoy a man who had refused +to swear homage to him, "it not being reasonable to leave at rest +this little wretch, who descends from a low family, and whose +grandfather was nothing but a notary." He also commands his nieces +and nephews to take the same vengeance upon his enemies "as I +should have done in my green and vigorous youth, during which I may +boast, and I thank God for it, that I never received an injury +without being revenged on the author of it."</p> +<p>Brantôme writes like a "gentleman of the sword," with dash +and <i>élan</i>, and as one, to use his own words, who has +been "toujours trottant, traversant, et vagabondant le monde" +(always trotting, traversing, and tramping the world). Not in the +habit of a vagabond, however, for the balls, banquets, tournaments, +masques, ballets, and wedding-feasts which he describes so vividly +were occasions for the display of sumptuous costumes; and Messire +Pierre de Bourdeille doubtless appeared as elegant as any other +gallant in silken hose, jeweled doublet, flowing cape, and long +rapier. What we value most are his paintings of these festive +scenes, and the vivid portraits which he has left of the Valois +women, who were largely responsible for the luxuries and the crimes +of the period: women who could step without a tremor from a +court-masque to a massacre; who could toy with a gallant's ribbons +and direct the blow of an assassin; and who could poison a rival +with a delicately perfumed gift. Such a court Brantôme calls +the "true paradise of the world, school of all honesty and virtue, +ornament of France." We like to hear about Catherine de' Medici +riding with her famous "squadron of Venus": "You should have seen +forty or fifty dames and demoiselles following her, mounted on +beautifully accoutred hackneys, their hats adorned with feathers +which increased their charm, so well did the flying plumes +represent the demand for love or war. Virgil, who undertook to +describe the fine apparel of Queen Dido when she went out hunting, +has by no means equaled that of our Queen and her ladies."</p> +<p>Charming, too, are such descriptions as "the most beautiful +ballet that ever was, composed of sixteen of the fairest and +best-trained dames and demoiselles, who appeared in a silvered rock +where they were seated in niches, shut in on every side. The +sixteen ladies represented the sixteen provinces of France. After +having made the round of the hall for parade as in a camp, they all +descended, and ranging themselves in the form of a little oddly +contrived battalion, some thirty violins began a very pleasant +warlike air, to which they danced their ballet." After an hour the +ladies presented the King, the Queen-Mother, and others with golden +plaques, on which were engraved "the fruits and singularities of +each province," the wheat of Champagne, the vines of Burgundy, the +lemons and oranges of Provence, etc. He shows us Catherine de' +Medici, the elegant, cunning Florentine; her beautiful daughters, +Elizabeth of Spain and Marguerite de Valois; Diana of Poitiers, the +woman of eternal youth and beauty; Jeanne d'Albret, the mother of +Henry IV.; Louise de Vaudemont; the Duchesse d'Étampes; +Marie Touchet; and all their satellites,--as they enjoyed their +lives.</p> +<p>Very valuable are the data regarding Mary Stuart's departure +from France in 1561. Brantôme was one of her suite, and +describes her grief when the shores of France faded away, and her +arrival in Scotland, where on the first night she was serenaded by +Psalm-tunes with a most villainous accompaniment of Scotch music. +"Hé! quelle musique!" he exclaims, "et quel repos pour la +nuit!"</p> +<p>But of all the gay ladies Brantôme loves to dwell upon, +his favorites are the two Marguerites: Marguerite of +Angoulême, Queen of Navarre, the sister of Francis I., and +Marguerite, daughter of Catherine de' Medici and wife of Henry IV. +Of the latter, called familiarly "La Reine Margot," he is always +writing. "To speak of the beauty of this rare princess," he says, +"I think that all that are, or will be, or have ever been near her +are ugly."</p> +<p>Brantôme has been a puzzle to many critics, who cannot +explain his "contradictions." He had none. He extolled wicked and +immoral characters because he recognized only two +merits,--aristocratic birth and hatred of the Huguenots. He is well +described by M. de Barante, who says:--"Brantôme expresses +the entire character of his country and of his profession. Careless +of the difference between good and evil; a courtier who has no idea +that anything can be blameworthy in the great, but who sees and +narrates their vices and their crimes all the more frankly in that +he is not very sure whether what he tells be good or bad; as +indifferent to the honor of women as he is to the morality of men; +relating scandalous things with no consciousness that they are +such, and almost leading his reader into accepting them as the +simplest things in the world, so little importance does he attach +to them; terming Louis XI., who poisoned his brother, the +<i>good</i> King Louis, calling women whose adventures could hardly +have been written by any pen save his own, <i>honnêtes +dames</i>."</p> +<p>Brantôme must therefore not be regarded as a chronicler +who revels in scandals, although his pages reek with them; but as +the true mirror of the Valois court and the Valois period.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRANTOME01"></a> +<h3>THE DANCING OF ROYALTY</h3> +<center>From 'Lives of Notable Women'</center> +<br> +<p>Ah! how the times have changed since I saw them together in the +ball-room, expressing the very spirit of the dance! The King always +opened the grand ball by leading out his sister, and each equaled +the other in majesty and grace. I have often seen them dancing the +Pavane d'Espagne, which must be performed with the utmost majesty +and grace. The eyes of the entire court were riveted upon them, +ravished by this lovely scene; for the measures were so well +danced, the steps so intelligently placed, the sudden pauses timed +so accurately and making so elegant an effect, that one did not +know what to admire most,--the beautiful manner of moving, or the +majesty of the halts, now expressing excessive gayety, now a +beautiful and haughty disdain. Who could dance with such elegance +and grace as the royal brother and sister? None, I believe; and I +have watched the King dancing with the Queen of Spain and the Queen +of Scotland, each of whom was an excellent dancer.</p> +<p>I have seen them dance the 'Pazzemezzo d'Italie,' walking +gravely through the measures, and directing their steps with so +graceful and solemn a manner that no other prince nor lady could +approach them in dignity. This Queen took great pleasure in +performing these grave dances; for she preferred to exhibit +dignified grace rather than to express the gayety of the Branle, +the Volta, and the Courante. Although she acquired them quickly, +she did not think them worthy of her majesty.</p> +<p>I always enjoyed seeing her dance the Branle de la Torche, or du +Flambeau. Once, returning from the nuptials of the daughter of the +King of Poland, I saw her dance this kind of a Branle at Lyons +before the assembled guests from Savoy, Piedmont, Italy, and other +places; and every one said he had never seen any sight more +captivating than this lovely lady moving with grace of motion and +majestic mien, all agreeing that she had no need of the flaming +torch which she held in her hand; for the flashing light from her +brilliant eyes was sufficient to illuminate the set, and to pierce +the dark veil of Night.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRANTOME02"></a> +<h3>THE SHADOW OF A TOMB</h3> +<center>From 'Lives of Courtly Women'</center> +<br> +<p>Once I had an elder brother who was called Captain Bourdeille, +one of the bravest and most valiant soldiers of his time. Although +he was my brother, I must praise him, for the record he made in the +wars brought him fame. He was the <i>gentilhomme de France</i> who +stood first in the science and gallantry of arms. He was killed +during the last siege of Hesdin. My brother's parents had destined +him for the career of letters, and accordingly sent him at the age +of eighteen to study in Italy, where he settled in Ferrara because +of Madame Renée de France, Duchess of Ferrara, who ardently +loved my mother. He enjoyed life at her court, and soon fell deeply +in love with a young French widow,--Mademoiselle de La Roche,--who +was in the suite of Madame de Ferrara.</p> +<p>They remained there in the service of love, until my father, +seeing that his son was not following literature, ordered him home. +She, who loved him, begged him to take her with him to France and +to the court of Marguerite of Navarre, whom she had served, and who +had given her to Madame Renée when she went to Italy upon +her marriage. My brother, who was young, was greatly charmed to +have her companionship, and conducted her to Pau. The Queen was +glad to welcome her, for the young widow was handsome and +accomplished, and indeed considered superior in <i>esprit</i> to +the other ladies of the court.</p> +<p>After remaining a few days with my mother and grandmother, who +were there, my brother visited his father. In a short time he +declared that he was disgusted with letters, and joined the army, +serving in the wars of Piedmont and Parma, where he acquired much +honor in the space of five or six months; during which time he did +not revisit his home. At the end of this period he went to see his +mother at Pau. He made his reverence to the Queen of Navarre as she +returned from vespers; and she, who was the best princess in the +world, received him cordially, and taking his hand, led him about +the church for an hour or two. She demanded news regarding the wars +of Piedmont and Italy, and many other particulars, to which my +brother replied so well that she was greatly pleased with him. He +was a very handsome young man of twenty-four years. After talking +gravely and engaging him in earnest conversation, walking up and +down the church, she directed her steps toward the tomb of +Mademoiselle de La Roche, who had been dead for three months. She +stopped here, and again took his hand, saying, "My cousin" (thus +addressing him because a daughter of D'Albret was married into our +family of Bourdeille; but of this I do not boast, for it has not +helped me particularly), "do you not feel something move below your +feet?"</p> +<p>"No, Madame," he replied.</p> +<p>"But reflect again, my cousin," she insisted.</p> +<p>My brother answered, "Madame, I feel nothing move. I stand upon +a solid stone."</p> +<p>"Then I will explain," said the Queen, "without keeping you +longer in suspense, that you stand upon the tomb and over the body +of your poor dearly-loved Mademoiselle de La Roche, who is interred +here; and that our friends may have sentiment for us at our death, +render a pious homage here. You cannot doubt that the gentle +creature, dying so recently, must have been affected when you +approached. In remembrance I beg you to say a paternoster and an +Ave Maria and a de profundis, and sprinkle holy water. Thus you +will win the name of a very faithful lover and a good +Christian."</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRANTOME03"></a> +<h3>M. LE CONSTABLE ANNE DE MONTMORENCY</h3> +<center>From 'Lives of Distinguished Men and Great +Captains'</center> +<br> +<p>He never failed to say and keep up his paternosters every +morning, whether he remained in the house, or mounted his horse and +went out to the field to join the army. It was a common saying +among the soldiers that one must "beware the paternosters of the +Constable." For as disorders were very frequent, he would say, +while mumbling and muttering his paternosters all the time, "Go and +fetch that fellow and hang me him up to this tree;" "Out with a +file of harquebusiers here before me this instant, for the +execution of this man!" "Burn me this village instantly!" "Cut me +to pieces at once all these villain peasants, who have dared to +hold this church against the king!" All this without ever ceasing +from his paternosters till he had finished them--thinking that he +would have done very wrong to put them off to another time; so +conscientious was he!</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRANTOME04"></a> +<h3>TWO FAMOUS ENTERTAINMENTS</h3> +<center>From 'Lives of Courtly Women'</center> +<br> +<p>I have read in a Spanish book called 'El Viaje del Principe' +(The Voyage of the Prince), made by the King of Spain in the +Pays-Bas in the time of the Emperor Charles, his father, about the +wonderful entertainments given in the rich cities. The most famous +was that of the Queen of Hungary in the lovely town of Bains, which +passed into a proverb, "Mas bravas que las festas de Bains" (more +magnificent than the festivals of Bains). Among the displays which +were seen during the siege of a counterfeit castle, she ordered for +one day a fête in honor of the Emperor her brother, Queen +Eleanor her sister, and the gentlemen and ladies of the court.</p> +<p>Toward the end of the feast a lady appeared with six +Oread-nymphs, dressed as huntresses in classic costumes of silver +and green, glittering with jewels to imitate the light of the moon. +Each one carried a bow and arrows in her hand and wore a quiver on +her shoulder; their buskins were of cloth of silver. They entered +the hall, leading their dogs after them, and placed on the table in +front of the Emperor all kinds of venison pasties, supposed to have +been the spoils of the chase. After them came the Goddess of +Shepherds and her six nymphs, dressed in cloth of silver, garnished +with pearls. They wore knee-breeches beneath their flowing robes, +and white pumps, and brought in various products of the dairy.</p> +<p>Then entered the third division--Pomona and her nymphs--bearing +fruit of all descriptions. This goddess was the daughter of Donna +Beatrix Pacheco, Countess d'Autremont, lady-in-waiting to Queen +Eleanor, and was but nine years old. She was now Madame l'Admirale +de Chastillon, whom the Admiral married for his second wife. +Approaching with her companions, she presented her gifts to the +Emperor with an eloquent speech, delivered so beautifully that she +received the admiration of the entire assembly, and all predicted +that she would become a beautiful, charming, graceful, and +captivating lady. She was dressed in cloth of silver and white, +with white buskins, and a profusion of precious stones--emeralds, +colored like some of the fruit she bore. After making these +presentations, she gave the Emperor a Palm of Victory, made of +green enamel, the fronds tipped with pearls and jewels. This was +very rich and gorgeous. To Queen Eleanor she gave a fan containing +a mirror set with gems of great value. Indeed, the Queen of Hungary +showed that she was a very excellent lady, and the Emperor was +proud of a sister worthy of himself. All the young ladies who +impersonated these mythical characters were selected from the +suites of France, Hungary, and Madame de Lorraine; and were +therefore French, Italian, Flemish, German, and of Lorraine. None +of them lacked beauty.</p> +<p>At the same time that these fêtes were taking place at +Bains, Henry II. made his entrée in Piedmont and at his +garrisons in Lyons, where were assembled the most brilliant of his +courtiers and court ladies. If the representation of Diana and her +chase given by the Queen of Hungary was found beautiful, the one at +Lyons was more beautiful and complete. As the king entered the +city, he saw obelisks of antiquity to the right and left, and a +wall of six feet was constructed along the road to the courtyard, +which was filled with underbrush and planted thickly with trees and +shrubbery. In this miniature forest were hidden deer and other +animals.</p> +<p>As soon as his Majesty approached, to the sound of horns and +trumpets Diana issued forth with her companions, dressed in the +fashion of a classic nymph with her quiver at her side and her bow +in her hand. Her figure was draped in black and gold sprinkled with +silver stars, the sleeves were of crimson satin bordered with gold, +and the garment, looped up above the knee, revealed her buskins of +crimson satin covered with pearls and embroidery. Her hair was +entwined with magnificent strings of rich pearls and gems of much +value, and above her brow was placed a crescent of silver, +surrounded by little diamonds. Gold could never have suggested half +so well as the shining silver the white light of the real crescent. +Her companions were attired in classic costumes made of taffetas of +various colors, shot with gold, and their ringlets were adorned +with all kinds of glittering gems....</p> +<p>Other nymphs carried darts of Brazil-wood tipped with black and +white tassels, and carried horns and trumpets suspended by ribbons +of white and black. When the King appeared, a lion, which had long +been under training, ran from the wood and lay at the feet of the +Goddess, who bound him with a leash of white and black and led him +to the king, accompanying her action with a poem of ten verses, +which she delivered most beautifully. Like the lion--so ran the +lines--the city of Lyons lay at his Majesty's feet, gentle, +gracious, and obedient to his command. This spoken, Diana and her +nymphs made low bows and retired.</p> +<p>Note that Diana and her companions were married women, widows, +and young girls, taken from the best society in Lyons, and there +was no fault to be found with the way they performed their parts. +The King, the princes, and the ladies and gentlemen of the court +were ravished. Madame de Valentinois, called Diana of +Poitiers,--whom the King served and in whose name the mock chase +was arranged,--was not less content.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BREMER"></a> +<h2>FREDRIKA BREMER</h2> +<h3>(1801-1865)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-f.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>redrika Bremer was born at Tuorla Manor-house, near Åbo, +in Finland, on the 17th of August, 1801. In 1804 the family removed +to Stockholm, and two years later to a large estate at Årsta, +some twenty miles from the capital, which was her subsequent home. +At Årsta the father of Fredrika, who had amassed a fortune in +the iron industry in Finland, set up an establishment in accord +with his means. The manor-house, built two centuries before, had +become in some parts dilapidated, but it was ultimately restored +and improved beyond its original condition. From its windows on one +side the eye stretched over nearly five miles of meadows, fields, +and villages belonging to the estate.</p> +<p class="lft"><img src="images/bremer.jpg" width="45%" alt=""><br> +<b>Fredrika Bremer</b></p> +<p>In spite of its surroundings, however, Fredrika's childhood was +not a happy one. Her mother was severe and impatient of petty +faults, and the child's mind became embittered. Her father was +reserved and melancholy. Fredrika herself was restless and +passionate, although of an affectionate nature. Among the other +children she was the ugly duckling, who was misunderstood, and +whose natural development was continually checked and frustrated. +Her talents were early exhibited in a variety of directions. Her +first verses, in French, to the morn, were written at the age of +eight. Subsequently she wrote comedies for home production, prose +and verse of all sorts, and kept a journal, which has been +preserved. In 1821 the whole family went on a tour abroad, from +which they did not return until the following year, having visited +in the meantime Germany, Switzerland, and France, and spent the +winter in Paris. This year among new scenes and surroundings seems +to have brought home to Fredrika, upon the resumption of her old +life in the country, its narrowness and its isolation. She was +entirely shut off from all desired activity; her illusions vanished +one by one. "I was conscious," she says in her short autobiography, +"of being born with powerful wings, but I was conscious of their +being clipped;" and she fancied that they would remain so.</p> +<p>Her attention, however, was fortunately attracted from herself +to the poor and sick in the country round about; and she presently +became to the whole region a nurse and a helper, denying herself +all sorts of comforts that she might give them to others, and +braving storm and hunger on her errands of mercy. In order to earn +money for her charities she painted miniature portraits of the +Crown Princess and the King, and secretly sold them. Her desire to +increase the small sums she thus gained induced her to seek a +publisher for a number of sketches she had written. Her brother +readily disposed of the manuscript for a hundred rix-dollars; and +her first book, 'Teckningar ur Hvardagslifvet' (Sketches of +Every-day Life), appeared in 1828, but without the name of the +author, of whose identity the publisher himself was left in +ignorance. The book was received with such favor that the young +author was induced to try again; and what had originally been +intended as a second volume of the 'Sketches' appeared in 1830 as +'Familjen H.' (The H. Family). Its success was immediate and +unmistakable. It not only was received with applause, but created a +sensation, and Swedish literature was congratulated on the +acquisition of a new talent among its writers.</p> +<p>The secret of Fredrika's authorship--which had as yet not been +confided even to her parents--was presently revealed to the poet +(and later bishop) Franzén, an old friend of the family. +Shortly afterward the Swedish Academy, of which Franzén was +secretary, awarded her its lesser gold medal as a sign of +appreciation. A third volume met with even greater success than its +predecessors, and seemed definitely to point out the career which +she subsequently followed; and from this time until the close of +her life she worked diligently in her chosen field. She rapidly +acquired an appreciative public in and out of Sweden. Many of her +novels and tales were translated into various languages, several of +them appearing simultaneously in Swedish and English. In 1844 the +Swedish Academy awarded her its great gold medal of merit.</p> +<p>Several long journeys abroad mark the succeeding years: to +Denmark and America from 1848 to 1857; to Switzerland, Belgium, +France, Italy, Palestine, and Greece, from 1856 to 1861; to Germany +in 1862, returning the same year. The summer months of 1864 she +spent at Årsta, which since 1853 had passed out of the hands +of the family. She removed there the year after, and died there on +the 31st of December.</p> +<p>Fredrika Bremer's most successful literary work was in the line +of her earliest writings, descriptive of the every-day life of the +middle classes. Her novels in this line have an unusual charm of +expression, whose definable elements are an unaffected simplicity +and a certain quiet humor which admirably fits the chosen +<i>milieu</i>. Besides the ones already mentioned, 'Presidentens +Döttrar' (The President's Daughters), 'Grannarna' (The +Neighbors), 'Hemmet' (The Home), 'Nina,' and others, cultivated +this field. Later she drifted into "tendency" fiction, making her +novels the vehicles for her opinions on important public questions, +such as religion, philanthropy, and above all the equal rights of +women. These later productions, of which 'Hertha' and 'Syskonlif' +are the most important, are far inferior to her earlier work. She +had, however, the satisfaction of seeing the realization of several +of the movements which she had so ardently espoused: the law that +unmarried women in Sweden should attain their majority at +twenty-five years of age; the organization at Stockholm of a +seminary for the education of woman teachers; and certain +parliamentary reforms.</p> +<p>In addition to her novels and short stories, she wrote some +verse, mostly unimportant, and several books of travel, among them +'Hemmen i ny Verlden' (Homes in the New World), containing her +experiences of America; 'Life in the Old World'; and 'Greece and +the Greeks.'</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BREMER01"></a> +<h3>A HOME-COMING</h3> +<center>From 'The Neighbors'</center> +<br> +<p>LETTER I.--FRANCISCA W. TO MARIA M.</p> +<p>ROSENVIK, 1st June, 18.</p> +<p>Here I am now, dear Maria, in my own house and home, at my own +writing-table, and with my own Bear. And who then is Bear? no doubt +you ask. Who else should he be but my own husband? I call him +<i>Bear</i> because--it so happens. I am seated at the window. The +sun is setting. Two swans are swimming in the lake, and furrow its +clear mirror. Three cows--<i>my cows</i>--are standing on the +verdant margin, quiet, fat, and pensive, and certainly think of +nothing. What excellent cows they are! Now the maid is coming up +with the milk-pail. Delicious milk in the country! But what is not +good in the country? Air and people, food and feelings, earth and +sky, everything there is fresh and cheering.</p> +<p>Now I must introduce you to my place of abode--no! I must begin +farther off. Upon yonder hill, from which I first beheld the valley +in which Rosenvik lies (the hill is some miles in the interior of +Smaaland) do you descry a carriage covered with dust? In it are +seated Bear and his wedded wife. The wife is looking out with +curiosity, for before her lies a valley so beautiful in the +tranquillity of evening! Below are green groves which fringe +mirror-clear lakes, fields of standing corn bend in silken +undulations round gray mountains, and white buildings glance amid +the trees. Round about, pillars of smoke are shooting up vertically +from the wood-covered hills to the serene evening sky. This seems +to indicate the presence of volcanoes, but in point of fact it is +merely the peaceful labor of the husbandmen burning the vegetation, +in order to fertilize the soil. At all events, it is an excellent +thing, and I am delighted, bend forward, and am just thinking about +a happy family in nature,--Paradise, and Adam and Eve,--when +suddenly Bear puts his great paws around me, and presses me so that +I am near giving up the ghost, while, kissing me, he entreats me to +"be comfortable here." I was a little provoked; but when I +perceived the heartfelt intention of the embrace, I could not but +be satisfied.</p> +<p>In this valley, then, was my permanent home: here my new family +was living; here lay Rosenvik; here I was to live with my Bear. We +descended the hill, and the carriage rolled rapidly along the level +way. Bear told me the names of every estate, both in the +neighborhood and at a distance. I listened as if I were dreaming, +but was roused from my reverie when he said with a certain stress, +"<i>Here</i> is the residence of <i>ma chère +mère</i>," and the carriage drove into a courtyard, and +stopped before a large and fine stone house.</p> +<p>"What, are we going to alight here?" "Yes, my love." This was by +no means an agreeable surprise to me. I would gladly have first +driven to my own home, there to prepare myself a little for meeting +my husband's stepmother, of whom I was a little afraid, from the +accounts I had heard of that lady, and the respect Bear entertained +for her. This visit appeared entirely <i>mal àpropos</i> to +me, but Bear has his own ideas, and I perceived from his manner +that it was not expedient then to offer any resistance.</p> +<p>It was Sunday, and on the carriage drawing up, the tones of a +violin became audible to me. "Aha!" said Bear, "so much the +better;" made a ponderous leap from the carriage, and lifted me +out. Of hat-cases and packages, no manner of account was to be +taken. Bear took my hand, ushered me up the steps into the +magnificent hall, and dragged me toward the door from whence the +sounds of music and dancing were heard. "See," thought I, "now I am +to dance in this costume forsooth!" I wished to go into some place +where I could shake the dust from my nose and my bonnet; where I +could at least view myself in a mirror. Impossible! Bear, leading +me by the arm, assured me that I looked "most charming," and +entreated me to mirror myself in his eyes. I then needs must be so +discourteous as to reply that they were "too small." He protested +that they were only the clearer, and opened the door to the +ball-room. "Well, since you lead me to the ball, you shall also +dance with me, you Bear!" I exclaimed in the gayety of despair, so +to speak. "With delight!" cried Bear, and at the same moment we +found ourselves in the salon.</p> +<p>My alarm diminished considerably when I perceived in the +spacious room only a crowd of cleanly attired maids and +serving-men, who were sweeping merrily about with one another. They +were so busied with dancing as scarcely to observe us. Bear then +conducted me to the upper end of the apartment; and there, on a +high seat, I saw a tall and strong lady of about fifty, who was +playing on a violin with zealous earnestness, and beating time with +her foot, which she stamped with energy. On her head she wore a +remarkable and high-projecting cap of black velvet, which I will +call a helmet, because that word occurred to my mind at the very +first view I had of her, and I know no one more appropriate. She +looked well, but singular. It was the lady of General Mansfelt, my +husband's stepmother, <i>ma chère mère!</i></p> +<p>She speedily cast her large dark-brown eyes on me, instantly +ceased playing, laid aside the violin, and drew herself up with a +proud bearing, but an air of gladness and frankness. Bear led me +towards her. I trembled a little, bowed profoundly, and kissed +<i>ma chère mère's</i> hand. She kissed my forehead, +and for a while regarded me with such a keen glance, that I was +compelled to abase my eyes, on which she again kissed me most +cordially on lips and forehead, and embraced me almost as lustily +as Bear had. Now it was Bear's turn; he kissed the hand of <i>ma +chère mère</i> right respectfully; she however +offered him her cheek, and they appeared very friendly. "Be +welcome, my dear friends!" said <i>ma chère mère</i>, +with a loud, masculine voice. "It was handsome in you to come to me +before driving to your own home. I thank you for it. I would indeed +have given you a better reception had I been prepared; at all +events, I know that 'Welcome is the best cheer.' I hope, my +friends, you stay the evening here?" Bear excused us, said that we +desired to get home soon, that I was fatigued from the journey, but +that we would not drive by Carlsfors without paying our respects to +<i>ma chère mère</i>.</p> +<p>"Well, very good, well, very good!" said <i>ma chère +mère</i>, with satisfaction; "we will shortly talk further +about that in the chamber there; but first I must say a few words +to the people here. Hark ye, good friends!" and <i>ma chère +mère</i> knocked with the bow on the back of the violin, +till a general silence ensued in the salon. "My children," she +pursued in a solemn manner, "I have to tell you--a plague upon you! +will you not be still there, at the lower end?--I have to inform +you that my dear son, Lars Anders Werner, has now led home, as his +wedded wife, this Francisca Burén whom you see at his side. +Marriages are made in heaven, my children, and we will supplicate +heaven to complete its work in blessing this conjugal pair. We will +this evening together drink a bumper to their prosperity. That will +do! Now you can continue your dancing, my children. Olof, come you +here, and do your best in playing."</p> +<p>While a murmur of exultation and congratulations went through +the assembly, <i>ma chère mère</i> took me by the +hand, and led me, together with Bear, into another room. Here she +ordered punch and glasses to be brought in. In the interim she +thrust her two elbows on the table, placed her clenched hands under +her chin, and gazed steadfastly at me, but with a look which was +rather gloomy than friendly. Bear, perceiving that <i>ma +chère mère's</i> review embarrassed me, broached the +subject of the harvest or rural affairs. <i>Ma chère +mère</i> vented a few sighs, so deep that they rather +resembled groans, appeared to make a violent effort to command +herself, answered Bear's questions, and on the arrival of the +punch, drank to us, saying, with a serious look and voice, "Son and +son's wife, your health!" On this she grew more friendly, and said +in a tone of pleasantry, which beseemed her very well, "Lars +Anders, I don't think people can say you have bought the calf in +the sack. Your wife does not by any means look in bad case, and has +a pair of eyes to buy fish with. Little she is, it is true; but +'Little and bold is often more than a match for the great.'"</p> +<p>I laughed, so did <i>ma chère mère</i> also; I +began to understand her character and manner. We gossiped a little +while together in a lively manner, and I recounted some little +adventures of travel, which amused her exceedingly. After the lapse +of an hour, we arose to take leave, and <i>ma chère +mère</i> said, with a really charming smile, "I will not +detain you this evening, delighted as I am to see you. I can well +imagine that home is attractive. Stay at home to-morrow, if you +will; but the day after to-morrow come and dine with me. As to the +rest, you know well that you are at all times welcome. Fill now +your glasses, and come and drink the folks' health. Sorrow we +should keep to ourselves, but share joy in common."</p> +<p>We went into the dancing-room with full glasses, <i>ma +chère mère</i> leading the way as herald. They were +awaiting us with bumpers, and <i>ma chère mère</i> +addressed the people something in this strain:--"We must not indeed +laugh until we get over the brook; but when we set out on the +voyage of matrimony with piety and good sense, then may be applied +the adage that 'Well begun is half won'; and on that, my friends, +we will drink a skoal to this wedded pair you see before you, and +wish that both they and their posterity may ever 'sit in the +vineyard of our Lord.' Skoal!"</p> +<p>"Skoal! skoal!" resounded from every side. Bear and I emptied +our glasses, and went about and shook a multitude of people by the +hand, till my head was all confusion. When this was over, and we +were preparing to prosecute our journey, <i>ma chère +mère</i> came after us on the steps with a packet or bundle +in her hand, and said in a friendly manner, "Take this cold roast +veal with you, children, for breakfast to-morrow morning. After +that, you must fatten and consume your own calves. But forget not, +daughter-in-law, that I get back my napkin. No, you shan't carry +it, dear child, you have enough to do with your bag and mantle. +Lars Anders shall carry the roast veal." And as if Lars Anders had +been still a little boy, she charged him with the bundle, showed +him how he was to carry it, and Bear did as she said. Her last +words were, "Forget not that I get my napkin again!" I looked with +some degree of wonder at Bear; but he smiled, and lifted me into +the carriage.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BREMER02"></a> +<h3>THE LANDED PROPRIETOR</h3> +<center>From 'The Home'</center> +<br> +<p>Louise possessed the quality of being a good listener in a +higher degree than any one else in the family, and therefore she +heard more than any one else of his Excellency; but not of him +only, for Jacobi had always something to tell her, always something +to consult her about; and in case she were not too much occupied +with her thoughts about the weaving, he could always depend upon +the most intense sympathy, and the best advice both with regard to +moral questions and economical arrangements, dress, plans for the +future, and so forth. He also gave her good advice--which however +was very seldom followed--when she was playing Postilion; he also +drew patterns for her tapestry work, and was very fond of reading +aloud to her--but novels rather than sermons.</p> +<p>But he was not long allowed to sit by her side alone; for very +soon a person seated himself at her other side whom we will call +the <i>Landed Proprietor</i>, as he was chiefly remarkable for the +possession of a large estate in the vicinity of the town.</p> +<p>The Landed Proprietor seemed to be disposed to dispute with the +Candidate--let us continue to call him so, as we are all, in one +way or the other, Candidates in this world--the place which he +possessed. The Landed Proprietor had, besides his estate, a very +portly body; round, healthy-looking cheeks; a pair of large gray +eyes, remarkable for their want of expression; and a little rosy +mouth, which preferred mastication to speaking, which laughed +without meaning, and which now began to direct to "Cousin +Louise"--for he considered himself related to the Lagman--several +short speeches, which we will recapitulate in the following +chapter, headed</p> +<p>STRANGE QUESTIONS</p> +<p>"Cousin Louise, are you fond of fish--bream for instance?" asked +the Landed Proprietor one evening, as he seated himself by the side +of Louise, who was busy working a landscape in tapestry.</p> +<p>"Oh, yes! bream is a very good fish," answered she, +phlegmatically, without looking up.</p> +<p>"Oh, with red-wine sauce, delicious! I have splendid fishing on +my estate, Oestanvik. Big fellows of bream! I fish for them +myself."</p> +<p>"Who is the large fish there?" inquired Jacobi of Henrik, with +an impatient sneer; "and what is it to him if your sister Louise is +fond of bream or not?"</p> +<p>"Because then she might like him too, <i>mon cher</i>! A very +fine and solid fellow is my cousin Thure of Oestanvik. I advise you +to cultivate his acquaintance. What now, Gabrielle dear, what now, +your Highness?"</p> +<p>"What is that which--"</p> +<p>"Yes, what is it? I shall lose my head over that riddle. Mamma +dear, come and help your stupid son!"</p> +<p>"No, no! Mamma knows it already. She must not say it!" exclaimed +Gabrielle with fear.</p> +<p>"What king do you place above all other kings, Magister?" asked +Petrea for the second time,--having this evening her "raptus" of +questioning.</p> +<p>"Charles the Thirteenth," answered the Candidate, and listened +for what Louise was going to reply to the Landed Proprietor.</p> +<p>"Do you like birds, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor.</p> +<p>"Oh yes, particularly the throstle," answered Louise.</p> +<p>"Well,--I am glad of that!" said the Landed Proprietor. "On my +estate, Oestanvik, there is an immense quantity of throstles. I +often go out with my gun, and shoot them for my dinner. Piff, paff! +with two shots I have directly a whole dishful."</p> +<p>Petrea, who was asked by no one "Do you like birds, cousin?" and +who wished to occupy the Candidate, did not let herself be deterred +by his evident confusion, but for the second time put the following +question:--"Do you think, Magister, that people before the Flood +were really worse than they are nowadays?"</p> +<p>"Oh, much, much better," answered the Candidate.</p> +<p>"Are you fond of roasted hare, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor.</p> +<p>"Are you fond of roasted hare, Magister?" whispered Petrea +waggishly to Jacobi.</p> +<p>"Brava, Petrea!" whispered her brother to her.</p> +<p>"Are you fond of cold meat, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor, as he was handing Louise to the supper-table.</p> +<p>"Are you fond of Landed Proprietor?" whispered Henrik to her as +she left it.</p> +<p>Louise answered just as a cathedral would have answered: she +looked very solemn and was silent.</p> +<p>After supper Petrea was quite excited, and left nobody alone who +by any possibility could answer her. "Is reason sufficient for +mankind? What is the ground of morals? What is properly the meaning +of 'revelation'? Why is everything so badly arranged in the State? +Why must there be rich and poor?" etc., etc.</p> +<p>"Dear Petrea!" said Louise, "what use can there be in asking +those questions?"</p> +<p>It was an evening for questions; they did not end even when the +company had broken up.</p> +<p>"Don't you think, Elise," said the Lagman to his wife when they +were alone, "that our little Petrea begins to be disagreeable with +her continual questioning and disputing? She leaves no one in +peace, and is stirred up herself the whole time. She will make +herself ridiculous if she keeps on in this way."</p> +<p>"Yes, if she does keep on so. But I have a feeling that she will +change. I have observed her very particularly for some time, and do +you know, I think there is really something very uncommon in that +girl."</p> +<p>"Yes, yes, there is certainly something uncommon in her. Her +liveliness and the many games and schemes which she invents--"</p> +<p>"Yes, don't you think they indicate a decided talent for the +fine arts? And then her extraordinary thirst for learning: every +morning, between three and four o'clock, she gets up in order to +read or write, or to work at her compositions. That is not at all a +common thing. And may not her uneasiness, her eagerness to question +and dispute, arise from a sort of intellectual hunger? Ah, from +such hunger, which many women must suffer throughout their lives, +from want of literary food,--from such an emptiness of the soul +arise disquiet, discontent, nay, innumerable faults."</p> +<p>"I believe you are right, Elise," said the Lagman, "and no +condition in life is sadder, particularly in more advanced years. +But this shall not be the lot of our Petrea--that I will promise. +What do you think now would benefit her most?"</p> +<p>"My opinion is that a serious and continued plan of study would +assist in regulating her mind. She is too much left to herself with +her confused tendencies, with her zeal and her inquiry. I am too +ignorant myself to lead and instruct her, you have too little time, +and she has no one here who can properly direct her young and +unregulated mind. Sometimes I almost pity her, for her sisters +don't understand at all what is going on within her, and I confess +it is often painful to myself; I wish I were more able to assist +her. Petrea needs some ground on which to take her stand. Her +thoughts require more firmness; from the want of this comes her +uneasiness. She is like a flower without roots, which is moved +about by wind and waves."</p> +<p>"She shall take root, she shall find ground as sure as it is to +be found in the world," said the Lagman, with a serious and beaming +eye, at the same time striking his hand on the book containing the +law of West Gotha, so that it fell to the ground. "We will consider +more of this, Elise," continued he: "Petrea is still too young for +us to judge with certainty of her talents and tendencies. But if +they turn out to be what they appear, then she shall never feel any +hunger as long as I live and can procure bread for my family. You +know my friend, the excellent Bishop B----: perhaps we can at first +confide our Petrea to his guidance. After a few years we shall see; +she is still only a child. Don't you think that we ought to speak +to Jacobi, in order to get him to read and converse with her? +Apropos, how is it with Jacobi? I imagine that he begins to be too +attentive to Louise."</p> +<p>"Well, well! you are not so far wrong; and even our cousin Thure +of Oestanvik,--have you perceived anything there?"</p> +<p>"Yes, I did perceive something yesterday evening; what the deuce +was his meaning with those stupid questions he put to her? 'Does +cousin like this?' or 'Is cousin fond of that?' I don't like that +at all myself. Louise is not yet full-grown, and already people +come and ask her, 'Does cousin like--?' Well, it may signify very +little after all, which would perhaps please me best. What a pity, +however, that our cousin is not a little more manly; for he has +certainly got a most beautiful estate, and so near us."</p> +<p>"Yes, a pity; because, as he is at present, I am almost sure +Louise would find it impossible to give him her hand."</p> +<p>"You do not believe that her inclination is toward Jacobi?"</p> +<p>"To tell the truth, I fancy that this is the case."</p> +<p>"Nay, that would be very unpleasant and very unwise: I am very +fond of Jacobi, but he has nothing and is nothing."</p> +<p>"But, my dear, he may get something and become something; I +confess, dear Ernst, that I believe he would suit Louise better for +a husband than any one else we know, and I would with pleasure call +him my son."</p> +<p>"Would you, Elise? then I must also prepare myself to do the +same. You have had most trouble and most labor with the children, +it is therefore right that you should decide in their affairs."</p> +<p>"Ernst, you are so kind!"</p> +<p>"Say just, Elise; not more than just. Besides, it is my opinion +that our thoughts and inclinations will not differ much. I confess +that Louise appears to me to be a great treasure, and I know of +nobody I could give her to with all my heart; but if Jacobi obtains +her affections, I feel that I could not oppose their union, +although it would be painful to me on account of his uncertain +prospects. He is really dear to me, and we are under great +obligations to him on account of Henrik; his excellent heart, his +honesty, and his good qualities, will make him as good a citizen as +a husband and father, and I consider him to be one of the most +agreeable men to associate with daily. But, God bless me! I speak +as if I wished the union, but that is far from my desire: I would +much rather keep my daughters at home, so long as they find +themselves happy with me; but when girls grow up, there is never +any peace to depend on. I wish all lovers and questioners a long +way off. Here we could live altogether as in a kingdom of heaven, +now that we have got everything in such order. Some small +improvements may still be wanted, but this will be all right if we +are only left in peace. I have been thinking that we could so +easily make a wardrobe here: do you see on this side of the +wall--don't you think if we were to open--What! are you asleep +already, my dear?"</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>Louise was often teased about Cousin Thure; Cousin Thure was +often teased about Cousin Louise. He liked very much to be teased +about his Cousin Louise, and it gave him great pleasure to be told +that Oestanvik wanted a mistress, that he himself wanted a good +wife, and that Louise Frank was decidedly one of the wisest and +most amiable girls in the whole neighborhood, and of the most +respectable family. The Landed Proprietor was half ready to receive +congratulations on his betrothal. What the supposed bride thought +about the matter, however, is difficult to divine. Louise was +certainly always polite to her "Cousin Thure," but more +indifference than attachment seemed to be expressed in this +politeness; and she declined, with a decision astonishing to many a +person, his constantly repeated invitations to make a tour to +Oestanvik in his new landau drawn by "my chestnut horses," +four-in-hand. It was said by many that the agreeable and friendly +Jacobi was much nearer to Louise's heart than the rich Landed +Proprietor. But even towards Jacobi her behavior was so uniform, so +quiet, and so unconstrained that nobody knew what to think. Very +few knew so well as we do that Louise considered it in accordance +with the dignity of a woman to show perfect indifference to the +attentions or <i>doux propos</i> of men, until they had openly and +fully explained themselves. She despised coquetry to that degree +that she feared everything which had the least appearance of it. +Her young friends used to joke with her upon her strong notions in +this respect, and often told her that she would remain +unmarried.</p> +<p>"That may be!" answered Louise calmly.</p> +<p>One day she was told that a gentleman had said, "I will not +stand up for any girl who is not a little coquettish!"</p> +<p>"Then he may remain sitting!" answered Louise, with a great deal +of dignity.</p> +<p>Louise's views with regard to the dignity of woman, her serious +and decided principles, and her manner of expressing them, amused +her young friends, at the same time that they inspired them with +great regard for her, and caused many little contentions and +discussions in which Louise fearlessly, though not without some +excess, defended what was right. These contentions, which began in +merriment, sometimes ended quite differently.</p> +<p>A young and somewhat coquettish married lady felt herself one +day wounded by the severity with which Louise judged the coquetry +of her sex, particularly of married ladies, and in revenge she made +use of some words which awakened Louise's astonishment and anger at +the same time. An explanation followed between the two, the +consequence of which was a complete rupture between Louise and the +young lady, together with an altered disposition of mind in the +former, which she in vain attempted to conceal. She had been +unusually joyous and lively during the first days of her stay at +Axelholm; but she now became silent and thoughtful, often absent; +and some people thought that she seemed less friendly than formerly +towards the Candidate, but somewhat more attentive to the Landed +Proprietor, although she constantly declined his invitation "to +take a tour to Oestanvik."</p> +<p>The evening after this explanation took place, Elise was engaged +with Jacobi in a lively conversation in the balcony.</p> +<p>"And if," said Jacobi, "if I endeavor to win her affections, oh, +tell me! would her parents, would her mother see it without +displeasure? Ah, speak openly with me; the happiness of my life +depends upon it!"</p> +<p>"You have my approval and my good wishes," answered Elise; "I +tell you now what I have often told my husband, that I should very +much like to call you my son!"</p> +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Jacobi, deeply affected, falling on his knees +and pressing Elise's hand to his lips: "oh, that every act in my +life might prove my gratitude, my love--!"</p> +<p>At this moment Louise, who had been looking for her mother, +approached the balcony; she saw Jacobi's action and heard his +words. She withdrew quickly, as if she had been stung by a +serpent.</p> +<p>From this time a great change was more and more perceptible in +her. Silent, shy, and very pale, she moved about like a dreaming +person in the merry circle at Axelholm, and willingly agreed to her +mother's proposal to shorten her stay at this place.</p> +<p>Jacobi, who was as much astonished as sorry at Louise's sudden +unfriendliness towards him, began to think the place was somehow +bewitched, and wished more than once to leave it.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BREMER03"></a> +<h3>A FAMILY PICTURE</h3> +<center>From 'The Home'</center> +<br> +<p>The family is assembled in the library; tea is just finished. +Louise, at the pressing request of Gabrielle and Petrea, lays out +the cards in order to tell the sisters their fortune. The Candidate +seats himself beside her, and seems to have made up his mind to be +a little more cheerful. But then "the object" looks more like a +cathedral than ever. The Landed Proprietor enters, bows, blows his +nose, and kisses the hand of his "gracious aunt."</p> +<p><i>Landed Proprietor</i>--Very cold this evening; I think we +shall have frost.</p> +<p><i>Elise</i>--It is a miserable spring; we have just read a +melancholy account of the famine in the northern provinces; these +years of dearth are truly unfortunate.</p> +<p><i>Landed Proprietor</i>--Oh yes, the famine up there. No, let +us talk of something else; that is too gloomy. I have had my peas +covered with straw. Cousin Louise, are you fond of playing +Patience? I am very fond of it myself; it is so composing. At +Oestanvik I have got very small cards for Patience; I am quite sure +you would like them, Cousin Louise.</p> +<p>The Landed Proprietor seats himself on the other side of Louise. +The Candidate is seized with a fit of curious shrugs.</p> +<p><i>Louise</i>--This is not Patience, but a little conjuring by +means of which I can tell future things. Shall I tell your fortune, +Cousin Thure?</p> +<p><i>Landed Proprietor</i>--Oh yes! do tell my fortune; but don't +tell me anything disagreeable. If I hear anything disagreeable in +the evening, I always dream of it at night. Tell me now from the +cards that I shall have a pretty little wife;--a wife beautiful and +amiable as Cousin Louise.</p> +<p><i>The Candidate (with an expression in his eyes as if he would +send the Landed Proprietor head-over-heels to Oestanvik)</i>--I +don't know whether Miss Louise likes flattery.</p> +<p><i>Landed Proprietor (who takes no notice of his +rival)</i>--Cousin Louise, are you fond of blue?</p> +<p><i>Louise</i>--Blue? It is a pretty color; but I almost like +green better.</p> +<p><i>Landed Proprietor</i>--Well, that's very droll; it suits +exceedingly well. At Oestanvik my drawing-room furniture is blue; +beautiful light-blue satin. But in my bedroom I have green moreen. +Cousin Louise, I believe really--</p> +<p>The Candidate coughs as though he were going to be suffocated, +and rushes out of the room. Louise looks after him and sighs, and +afterwards sees in the cards so many misfortunes for Cousin Thure +that he is quite frightened. "The peas frosted!"--"conflagration in +the drawing-room"--and at last "a basket" ["the mitten"]. The +Landed Proprietor declares still laughingly that he will not +receive "a basket." The sisters smile and make their remarks.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="CLEMENS_BRENTANO"></a> +<h2>CLEMENS BRENTANO</h2> +<h3>(1778-1842)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-t.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>he intellectual upheaval in Germany at the beginning of this +century brought a host of remarkable characters upon the literary +stage, and none more gifted, more whimsical, more winning than +Clemens Brentano, the erratic son of a brilliant family. Born +September 8th, 1778, at Ehrenbreitstein, Brentano spent his youth +among the stimulating influences which accompanied the renaissance +of German culture. His grandmother, Sophie de la Roche, had been +the close friend of Wieland, and his mother the youthful companion +of Goethe. Clemens, after a vain attempt to follow in the +mercantile footsteps of his father, went to Jena, where he met the +Schlegels; and here his brilliant but unsteady literary career +began.</p> +<p>In 1803 he married the talented Sophie Mareau, but three years +later his happiness was terminated by her death. His next +matrimonial venture was, however, a failure: an elopement in 1808 +with the daughter of a Frankfort banker was quickly followed by a +divorce, and he thereafter led the uncontrolled life of an errant +poet. Among his early writings, published under the pseudonym of +'Marie,' were several satires and dramas and a novel entitled +'Godwi,' which he himself called "a romance gone mad." The meeting +with Achim von Arnim, who subsequently married his sister Bettina, +decided his fate: he embarked in literature once and for all in +close association with Von Arnim. Together they compiled a +collection of several hundred folk-songs of the sixteenth, +seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, under the name of 'Des +Knaben Wunderhorn' (The Boy's Wonderhorn), 1806-1808. That so +musical a people as the Germans should be masters of lyric poetry +is but natural,--every longing, every impression, every impulse +gushes into song; and in 'Des Knaben Wunderhorn' we hear the +tuneful voices of a naïve race, singing what they have seen or +dreamed or felt during three hundred years. The work is dedicated +to Goethe, who wrote an almost enthusiastic review of it for the +Literary Gazette of Jena. "Every lover or master of musical art," +he says, "should have this volume upon his piano."</p> +<p>The 'Wunderhorn' was greeted by the German public with +extraordinary cordiality. It was in fact an epoch-making work, the +pioneer in the new field of German folk poetry. It carried out in a +purely national spirit the efforts which Herder had made in behalf +of the folk-songs of all peoples. It revealed the spirit of the +time. 1806 was the year of the battle of Jena, and Germany in her +hour of deepest humiliation gave ear to the encouraging voices from +out her own past. "The editors of the 'Wunderhorn,'" said their +friend Görres, "have deserved of their countrymen a civic +crown, for having saved from destruction what yet remained to be +saved;" and on this civic crown the poets' laurels are still +green.</p> +<p>Brentano's contagious laughter may even now be heard re-echoing +through the pages of his book on 'The Philistine' (1811). His +dramatic power is evinced in the broadly conceived play 'Die +Gründung Prags' (The Founding of Prague: 1815); but it is upon +two stories, told in the simple style of the folk-tale, that his +widest popularity is founded. 'Die Geschichte vom braven Casperl +und der schönen Annerl' (The Story of Good Casper and Pretty +Annie) and his fable of 'Gockel, Hinkel, und Gackeleia,' both of +the year 1838, are still an indispensable part of the reading of +every German boy and girl.</p> +<p>Like his brilliant sister, Brentano is a fascinating figure in +literature. He was amiable and winning, full of quips and cranks, +and with an inexhaustible fund of stories. Astonishing tales of +adventure, related with great circumstantiality of detail, and of +which he himself was the hero, played an important part in his +conversation. Tieck once said he had never known a better +improvisatore than Brentano, nor one who could "lie more +gracefully."</p> +<p>When Brentano was forty years of age a total change came over +his life. The witty and fascinating man of the world was +transformed into a pious and gloomy ascetic. The visions of the +stigmatized nun of Dülmen, Katharina Emmerich, attracted him, +and he remained under her influence until her death in 1824. These +visions he subsequently published as the 'Life of the Virgin Mary.' +The eccentricities of his later years bordered upon insanity. He +died in the Catholic faith in the year 1842.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRENTANO01"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE +NURSE'S WATCH</b><br> +<br> + From 'The Boy's +Wonderhorn'<br> +<br> +<br> + The +moon it shines,<br> + My +darling whines;<br> + The clock strikes twelve:--God +cheer<br> + The +sick both far and near.<br> + God +knoweth all;<br> + Mousy +nibbles in the wall;<br> + The +clock strikes one:--like day,<br> + Dreams +o'er thy pillow play.<br> + The +matin-bell<br> + Wakes +the nun in convent cell;<br> + The +clock strikes two:--they go<br> + To +choir in a row.<br> + The +wind it blows,<br> + The +cock he crows;<br> + The +clock strikes three:--the wagoner<br> + In +his straw bed begins to stir.<br> + The +steed he paws the floor,<br> + Creaks +the stable door;<br> + The +clock strikes four:--'tis plain<br> + The +coachman sifts his grain.<br> + The swallow's +laugh the still air shakes,<br> + The +sun awakes;<br> + The clock strikes five:--the traveler +must be gone,<br> + He +puts his stockings on.<br> + The +hen is clacking,<br> + The +ducks are quacking;<br> + The +clock strikes six:--awake, arise,<br> + Thou +lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.<br> + Quick +to the baker's run;<br> + The +rolls are done;<br> + The +clock strikes seven:--<br> + 'Tis +time the milk were in the oven.<br> + Put +in some butter, do,<br> + And +some fine sugar, too;<br> + The +clock strikes eight:--<br> + Now bring my +baby's porridge straight.<br> +<br> + Englished by Charles T. +Brooks.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRENTANO02"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE CASTLE IN +AUSTRIA</b><br> +<br> + From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'<br> +<br> +<br> + There lies a castle in Austria,<br> + Right goodly to +behold,<br> + Walled tip with marble stones so +fair,<br> + With silver and with red +gold.<br> +<br> + Therein lies captive a young boy,<br> + For life and death he +lies bound,<br> + Full forty fathoms under the +earth,<br> + 'Midst vipers and snakes +around.<br> +<br> + His father came from Rosenberg,<br> + Before the tower he +went:--<br> + "My son, my dearest son, how hard<br> + Is thy imprisonment!"<br> +<br> + "O father, dearest father mine,<br> + So hardly I am bound,<br> + Full forty fathoms under the +earth,<br> + 'Midst vipers and snakes +around!"<br> +<br> + His father went before the +lord:--<br> + "Let loose thy captive to +me!<br> + I have at home three casks of +gold,<br> + And these for the boy +I'll gi'e."<br> +<br> + "Three casks of gold, they help you +not:<br> + That boy, and he must +die!<br> + He wears round his neck a golden +chain;<br> + Therein doth his ruin +lie."<br> +<br> + "And if he thus wear a golden +chain,<br> + He hath not stolen it; +nay!<br> + A maiden good gave it to him<br> + For true love, did she +say."<br> +<br> + They led the boy forth from the +tower,<br> + And the sacrament took +he:--<br> + "Help thou, rich Christ, from heaven +high,<br> + It's come to an end with +me!"<br> +<br> + They led him to the scaffold +place,<br> + Up the ladder he must +go:--<br> + "O headsman, dearest headsman, do<br> + But a short respite +allow!"<br> +<br> + "A short respite I must not +grant;<br> + Thou wouldst escape and +fly:<br> + Reach me a silken handkerchief<br> + Around his eyes to +tie."<br> +<br> + "Oh, do not, do not bind mine +eyes!<br> + I must look on the world +so fine;<br> + I see it to-day, then never more,<br> + With these weeping eyes +of mine."<br> +<br> + His father near the scaffold +stood,<br> + And his heart, it almost +rends:--<br> + "O son, O thou my dearest son,<br> + Thy death I will +avenge!"<br> +<br> + "O father, dearest father mine!<br> + My death thou shalt not +avenge:<br> + 'Twould bring to my soul but heavy +pains;<br> + Let me die in +innocence.<br> +<br> + "It is not for this life of mine,<br> + Nor for my body +proud;<br> + 'Tis but for my dear mother's +sake:<br> + At home she weeps +aloud."<br> +<br> + Not yet three days had passed +away,<br> + When an angel from heaven +came down:<br> + "Take ye the boy from the scaffold +away;<br> + Else the city shall sink +under ground!"<br> +<br> + And not six months had passed +away,<br> + Ere his death was avenged +amain;<br> + And upwards of three hundred men<br> + For the boy's life were +slain.<br> +<br> + Who is it that hath made this +lay,<br> + Hath sung it, and so +on?<br> + That, in Vienna in Austria,<br> + Three maidens fair have +done.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="ELIZABETH_BRENTANO"></a> +<h2>ELISABETH BRENTANO (BETTINA VON ARNIM)</h2> +<h3>(1785-1859)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-n.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>o picture of German life at the beginning of this century would +be complete which did not include the distinguished women who left +their mark upon the time. Among these Bettina von Arnim stands +easily foremost. There was something triumphant in her nature, +which in her youth manifested itself in her splendid enthusiasm for +the two great geniuses who dominated her life,--Goethe and +Beethoven,--and which, in the lean years when Germany was +overclouded, maintained itself by an inexhaustible optimism. Her +merry willfulness and wit covered a warm heart and a vigorous mind; +and both of her great idols understood her and took her +seriously.</p> +<p class="lft"><img src="images/brentano.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Elisabeth Brentano</b></p> +<p>Elisabeth Brentano was the daughter of Goethe's friend, +Maximiliane de la Roche. She was born at Frankfort-on-the-Main in +1785, and was brought up after the death of her mother under the +somewhat peculiar influence of the highly-strung Caroline von +Günderode. Through her filial intimacy with Goethe's mother, +she came to know the poet; and out of their friendship grew the +correspondence which formed the basis of Bettina's famous book, +'Goethe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde' (Goethe's Correspondence +with a Child). She attached herself with unbounded enthusiasm to +Goethe, and he responded with affectionate tact. To him Bettina was +the embodiment of the loving grace and willfulness of 'Mignon.'</p> +<p>In 1811 these relations were interrupted, owing to Bettina's +attitude toward Goethe's wife. In the same year she married Achim +von Arnim, one of the most refined poets and noblest characters of +that brilliant circle. The marriage was an ideal one; each +cherished and delighted in the genius of the other, but in 1831 the +death of Von Arnim brought this happiness to an end. Goethe died in +the following year, and Germany went into mourning. Then in 1835 +Bettina appeared before the world for the first time as an +authoress, in 'Goethe's Correspondence with a Child.' The +dithyrambic exaltation, the unrestrained but beautiful enthusiasm +of the book came like an electric shock. Into an atmosphere of +spiritual stagnation, these letters brought a fresh access of +vitality and hope. Bettina's old friendly relations with Goethe had +been resumed later in life, and in a letter written to her niece +she gives a charming account of the visit to the poet in 1824, +which proved to be her last. This letter first saw the light in +1896, and an extract from it has been included below.</p> +<p>The inspiration which went out from Bettina's magnetic nature +was profound. She had her part in every great movement of her time, +from the liberation of Greece to the fight with cholera in Berlin. +During the latter, her devotion to the cause of the suffering poor +in Berlin opened her eyes to the miseries of the common people; and +she wrote a work full of indignant fervor, 'Dies Buch gehört +dem König' (This Book belongs to the King), in consequence of +which her welcome at the court of Frederick William IV. grew cool. +A subsequent book, written in a similar vein, was suppressed. But +Bettina's love of the people, as of every cause in which she was +interested, was genuine and not to be quenched; she acted upon the +maxim once expressed by Emerson, "Every brave heart must treat +society as a child, and never allow it to dictate." Emerson greatly +admired Bettina, and Louisa M. Alcott relates that she first made +acquaintance with the famous 'Correspondence' when in her girlhood +she was left to browse in Emerson's library. Bettina's influence +was most keenly felt by the young, and she had the youth of Germany +at her feet. She died in 1859.</p> +<p>There is in Weimar a picture in which are represented the +literary men of the period, grouped as in Raphael's School of +Athens, with Goethe and Schiller occupying the centre. Upon the +broad steps which lead to the elevation where they are standing, is +the girlish figure of Bettina bending forward and holding a laurel +wreath in her hand. This is the position which she occupies in the +history of German literature.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRENTANO11"></a> +<h3>DEDICATION: TO GOETHE</h3> +<center>From 'Goethe's Correspondence with a Child'</center> +<br> +<p>Thou, who knowest love, and the refinement of sentiment, oh how +beautiful is everything in thee! How the streams of life rush +through thy sensitive heart, and plunge with force into the cold +waves of thy time, then boil and bubble up till mountain and vale +flush with the glow of life, and the forests stand with glistening +boughs upon the shore of thy being, and all upon which rests thy +glance is filled with happiness and life! O God, how happy were I +with thee! And were I winging my flight far over all times, and far +over thee, I would fold my pinions and yield myself wholly to the +domination of thine eyes.</p> +<p>Men will never understand thee, and those nearest to thee will +most thoroughly disown and betray thee; I look into the future, and +I hear them cry, "Stone him!" Now, when thine own inspiration, like +a lion, stands beside thee and guards thee, vulgarity ventures not +to approach thee. Thy mother said recently, "The men to-day are all +like Gerning, who always says, 'We, the superfluous learned';" and +she speaks truly, for he is superfluous. Rather be dead than +superfluous! But I am not so, for I am thine, because I recognize +thee in all things. I know that when the clouds lift themselves up +before the sun-god, they will soon be depressed by his fiery hand; +I know that he endures no shadow except that which his own fame +seeks; the rest of consciousness will overshadow thee. I know, when +he descends in the evening, that he will again appear in the +morning with golden front. Thou art eternal, therefore it is good +for me to be with thee.</p> +<p>When, in the evening, I am alone in my dark room, and the +neighbors' lights are thrown upon my wall, they sometimes light up +thy bust; or when all is silent in the city, here and there a dog +barks or a cock crows: I know not why, but it seems something +beyond human to me; I know what I shall do to still my pain.</p> +<p>I would fain speak with thee otherwise than with words; I would +fain press myself to thy heart. I feel that my soul is aflame. How +fearfully still is the air before the storm! So stand now my +thoughts, cold and silent, and my heart surges like the sea. Dear, +dear Goethe! A reminiscence of thee breaks the spell; the signs of +fire and warfare sink slowly down in my sky, and thou art like the +in-streaming moonlight. Thou art great and glorious, and better +than all that I have ever known and experienced up to this time. +Thy whole life is so good!</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRENTANO12"></a> +<h3>TO GOETHE</h3> +<br> +<p>CASSEL, August 13th, 1807.</p> +<br> +<p>Who can interpret and measure what is passing within me? I am +happy now in remembrance of the past, which I scarcely was when +that past was the present. To my sensitive heart the surprise of +being with thee, the coming and going and returning in a few +blessed days--this was all like clouds flitting across my heaven; +through my too near presence I feared it might be darkened by my +shadow, as it is ever darker when it nears the earth; now, in the +distance, it is mild and lofty and ever clear.</p> +<p>I would fain press thy dear hand with both of mine to my bosom, +and say to thee, "How peace and content have come to me since I +have known thee!"</p> +<p>I know that the evening has not come when life's twilight +gathers in my heart: oh, would it were so! Would that I had lived +out my days, that my wishes and joys were fulfilled, and that they +could all be heaped upon thee, that thou mightst be therewith +decked and crowned as with evergreen bays.</p> +<p>When I was alone with thee on that evening I could not +comprehend thee: thou didst smile at me because I was moved, and +laughed at me because I wept; but why? And yet it was thy laughter, +the <i>tone</i> of thy laughter, which moved me to tears; and I am +content, and see, under the cloak of this riddle, roses burst forth +which spring alike from sadness and joy. Yes, thou art right, +prophet: I shall yet with light heart struggle up through jest and +mirth; I shall weary myself with struggling as I did in my +childhood (ah, it seems as if it were but yesterday!) when with the +exuberance of joy I wandered through the blossoming fields, pulling +up the flowers by the roots and throwing them into the water. But I +wish to seek rest in a warm, firm earnestness, and there at hand +standest thou, smiling prophet!</p> +<p>I say to thee yet once more: Whoever in this wide world +understands what is passing within me, who, am so restful in thee, +so silent, so unwavering in my feeling? I could, like the +mountains, bear nights and days in the past without disturbing thee +in thy reflections! And yet when at times the wind bears the +fragrance and the germs together from the blossoming world up to +the mountain heights, they will be intoxicated with delight as I +was yesterday. Then I loved the world, then I was as glad as a +gushing, murmuring spring in which the sun for the first time +shines.</p> +<p>Farewell, sublime one who blindest and intimidatest me! From +this steep rock upon which my love has in life-danger ventured, I +cannot clamber down. I cannot think of descending, for I should +break my neck in the attempt.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRENTANO13"></a> +<h3>BETTINA'S LAST MEETING WITH GOETHE</h3> +<br> +<p>From a Letter to her Niece in 1824, first published in 1896</p> +<p>IN THE evening I was alone again with Goethe. Had any one +observed us, he would have had something to tell to posterity. +Goethe's peculiarities were exhibited to the full: first he would +growl at me, then to make it all up again he would caress me, with +the most flattering words. His bottle of wine he kept in the +adjoining room, because I had reproached him for his drinking the +night before: on some pretext or other he disappeared from the +scene half a dozen times in order to drink a glass. I pretended to +notice nothing; but at parting I told him that twelve glasses of +wine wouldn't hurt him, and that he had had only six. "How do you +know that so positively?" he said. "I heard the gurgle of the +bottle in the next room, and I heard you drinking, and then you +have betrayed yourself to me, as Solomon in the Song of Songs +betrayed himself to his beloved, by your breath." "You are an +arrant rogue," he said; "now take yourself off," and he brought the +candle to light me out. But I sprang in front of him and knelt upon +the threshold of the room. "Now I shall see if I can shut you in, +and whether you are a good spirit or an evil one, like the rat in +Faust; I kiss this threshold and bless it, for over it daily passes +the most glorious human spirit and my best friend." "Over you and +your love I shall never pass," he answered, "it is too dear to me; +and around your spirit I creep so" (and he carefully paced around +the spot where I was kneeling), "for you are too artful, and it is +better to keep on good terms with you." And so he dismissed me with +tears in his eyes. I remained standing in the dark before his door, +to gulp down my emotion. I was thinking that this door, which I had +closed with my own hand, had separated me from him in all +probability forever. Whoever comes near him must confess that his +genius has partly passed into goodness; the fiery sun of his spirit +is transformed at its setting into a soft purple light.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRENTANO14"></a> +<blockquote> <b>IN GOETHE'S +GARDEN</b><br> +<br> + I from this hillock all my world +survey!<br> + Yon vale, bedecked by +nature's fairy fingers,<br> + Where the still by-road +picturesquely lingers,<br> + The cottage white whose quaint charms +grace the way--<br> + These are the scenes that o'er my +heart hold sway.<br> +<br> + I from this hillock all my world +survey!<br> + Though I ascend to +heights fair lands dividing,<br> + Where stately ships I see +the ocean riding,<br> + While cities gird the view in proud +array,<br> + Naught prompts my heart's impulses to +obey.<br> +<br> + I from this hillock all my world +survey!<br> + And could I stand while +Paradise descrying,<br> + Still for these verdant +meads should I be sighing,<br> + Where thy dear roof-peaks skirt the +verdant way:<br> + Beyond these bounds my heart longs +not to stray.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRIGHT"></a> +<h2>JOHN BRIGHT</h2> +<h3>(1811-1889)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-j.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>ohn Bright was the modern representative of the ancient Tribunes +of the people or Demagogues (in the original and perfectly +honorable sense); and a full comparison of his work and position +with those of the Cleons or the Gracchi would almost be an outline +of the respective peoples, polities, and problems. He was a higher +type of man and politician than Cleon,--largely because the English +aristocracy is not an unpatriotic and unprincipled clique like the +Athenian, ready to use any weapon from murder down or to make their +country a province of a foreign empire rather than give up their +class monopoly of power; but like his prototype he was a democrat +by nature as well as profession, the welfare of the common people +at once his passion and his political livelihood, full of faith +that popular instincts are both morally right and intellectually +sound, and all his own instincts and most of his labors +antagonistic to those of the aristocracy. It is a phase of the same +fact to say that he also represented the active force of religious +feeling in politics, as opposed to pure secular statesmanship.</p> +<p class="lft"><img src="images/bright.jpg" width="45%" alt=""><br> +<b>John Bright</b></p> +<p>The son of a Quaker manufacturer of Rochdale, England, and born +near that place November 16th, 1811, he began his public career +when a mere boy as a stirring and effective temperance orator, his +ready eloquence and intense earnestness prevailing over an +ungraceful manner and a bad delivery; he wrought all his life for +popular education and for the widest extension of the franchise; +and being a Quaker and a member of the Peace Society, he opposed +all war on principle, fighting the Crimean War bitterly, and +leaving the Gladstone Cabinet in 1882 on account of the bombardment +of Alexandria. He was retired from the service of the public for +some time on account of his opposition to the Crimean War; but Mr. +Gladstone, who differed from him on this point, calls it the action +of his life most worthy of honor. He was perhaps the most warlike +opponent of war ever high in public life; the pugnacious and +aggressive agitator, pouring out floods of fiery oratory to the +effect that nobody ought to fight anybody, was a curious +paradox.</p> +<p>He was by far the most influential English friend of the North +in the Civil War, and the magic of his eloquence and his name was a +force of perhaps decisive potency in keeping the working classes on +the same side; so that mass meetings of unemployed laborers with +half-starving families resolved that they would rather starve +altogether than help to perpetuate slavery in America. He shares +with Richard Cobden the credit of having obtained free trade for +England: Bright's thrilling oratory was second only to Cobden's +organizing power in winning the victory, and both had the immense +weight of manufacturers opposing their own class. That he opposed +the game laws and favored electoral reform is a matter of +course.</p> +<p>Mr. Bright entered on an active political career in 1839, when +he joined the Anti-Corn-Law League. He first became a member of +Parliament in 1843, and illustrates a most valuable feature of +English political practice. When a change of feeling in one place +prevented his re-election, he selected another which was glad to +honor itself by having a great man represent it, so that the +country was not robbed of a statesman by a village faction; and +there being no spoils system, he did not have to waste his time in +office-jobbing to keep his seat. He sat first for Durham, then for +Manchester, and finally for Birmingham, remaining in public life +over forty years; and never had to make a "deal" or get any one an +office in all that period.</p> +<p>He was in Mr. Gladstone's Cabinet from 1868 to 1870, and again +from 1873 to 1882. On the Home Rule question the two old friends +and long co-workers divided; Mr. Bright, with more than half the +oldest and sincerest friends of liberty and haters of oppression in +England, holding the step to be political suicide for the British +Empire.</p> +<p>As an orator, Mr. Bright stood in a sense alone. He was direct +and logical; he carefully collected and massed his facts, and used +strong, homely Saxon English, and short crisp words; he was a +master of telling epigram whose force lay in its truth as much as +in its humor. Several volumes of his speeches have been published: +'On Public Affairs'; 'On Parliamentary Reform'; 'On Questions of +Public Policy'; 'On the American Question,' etc. His life has been +written by Gilchrist, Smith, Robertson, and others. He died March +27th, 1889.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRIGHT01"></a> +<h3>FROM THE SPEECH ON THE CORN LAWS (1843)</h3> +<br> +<p>It must not be supposed, because I wish to represent the +interest of the many, that I am hostile to the interest of the +few.</p> +<p>But is it not perfectly certain that if the foundation of the +most magnificent building be destroyed and undermined, the whole +fabric itself is in danger? Is it not certain, also, that the vast +body of the people who form the foundation of the social fabric, if +they are suffering, if they are trampled upon, if they are +degraded, if they are discontented, if "their hands are against +every man, and every man's hands are against them," if they do not +flourish as well, reasonably speaking, as the classes who are above +them because they are richer and more powerful,--then are those +classes as much in danger as the working classes themselves?</p> +<p>There never was a revolution in any country which destroyed the +great body of the people. There have been convulsions of a most +dire character which have overturned old-established monarchies and +have hurled thrones and sceptres to the dust. There have been +revolutions which have brought down most powerful aristocracies, +and swept them from the face of the earth forever, but never was +there a revolution yet which destroyed the people. And whatever may +come as a consequence of the state of things in this country, of +this we may rest assured: that the common people, that the great +bulk of our countrymen will remain and survive the shock, though it +may be that the Crown and the aristocracy and the Church may be +leveled with the dust, and rise no more. In seeking to represent +the working classes, and in standing up for their rights and +liberties, I hold that I am also defending the rights and liberties +of the middle and richer classes of society. Doing justice to one +class cannot inflict injustice on any other class, and "justice and +impartiality to all" is what we all have a right to from +government. And we have a right to clamor; and so long as I have +breath, so long will I clamor against the oppression which I see to +exist, and in favor of the rights of the great body of the +people....</p> +<p>What is the condition in which we are? I have already spoken of +Ireland. You know that hundreds of thousands meet there, week after +week, in various parts of the country, to proclaim to all the world +the tyranny under which they suffer. You know that in South Wales, +at this moment, there is an insurrection of the most extraordinary +character going on, and that the Government is sending, day after +day, soldiers and artillery amongst the innocent inhabitants of +that mountainous country for the purpose of putting down the +insurrection thereby raised and carried on. You know that in the +Staffordshire ironworks almost all the workmen are now out and in +want of wages, from want of employment and from attempting to +resist the inevitable reduction of wages which must follow +restriction upon trade. You know that in August last, Lancashire +and Yorkshire rose in peaceful insurrection to proclaim to the +world, and in face of Heaven, the wrongs of an insulted and +oppressed people. I know that my own neighborhood is unsettled and +uncomfortable. I know that in your own city your families are +suffering. Yes, I have been to your cottages and seen their +condition. Thanks to my canvass of Durham, I have been able to see +the condition of many honest and independent--or +ought-to-be-independent--and industrious artisans. I have seen even +freemen of your city sitting, looking disconsolate and sad. Their +hands were ready to labor; their skill was ready to produce all +that their trade demanded. They were as honest and industrious as +any man in this assembly, but no man hired them. They were in a +state of involuntary idleness, and were driving fast to the point +of pauperism. I have seen their wives, too, with three or four +children about them--one in the cradle, one at the breast. I have +seen their countenances, and I have seen the signs of their +sufferings. I have seen the emblems and symbols of affliction such +as I did not expect to see in this city. Ay! and I have seen those +little children who at not a distant day will be the men and women +of this city of Durham; I have seen their poor little wan faces and +anxious looks, as if the furrows of old age were coming upon them +before they had escaped from the age of childhood. I have seen all +this in this city, and I have seen far more in the neighborhood +from which I have come. You have seen, in all probability, people +from my neighborhood walking your streets and begging for that +bread which the Corn Laws would not allow them to earn.</p> +<blockquote>"Bread-taxed weaver, all can see<br> +What the tax hath done for thee,<br> +And thy children, vilely led,<br> +Singing hymns for shameful bread,<br> +Till the stones of every street<br> +Know their little naked feet."</blockquote> +<p>This is what the Corn Law does for the weavers of my +neighborhood, and for the weavers and artisans of yours....</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRIGHT02"></a> +<h3>FROM THE SPEECH ON INCENDIARISM IN IRELAND (1844)</h3> +<br> +<p>The great and all-present evil of the rural districts is +this--you have too many people for the work to be done, and you, +the landed proprietors, are alone responsible for this state of +things; and to speak honestly, I believe many of you know it. I +have been charged with saying out-of-doors that this House is a +club of land-owners legislating for land-owners. If I had not said +it, the public must long ago have found out that fact. My honorable +friend the member for Stockport on one occasion proposed that +before you passed a law to raise the price of bread, you should +consider how far you had the power to raise the rates of wages. +What did you say to that? You said that the laborers did not +understand political economy, or they would not apply to Parliament +to raise wages; that Parliament could not raise wages. And yet the +very next thing you did was to pass a law to raise the price of +produce of your own land, at the expense of the very class whose +wages you confessed your inability to increase.</p> +<p>What is the condition of the county of Suffolk? Is it not +notorious that the rents are as high as they were fifty years ago, +and probably much higher? But the return for the farmer's capital +is much lower, and the condition of the laborer is very much worse. +The farmers are subject to the law of competition, and rents are +thereby raised from time to time so as to keep their profits down +to the lowest point, and the laborers by the competition amongst +them are reduced to the point below which life cannot be +maintained. Your tenants and laborers are being devoured by this +excessive competition, whilst you, their magnanimous landlords, +shelter yourselves from all competition by the Corn Law yourselves +have passed, and make the competition of all other classes serve +still more to swell your rentals. It was for this object the Corn +Law was passed, and yet in the face of your countrymen you dare to +call it a law for the protection of native industry....</p> +<p>Again, a rural police is kept up by the gentry; the farmers say +for the sole use of watching game and frightening poachers, for +which formerly they had to pay watchers. Is this true, or is it +not? I say, then, you care everything for the rights--and for +something beyond the rights--of your own property, but you are +oblivious to its duties. How many lives have been sacrificed during +the past year to the childish infatuation of preserving game? The +noble lord, the member for North Lancashire, could tell of a +gamekeeper killed in an affray on his father's estate in that +county. For the offense one man was hanged, and four men are now on +their way to penal colonies. Six families are thus deprived of +husband and father, that this wretched system of game-preserving +may be continued in a country densely peopled as this is. The +Marquis of Normanby's gamekeeper has been murdered also, and the +poacher who shot him only escaped death by the intervention of the +Home Secretary. At Godalming, in Surrey, a gamekeeper has been +murdered; and at Buckhill, in Buckinghamshire, a person has +recently been killed in a poaching affray. This insane system is +the cause of a fearful loss of life; it tends to the ruin of your +tenantry, and is the fruitful cause of the demoralization of the +peasantry. But you are caring for the rights of property; for its +most obvious duties you have no concern. With such a policy, what +can you expect but that which is now passing before you?</p> +<p>It is the remark of a beautiful writer that "to have known +nothing but misery is the most portentous condition under which +human nature can start on its course." Has your agricultural +laborer ever known anything but misery? He is born in a miserable +hovel, which in mockery is termed a house or a home; he is reared +in penury: he passes a life of hopeless and unrequited toil, and +the jail or the union house is before him as the only asylum on +this side of the pauper's grave. Is this the result of your +protection to native industry? Have you cared for the laborer till, +from a home of comfort, he has but a hovel for shelter? and have +you cherished him into starvation and rags? I tell you what your +boasted protection is--it is a protection of native idleness at the +expense of the impoverishment of native industry.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRIGHT03"></a> +<h3>FROM THE SPEECH ON NON-RECOGNITION OF THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY +(1861)</h3> +<br> +<p>I advise you, and I advise the people of England, to abstain +from applying to the United States doctrines and principles which +we never apply to our own case. At any rate, they [the Americans] +have never fought "for the balance of power" in Europe. They have +never fought to keep up a decaying empire. They have never +squandered the money of their people in such a phantom expedition +as we have been engaged in. And now, at this moment, when you are +told that they are going to be ruined by their vast +expenditure,--why, the sum that they are going to raise in the +great emergency of this grievous war is not greater than what we +raise every year during a time of peace.</p> +<p>They say they are not going to liberate slaves. No; the object +of the Washington government is to maintain their own Constitution +and to act legally, as it permits and requires. No man is more in +favor of peace than I am; no man has denounced war more than I +have, probably, in this country; few men in their public life have +suffered more obloquy--I had almost said, more indignity--in +consequence of it. But I cannot for the life of me see, upon any of +those principles upon which States are governed now,--I say nothing +of the literal word of the New Testament,--I cannot see how the +state of affairs in America, with regard to the United States +government, could have been different from what it is at this +moment. We had a Heptarchy in this country, and it was thought to +be a good thing to get rid of it, and have a united nation. If the +thirty-three or thirty-four States of the American Union can break +off whenever they like, I can see nothing but disaster and +confusion throughout the whole of that continent. I say that the +war, be it successful or not, be it Christian or not, be it wise or +not, is a war to sustain the government and to sustain the +authority of a great nation; and that the people of England, if +they are true to their own sympathies, to their own history, and to +their own great act of 1834, to which reference has already been +made, will have no sympathy with those who wish to build up a great +empire on the perpetual bondage of millions of their +fellow-men.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRIGHT04"></a> +<h3>FROM THE SPEECH ON THE STATE OF IRELAND (1866)</h3> +<br> +<p>I think I was told in 1849, as I stood in the burial ground at +Skibbereen, that at least four hundred people who had died of +famine were buried within the quarter of an acre of ground on which +I was then looking. It is a country, too, from which there has been +a greater emigration by sea within a given time than has been known +at any time from any other country in the world. It is a country +where there has been, for generations past, a general sense of +wrong, out of which has grown a chronic state of insurrection; and +at this very moment when I speak, the general safeguard of +constitutional liberty is withdrawn, and we meet in this hall, and +I speak here to-night, rather by the forbearance and permission of +the Irish executive than under the protection of the common +safeguards of the rights and liberties of the people of the United +Kingdom.</p> +<p>I venture to say that this is a miserable and a humiliating +picture to draw of this country. Bear in mind that I am not +speaking of Poland suffering under the conquest of Russia. There is +a gentleman, now a candidate for an Irish county, who is very great +upon the wrongs of Poland; but I have found him always in the House +of Commons taking sides with that great party which has +systematically supported the wrongs of Ireland. I am not speaking +of Hungary, or of Venice as she was under the rule of Austria, or +of the Greeks under the dominion of the Turk; but I am speaking of +Ireland--part of the United Kingdom--part of that which boasts +itself to be the most civilized and the most Christian nation in +the world. I took the liberty recently, at a meeting in Glasgow, to +say that I believed it was impossible for a class to govern a great +nation wisely and justly. Now, in Ireland there has been a field in +which all the principles of the Tory party have had their complete +experiment and development. You have had the country gentleman in +all his power. You have had any number of Acts of Parliament which +the ancient Parliament of Ireland or the Parliament of the United +Kingdom could give him. You have had the Established Church +supported by the law, even to the extent, not many years ago, of +collecting its revenues by the aid of military force. In point of +fact, I believe it would be impossible to imagine a state of things +in which the Tory party should have a more entire and complete +opportunity for their trial than they have had within the limits of +this island. And yet what has happened? This, surely: that the +kingdom has been continually weakened, that the harmony of the +empire has been disturbed, and that the mischief has not been +confined to the United Kingdom, but has spread to the +colonies....</p> +<p>I am told--you can answer it if I am wrong--that it is not +common in Ireland now to give leases to tenants, especially to +Catholic tenants. If that be so, then the security for the property +rests only upon the good feeling and favor of the owner of the +land; for the laws, as we know, have been made by the land-owners, +and many propositions for the advantage of the tenants have +unfortunately been too little considered by Parliament. The result +is that you have bad farming, bad dwelling-houses, bad temper, and +everything bad connected with the occupation and cultivation of +land in Ireland. One of the results--a result the most +appalling--is this, that your population is fleeing your country +and seeking refuge in a distant land. On this point I wish to refer +to a letter which I received a few days ago from a most esteemed +citizen of Dublin. He told me that he believed that a very large +portion of what he called the poor, amongst Irishmen, sympathized +with any scheme or any proposition that was adverse to the Imperial +Government. He said further that the people here are rather in the +country than of it, and that they are looking more to America than +they are looking to England. I think there is a good deal in that. +When we consider how many Irishmen have found a refuge in America, +I do not know how we can wonder at that statement. You will +recollect that when the ancient Hebrew prophet prayed in his +captivity, he prayed with his window open towards Jerusalem. You +know that the followers of Mohammed, when they pray, turn their +faces towards Mecca. When the Irish peasant asks for food and +freedom and blessing, his eye follows the setting sun, the +aspirations of his heart reach beyond the wide Atlantic, and in +spirit he grasps hands with the great Republic of the West. If this +be so, I say then that the disease is not only serious, but it is +desperate; but desperate as it is, I believe there is a certain +remedy for it if the people and Parliament of the United Kingdom +are willing to apply it....</p> +<p>I believe that at the root of a general discontent there is in +all countries a general grievance and general suffering. The +surface of society is not incessantly disturbed without a cause. I +recollect in the poem of the greatest of Italian poets, he tells us +that as he saw in vision the Stygian lake, and stood upon its +banks, he observed the constant commotion upon the surface of the +pool, and his good instructor and guide explained to him the cause +of it:--</p> +<blockquote>"This, too, for certain know, that underneath<br> +The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs<br> +Into these bubbles make the surface heave,<br> +As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn."</blockquote> +<p>And I say that in Ireland, for generations back, the misery and +the wrongs of the people have made their sign, and have found a +voice in constant insurrection and disorder. I have said that +Ireland is a country of many wrongs and of many sorrows. Her past +lies almost in shadow. Her present is full of anxiety and peril. +Her future depends on the power of her people to substitute +equality and justice for supremacy, and a generous patriotism for +the spirit of faction. In the effort now making in Great Britain to +create a free representation of the people you have the deepest +interest. The people never wish to suffer, and they never wish to +inflict injustice. They have no sympathy with the wrong-doer, +whether in Great Britain or in Ireland; and when they are fairly +represented in the Imperial Parliament, as I hope they will one day +be, they will speedily give an effective and final answer to that +old question of the Parliament of Kilkenny--"How comes it to pass +that the King has never been the richer for Ireland?"</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRIGHT05"></a> +<h3>FROM THE SPEECH ON THE IRISH ESTABLISHED CHURCH (1868)</h3> +<br> +<p>I am one of those who do not believe that the Established Church +of Ireland--of which I am not a member--would go to absolute ruin, +in the manner of which many of its friends are now so fearful. +There was a paper sent to me this morning, called 'An Address from +the Protestants of Ireland to their Protestant Brethren of Great +Britain.' It is dated "5, Dawson Street," and is signed by "John +Trant Hamilton, T.A. Lefroy, and R.W. Gamble." The paper is written +in a fair and mild, and I would even say,--for persons who have +these opinions,--in a kindly and just spirit. But they have been +alarmed, and I would wish, if I can, to offer them consolation. +They say they have no interest in protecting any abuses of the +Established Church, but they protest against their being now +deprived of the Church of their fathers. Now, I am quite of opinion +that it would be a most monstrous thing to deprive the Protestants +of the Church of their fathers; and there is no man in the world +who would more strenuously resist even any step in that direction +than I would, unless it were Mr. Gladstone, the author of the +famous resolutions. The next sentence goes on to say, "We ask for +no ascendancy." Having read that sentence, I think that we must +come to the conclusion that these gentlemen are in a better frame +of mind than we thought them to be in. I can understand easily that +these gentlemen are very sorry and doubtful as to the depths into +which they are to be plunged; but I disagree with them in +this--that I think there would still be a Protestant Church in +Ireland when all is done that Parliament has proposed to do. The +only difference will be, that it will not then be an +establishment--that it will have no special favor or grant from the +State--that it will stand in relation to the State just as your +Church does, and just as the churches of the majority of the people +of Great Britain at this moment stand. There will then be no +Protestant bishops from Ireland to sit in the House of Lords; but +he must be the most enthusiastic Protestant and Churchman who +believes that there can be any advantage to his Church and to +Protestantism generally in Ireland from such a phenomenon.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRILLAT"></a> +<h2>BRILLAT-SAVARIN</h2> +<h3>(1755-1826)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-b.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>rillat-Savarin was a French magistrate and legislator, whose +reputation as man of letters rests mainly upon a single volume, his +inimitable 'Physiologie du Goût'. Although writing in the +present century, he was essentially a Frenchman of the old +régime, having been born in 1755 at Belley, almost on the +border-line of Savoy, where he afterwards gained distinction as an +advocate. In later life he regretted his native province chiefly +for its figpeckers, superior in his opinion to ortolans or robins, +and for the cuisine of the innkeeper Genin, where "the old-timers +of Belley used to gather to eat chestnuts and drink the new white +wine known as <i>vin bourru</i>"</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/bremer.jpg" width="45%" alt=""><br> +<b>Brillat-Savarin</b></p> +<p>After holding various minor offices in his department, Savarin +became mayor of Belley in 1793; but the Reign of Terror soon forced +him to flee to Switzerland and join the colony of French refugees +at Lausanne. Souvenirs of this period are frequent in his +'Physiologie du Goût', all eminently gastronomic, as befits +his subject-matter, but full of interest, as showing his unfailing +cheerfulness amidst the vicissitudes and privations of exile. He +fled first to Dôle, to "obtain from the Representative +Prôt a safe-conduct, which was to save me from going to +prison and thence probably to the scaffold," and which he +ultimately owed to Madame Prôt, with whom he spent the +evening playing duets, and who declared, "Citizen, any one who +cultivates the fine arts as you do cannot betray his country!" It +was not the safe-conduct, however, but an unexpected dinner which +he enjoyed on his route, that made this a red-letter day to +Savarin:--"What a good dinner!--I will not give the details, but an +honorable mention is due to a <i>fricassée</i> of chicken, +of the first order, such as cannot be found except in the +provinces, and so richly dowered with truffles that there were +enough to put new life into old Tithonus himself."</p> +<p>The whole episode is told in Savarin's happiest vein, and +well-nigh justifies his somewhat complacent conclusion that "any +one who, with a revolutionary committee at his heels, could so +conduct himself, assuredly has the head and the heart of a +Frenchman!"</p> +<p>Natural scenery did not appeal to Savarin; to him Switzerland +meant the restaurant of the Lion d'Argent, at Lausanne, where "for +only 15 <i>batz</i> we passed in review three complete courses;" +the <i>table d'hôte</i> of the Rue de Rosny; and the little +village of Moudon, where the cheese <i>fondue</i> was so good. +Circumstances, however, soon necessitated his departure for the +United States, which he always gratefully remembered as having +afforded him "an asylum, employment, and tranquillity." For three +years he supported himself in New York, giving French lessons and +at night playing in a theatre orchestra. "I was so comfortable +there," he writes, "that in the moment of emotion which preceded +departure, all that I asked of Heaven (a prayer which it has +granted) was never to know greater sorrow in the Old World than I +had known in the New." Returning to France in 1796, Savarin settled +in Paris, and after holding several offices under the Directory, +became a Judge in the Cour de Cassation, the French court of last +resort, where he remained until his death in 1826.</p> +<p>Although an able and conscientious magistrate, Savarin was +better adapted to play the kindly friend and cordial host than the +stern and impartial judge. He was a convivial soul, a lover of good +cheer and free-handed hospitality; and to-day, while almost +forgotten as a jurist, his name has become immortalized as the +representative of gastronomic excellence. His 'Physiologic du +Goût'--"that <i>olla podrida</i> which defies analysis," as +Balzac calls it--belongs, like Walton's 'Compleat Angler', or +White's 'Selborne', among those unique gems of literature, too rare +in any age, which owe their subtle and imperishable charm primarily +to the author's own delightful personality. Savarin spent many +years of loving care in polishing his manuscript, often carrying it +to court with him, where it was one day mislaid, but--luckily for +future generations of epicures--was afterward recovered. The book +is a charming badinage, a bizarre ragoût of gastronomic +precepts and spicy anecdote, doubly piquant for its prevailing tone +of mock seriousness and intentional grandiloquence.</p> +<p>In emulation of the poet Lamartine, Savarin divided his subject +into 'Meditations', of which the seventh is consecrated to the +'Theory of Frying', and the twenty-first to 'Corpulence'. In the +familiar aphorism, "Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what +you are", he strikes his key-note; man's true superiority lies in +his palate! "The pleasure of eating we have in common with the +animals; the pleasure of the table is peculiar to the human +species." Gastronomy he proclaims the chief of all sciences: "It +rules life in its entirety; for the tears of the new-born infant +summon the breast of its nurse, and the dying man still receives +with some pleasure the final potion, which, alas, he is not +destined to digest." Occasionally he affects an epic strain, +invoking Gasteria, "the tenth muse, who presides over the pleasures +of taste." "It is the fairest of the Muses who inspires me: I will +be clearer than an oracle, and my precepts will traverse the +centuries." Beneath his pen, soup, "the first consolation of the +needy stomach," assumes fresh dignity; and even the humble fowl +becomes to the cook "what the canvas is to the painter, or the cap +of Fortunatus to the charlatan." But like the worthy epicure that +he was, Savarin reserved his highest flights of eloquence for such +rare and toothsome viands as the <i>Poularde fine de Bresse</i>, +the pheasant, "an enigma of which the key-word is known only to the +adepts," a <i>sauté</i> of truffles, "the diamonds of the +kitchen," or, best of all, truffled turkeys, "whose reputation and +price are ever on the increase! Benign stars, whose apparition +renders the gourmands of every category sparkling, radiant, and +quivering!" But the true charm of the book lies in Savarin's +endless fund of piquant anecdotes, reminiscences of bygone feasts, +over which the reader's mouth waters. Who can read without a +covetous pang his account of 'The Day at Home with the Bernadins,' +or of his entertainment of the Dubois brothers, of the <i>Rue du +Bac</i>, "a bonbon which I have put into the reader's mouth to +recompense him for his kindness in having read me with +pleasure"?</p> +<p>'Physiologic du Goût' was not published until 1825, and +then anonymously, presumably because he thought its tone +inconsistent with his dignity as magistrate. It would almost seem +that he had a presentiment of impending death, for in the midst of +his brightest 'Variétés' he has incongruously +inserted a dolorous little poem, the burden of each verse being "Je +vais mourir." The 'Physiologic du Goût' is now accessible to +English readers in the versions of R.E. Anderson (London, 1877), +and in a later one published in New York; but there is a subtle +flavor to the original which defies translation.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRILLAT01"></a> +<h2>FROM THE 'PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE'</h2> +<h3>THE PRIVATIONS</h3> +<br> +<p>First parents of the human species, whose gormandizing is +historic, you who fell for the sake of an apple, what would you not +have done for a turkey with truffles? But there were in the +terrestrial Paradise neither cooks nor confectioners.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Mighty kings, who laid proud Troy in ruins, your valor will be +handed down from age to age; but your table was poor. Reduced to a +rump of beef and a chine of pork, you were ever ignorant of the +charms of the <i>matelote</i> and the delights of a +fricassée of chicken.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Aspasia, Chloe, and all of you whose forms the chisel of the +Greeks immortalized, to the despair of the belles of to-day, never +did your charming mouths enjoy the smoothness of a meringue +<i>à la vanille</i> or <i>à la rose</i>; hardly did +you rise to the height of a spice-cake.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Gentle priestesses of Vesta, at one and the same time burdened +with so many honors and menaced with such horrible punishments, +would that you might at least have tasted those agreeable syrups +which refresh the soul, those candied fruits which brave the +seasons, those perfumed creams, the marvel of our day!</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Roman financiers, who made the whole known universe pay tribute, +never did your far-famed banquet-halls witness the appearance of +those succulent jellies, the delight of the indolent, nor those +varied ices whose cold would brave the torrid zone.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Invincible paladins, celebrated by flattering minstrels, when +you had cleft in twain the giants, set free the ladies, and +exterminated armies, never, alas! never did a dark-eyed captive +offer you the sparkling champagne, the malmsey of Madeira, the +liqueurs, creation of this great century: you were reduced to ale +or to some cheap herb-flavored wine.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Crosiered and mitred abbots, dispensers of the favors of heaven; +and you, terrible Templars, who donned your armor for the +extermination of the Saracens,--you knew not the sweetness of +chocolate which restores, nor the Arabian bean which promotes +thought.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>Superb châtelaines, who during the loneliness of the +Crusades raised into highest favor your chaplains and your pages, +you never could share with them the charms of the biscuit and the +delights of the macaroon.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<p>And lastly you, gastronomers of 1825, who already find satiety +in the lap of abundance, and dream of new preparations, you will +not enjoy those discoveries which the sciences have in store for +the year 1900, such as esculent minerals and liqueurs resulting +from a pressure of a hundred atmospheres; you will not behold the +importations which travelers yet unborn shall cause to arrive from +that half of the globe which still remains to be discovered or +explored.</p> +<p>How I pity you!</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRILLAT02"></a> +<h3>ON THE LOVE OF GOOD LIVING</h3> +<br> +<p>I have consulted the dictionaries under the word +<i>gourmandise</i>, and am by no means satisfied with what I find. +The love of good living seems to be constantly confounded with +gluttony and voracity; whence I infer that our lexicographers, +however otherwise estimable, are not to be classed with those good +fellows amongst learned men who can put away gracefully a wing of +partridge, and then, by raising the little finger, wash it down +with a glass of Lafitte or Clos-Vougeot.</p> +<p>They have utterly forgot that social love of good eating which +combines in one, Athenian elegance, Roman luxury, and Parisian +refinement. It implies discretion to arrange, skill to prepare; it +appreciates energetically, and judges profoundly. It is a precious +quality, almost deserving to rank as a virtue, and is very +certainly the source of much unqualified enjoyment.</p> +<p><i>Gourmandise</i>, or the love of good living, is an +impassioned, rational, and habitual preference for whatever +flatters the sense of taste. It is opposed to excess; therefore +every man who eats to indigestion, or makes himself drunk, runs the +risk of being erased from the list of its votaries. +<i>Gourmandise</i> also comprises a love for dainties or tit-bits; +which is merely an analogous preference, limited to light, +delicate, or small dishes, to pastry, and so forth. It is a +modification allowed in favor of the women, or men of feminine +tastes.</p> +<p>Regarded from any point of view, the love of good living +deserves nothing but praise and encouragement. Physically, it is +the result and proof of the digestive organs being healthy and +perfect. Morally, it shows implicit resignation to the commands of +Nature, who, in ordering man to eat that he may live, gives him +appetite to invite, flavor to encourage, and pleasure to +reward.</p> +<p>From the political economist's point of view, the love of good +living is a tie between nations, uniting them by the interchange of +various articles of food which are in constant use. Hence the +voyage from Pole to Pole of wines, sugars, fruits, and so forth. +What else sustains the hope and emulation of that crowd of +fishermen, huntsmen, gardeners, and others who daily stock the most +sumptuous larders with the results of their skill and labor? What +else supports the industrious army of cooks, pastry-cooks, +confectioners, and many other food-preparers, with all their +various assistants? These various branches of industry derive their +support in a great measure from the largest incomes, but they also +rely upon the daily wants of all classes.</p> +<p>As society is at present constituted, it is almost impossible to +conceive of a race living solely on bread and vegetables. Such a +nation would infallibly be conquered by the armies of some +flesh-eating race (like the Hindoos, who have been the prey of all +those, one after another, who cared to attack them), or else it +would be converted by the cooking of the neighboring nations, as +ancient history records of the Boeotians, who acquired a love for +good living after the battle of Leuctra.</p> +<p>Good living opens out great resources for replenishing the +public purse: it brings contributions to town-dues, to the +custom-house, and other indirect contributions. Everything we eat +is taxed, and there is no exchequer that is not substantially +supported by lovers of good living. Shall we speak of that swarm of +cooks who have for ages been annually leaving France, to improve +foreign nations in the art of good living? Most of them succeed; +and in obedience to an instinct which never dies in a Frenchman's +heart, bring back to their country the fruits of their economy. The +sum thus imported is greater than might be supposed, and therefore +they, like the others, will be honored by posterity.</p> +<p>But if nations were grateful, then Frenchmen, above all other +races, ought to raise a temple and altars to "Gourmandise." By the +treaty of November, 1815, the allies imposed upon France the +condition of paying thirty millions sterling in three years, +besides claims for compensation and various requisitions, amounting +to nearly as much more. The apprehension, or rather certainty, +became general that a national bankruptcy must ensue, more +especially as the money was to be paid in specie.</p> +<p>"Alas!" said all who had anything to lose, as they saw the fatal +tumbril pass to be filled in the Rue Vivienne, "there is our money +emigrating in a lump; next year we shall fall on our knees before a +crown-piece; we are about to fall into the condition of a ruined +man; speculations of every kind will fail; it will be impossible to +borrow; there will be nothing but weakness, exhaustion, civil +death."</p> +<p>These terrors were proved false by the result; and to the great +astonishment of all engaged in financial matters, the payments were +made without difficulty, credit rose, loans were eagerly caught at, +and during all the time this "superpurgation" lasted, the balance +of exchange was in favor of France. In other words, more money came +into the country than went out of it.</p> +<p>What is the power that came to our assistance? Who is the +divinity that worked this miracle? The love of good living.</p> +<p>When the Britons, Germans, Teutons, Cimmerians, and Scythians +made their irruption into France, they brought a rare voracity, and +stomachs of no ordinary capacity. They did not long remain +satisfied with the official cheer which a forced hospitality had to +supply them with. They aspired to enjoyments of greater refinement; +and soon the Queen City was nothing but a huge refectory. +Everywhere they were seen eating, those intruders--in the +restaurants, the eating-houses, the inns, the taverns, the stalls, +and even in the streets. They gorged themselves with flesh, fish, +game, truffles, pastry, and especially with fruit. They drank with +an avidity equal to their appetite, and always ordered the most +expensive wines, in the hope of finding in them some enjoyment +hitherto unknown, and seemed quite astonished when they were +disappointed. Superficial observers did not know what to think of +this menagerie without bounds or limits; but your genuine Parisian +laughed and rubbed his hands. "We have them now!" said he; "and +to-night they'll have paid us back more than was counted out to +them this morning from the public treasury!"</p> +<p>That was a lucky time for those who provide for the enjoyments +of the sense of taste. Véry made his fortune; Achard laid +the foundation of his; Beauvilliers made a third; and Madame +Sullot, whose shop in the Palais Royal was a mere box of a place, +sold as many as twelve thousand tarts a day.</p> +<p>The effect still lasts. Foreigners flow in from all quarters of +Europe to renew during peace the delightful habits which they +contracted during the war. They must come to Paris, and when they +are there, they must be regaled at any price. If our funds are in +favor, it is due not so much to the higher interest they pay, as to +the instinctive confidence which foreigners cannot help placing in +a people amongst whom every lover of good living finds so much +happiness.</p> +<p>Love of good living is by no means unbecoming in women. It +agrees with the delicacy of their organization, and serves as a +compensation for some pleasures which they are obliged to abstain +from, and for some hardships to which nature seems to have +condemned them. There is no more pleasant sight than a pretty +<i>gourmande</i> under arms. Her napkin is nicely adjusted; one of +her hands rests on the table, the other carries to her mouth little +morsels artistically carved, or the wing of a partridge which must +be picked. Her eyes sparkle, her lips are glossy, her talk is +cheerful, all her movements graceful; nor is there lacking some +spice of the coquetry which accompanies all that women do. With so +many advantages, she is irresistible, and Cato the Censor himself +could not help yielding to the influence.</p> +<p>The love of good living is in some sort instinctive in women, +because it is favorable to beauty. It has been proved, by a series +of rigorously exact observations, that by a succulent, delicate, +and choice regimen, the external appearances of age are kept away +for a long time. It gives more brilliancy to the eye, more +freshness to the skin, more support to the muscles; and as it is +certain in physiology that wrinkles, those formidable enemies of +beauty, are caused by the depression of muscle, it is equally true +that, other things being equal, those who understand eating are +comparatively four years younger than those ignorant of that +science. Painters and sculptors are deeply impenetrated with this +truth; for in representing those who practice abstinence by choice +or duty as misers or anchorites, they always give them the pallor +of disease, the leanness of misery, and the wrinkles of +decrepitude.</p> +<p>Good living is one of the main links of society, by gradually +extending that spirit of conviviality by which different classes +are daily brought closer together and welded into one whole; by +animating the conversation, and rounding off the angles of +conventional inequality. To the same cause we can also ascribe all +the efforts a host makes to receive his guests properly, as well as +their gratitude for his pains so well bestowed. What disgrace +should ever be heaped upon those senseless feeders who, with +unpardonable indifference, swallow down morsels of the rarest +quality, or gulp with unrighteous carelessness some fine-flavored +and sparkling wine.</p> +<p>As a general maxim: Whoever shows a desire to please will be +certain of having a delicate compliment paid him by every well-bred +man.</p> +<p>Again, when shared, the love of good living has the most marked +influence on the happiness of the conjugal state. A wedded pair +with this taste in common have once a day at least a pleasant +opportunity of meeting. For even when they sleep apart (and a great +many do so), they at least eat at the same table, they have a +subject of conversation which is ever new, they speak not only of +what they are eating, but also of what they have eaten or will eat, +of dishes which are in vogue, of novelties, etc. Everybody knows +that a familiar chat is delightful.</p> +<p>Music, no doubt, has powerful attractions for those who are fond +of it, but one must set about it--it is an exertion. Besides, one +sometimes has a cold, the music is mislaid, the instruments are out +of tune, one has a fit of the blues, or it is a forbidden day. +Whereas, in the other case, a common want summons the spouses to +table, the same inclination keeps them there; they naturally show +each other these little attentions as a proof of their wish to +oblige, and the mode of conducting their meals has a great share in +the happiness of their lives.</p> +<p>This observation, though new in France, has not escaped the +notice of Richardson, the English moralist. He has worked out the +idea in his novel 'Pamela,' by painting the different manner in +which two married couples finish their day. The first husband is a +lord, an eldest son, and therefore heir to all the family property; +the second is his younger brother, the husband of Pamela, who has +been disinherited on account of his marriage, and lives on half-pay +in a state but little removed from abject poverty.</p> +<p>The lord and lady enter their dining-room by different doors, +and salute each other coldly, though they have not met the whole +day before. Sitting down at a table which is magnificently covered, +surrounded by lackeys in brilliant liveries, they help themselves +in silence, and eat without pleasure. As soon, however, as the +servants have withdrawn, a sort of conversation is begun between +the pair, which quickly shows a bitter tone, passing into a regular +fight, and they rise from the table in a fury of anger, and go off +to their separate apartments to reflect upon the pleasures of a +single life.</p> +<p>The younger brother, on the contrary, is, on reaching his +unpretentious home, received with a gentle, loving heartiness and +the fondest caresses. He sits down to a frugal meal, but everything +he eats is excellent; and how could it be otherwise? It is Pamela +herself who has prepared it all. They eat with enjoyment, talking +of their affairs, their plans, their love for each other. A +half-bottle of Madeira serves to prolong their repast and +conversation, and soon after they retire together, to forget in +sleep their present hardships, and to dream of a better future.</p> +<p>All honor to the love of good living, such as it is the purpose +of this book to describe, so long as it does not come between men +and their occupations or duties! For, as all the debaucheries of a +Sardanapalus cannot bring disrespect upon womankind in general, so +the excesses of a Vitellius need not make us turn our backs upon a +well-appointed banquet. Should the love of good living pass into +gluttony, voracity, intemperance, it then loses its name and +advantages, escapes from our jurisdiction, and falls within that of +the moralist to ply it with good counsel, or of the physician who +will cure it by his remedies.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRILLAT03"></a> +<h3>ON PEOPLE FOND OF GOOD LIVING</h3> +<br> +<p>There are individuals to whom nature has denied a refinement of +organs, or a continuity of attention, without which the most +succulent dishes pass unobserved. Physiology has already recognized +the first of these varieties, by showing us the tongue of these +unhappy ones, badly furnished with nerves for inhaling and +appreciating flavors. These excite in them but an obtuse sentiment; +such persons are, with regard to objects of taste, what the blind +are with regard to light. The second class are the absent-minded, +chatterboxes, persons engrossed in business or ambition, and others +who seek to occupy themselves with two things at once, and eat only +to be filled. Such, for example, was Napoleon; he was irregular in +his meals, and ate fast and badly. But there again was to be traced +that absolute will which he carried into everything he did. The +moment appetite was felt, it was necessary that it should be +satisfied; and his establishment was so arranged that, in any place +and at any hour, chicken, cutlets, and coffee might be forthcoming +at a word.</p> +<p>There is a privileged class of persons who are summoned to the +enjoyments of taste by a physical and organic predisposition. I +have always believed in physiognomy and phrenology. Men have inborn +tendencies; and since there are some who come into the world +seeing, hearing, and walking badly, because they are short-sighted, +deaf, or crippled, why should there not be others who are specially +predisposed to experience a certain series of sensations? Moreover, +even an ordinary observer will constantly discover faces which bear +the unmistakable imprint of a ruling passion--such as +superciliousness, self-satisfaction, misanthropy, sensuality, and +many others. Sometimes, no doubt, we meet with a face that +expresses nothing; but when the physiognomy has a marked stamp it +is almost always a true index. The passions act upon the muscles, +and frequently, although a man says nothing, the various feelings +by which he is moved can be read in his face. By this tension, if +in the slightest degree habitual, perceptible traces are at last +left, and the physiognomy thus assumes its permanent and +recognizable characteristics.</p> +<p>Those predisposed to epicurism are for the most part of middling +height. They are broad-faced, and have bright eyes, small forehead, +short nose, fleshy lips, and rounded chin. The women are plump, +chubby, pretty rather than beautiful, with a slight tendency to +fullness of figure. It is under such an exterior that we must look +for agreeable guests. They accept all that is offered them, eat +without hurry, and taste with discrimination. They never make any +haste to get away from houses where they have been well treated, +but stay for the evening, because they know all the games and other +after-dinner amusements.</p> +<p>Those, on the contrary, to whom nature has denied an aptitude +for the enjoyments of taste, are long-faced, long-nosed, and +long-eyed: whatever their stature, they have something lanky about +them. They have dark, lanky hair, and are never in good condition. +It was one of them who invented trousers. The women whom nature has +afflicted with the same misfortune are angular, feel themselves +bored at table, and live on cards and scandal.</p> +<p>This theory of mine can be verified by each reader from his own +personal observation. I shall give an instance from my own personal +experience:--</p> +<p>Sitting one day at a grand banquet, I had opposite me a very +pretty neighbor, whose face showed the predisposition I have +described. Leaning to the guest beside me, I said quietly that from +her physiognomy, the young lady on the other side of the table must +be fond of good eating. "You must be mad!" he answered; "she is but +fifteen at most, which is certainly not the age for such a thing. +However, let us watch."</p> +<p>At first, things were by no means in my favor, and I was +somewhat afraid of having compromised myself, for during the first +two courses the young lady quite astonished me by her discretion, +and I suspected we had stumbled upon an exception, remembering that +there are some for every rule. But at last the dessert came,--a +dessert both magnificent and abundant,--and my hopes were again +revived. Nor did I hope in vain: not only did she eat of all that +was offered her, but she even got dishes brought to her from the +farthest parts of the table. In a word, she tasted everything, and +my neighbor at last expressed his astonishment that the little +stomach could hold so many things. Thus was my diagnosis verified, +and once again science triumphed.</p> +<p>Whilst I was writing the above, on a fine winter's evening, M. +Cartier, formerly the first violinist at the Opera, paid me a +visit, and sat down at the fireside. Being full of my subject, I +said, after looking at him attentively for some time, "How does it +happen, my dear professor, that you are no epicure, when you have +all the features of one?" "I was one," he replied, "and among the +foremost; but now I refrain." "On principle, I suppose?" said I; +but all the answer I had was a sigh, like one of Sir Walter +Scott's--that is to say, almost a groan.</p> +<p>As some are gourmands by predestination, so others become so by +their state in society or their calling. There are four classes +which I should signalize by way of eminence: the moneyed class, the +doctors, men of letters, and the devout.</p> +<p>Inequality of condition implies inequality of wealth, but +inequality of wealth does not imply inequality of wants; and he who +can afford every day a dinner sufficient for a hundred persons is +often satisfied by eating the thigh of a chicken. Hence the +necessity for the many devices of art to reanimate that ghost of an +appetite by dishes which maintain it without injury, and caress +without stifling it.</p> +<p>The causes which act upon doctors are very different, though not +less powerful. They become epicures in spite of themselves, and +must be made of bronze to resist the seductive power of +circumstances. The "dear doctor" is all the more kindly welcomed +that health is the most precious of boons; and thus they are always +waited for with impatience and received with eagerness. Some are +kind to them from hope, others from gratitude. They are fed like +pet pigeons. They let things take their course, and in six months +the habit is confirmed, and they are gourmands past redemption.</p> +<p>I ventured one day to express this opinion at a banquet in +which, with eight others, I took a part, with Dr. Corvisart at the +head of the table. It was about the year 1806.</p> +<p>"You!" cried I, with the inspired tone of a Puritan preacher; +"you are the last remnant of a body which formerly covered the +whole of France. Alas! its members are annihilated or widely +scattered. No more <i>fermiers-généraux</i>, no +abbés nor knights nor white-coated friars. The members of +your profession constitute the whole gastronomic body. Sustain with +firmness that great responsibility, even if you must share the fate +of the three hundred Spartans at the Pass of Thermopylae."</p> +<p>At the same dinner I observed the following noteworthy fact. The +doctor, who, when in the mood, was a most agreeable companion, +drank nothing but iced champagne; and therefore in the earlier part +of the dinner, whilst others were engaged in eating, he kept +talking loudly and telling stories. But at dessert, on the +contrary, and when the general conversation began to be lively, he +became serious, silent, and sometimes low-spirited.</p> +<p>From this observation, confirmed by many others, I have deduced +the following theorem:--"Champagne, though at first exhilarating, +ultimately produces stupefying effects;" a result, moreover, which +is a well-known characteristic of the carbonic acid which it +contains.</p> +<p>Whilst I have the university doctors under my grasp, I must, +before I die, reproach them with the extreme severity which they +use towards their patients. As soon as one has the misfortune to +fall into their hands, he must undergo a whole litany of +prohibitions, and give up everything that he is accustomed to think +agreeable. I rise up to oppose such interdictions, as being for the +most part useless. I say useless, because the patient never longs +for what is hurtful. A doctor of judgment will never lose sight of +the instinctive tendency of our inclinations, or forget that if +painful sensations are naturally fraught with danger, those which +are pleasant have a healthy tendency. We have seen a drop of wine, +a cup of coffee, or a thimbleful of liqueur, call up a smile to the +most Hippocratic face.</p> +<p>Those severe prescribers must, moreover, know very well that +their prescriptions remain almost always without result. The +patient tries to evade the duty of taking them; those about him +easily find a good excuse for humoring him, and thus his death is +neither hastened nor retarded. In 1815 the medical allowance of a +sick Russian would have made a drayman drunk, and that of an +Englishman was enough for a Limousin. Nor was any diminution +possible, for there were military inspectors constantly going round +our hospitals to examine the supply and the consumption.</p> +<p>I am the more confident in announcing my opinion because it is +based upon numerous facts, and the most successful practitioners +have used a system closely resembling it.</p> +<p>Canon Rollet, who died some fifty years ago, was a hard drinker, +according to the custom of those days. He fell ill, and the +doctor's first words were a prohibition of wine in any form. On his +very next visit, however, our physician found beside the bed of his +patient the <i>corpus delicti</i> itself, to wit, a table covered +with a snow-white cloth, a crystal cup, a handsome-looking bottle, +and a napkin to wipe the lips. At this sight he flew into a violent +passion and spoke of leaving the house, when the wretched canon +cried to him in tones of lamentation, "Ah, doctor, remember that in +forbidding me to drink, you have not forbidden me the pleasure of +looking at the bottle!"</p> +<p>The physician who treated Montlusin of Pont de Veyle was still +more severe, for not only did he forbid the use of wine to his +patient, but also prescribed large doses of water. Shortly after +the doctor's departure, Madame Montlusin, anxious to give full +effect to the medical orders and assist in the recovery of her +husband's health, offered him a large glass of the finest and +clearest water. The patient took it with docility, and began to +drink it with resignation; but stopping short at the first +mouthful, he handed back the glass to his wife. "Take it, my dear," +said he, "and keep it for another time; I have always heard it said +that we should not trifle with remedies."</p> +<p>In the domain of gastronomy the men of letters are near +neighbors to the doctors. A hundred years ago literary men were all +hard drinkers. They followed the fashion, and the memoirs of the +period are quite edifying on that subject. At the present day they +are gastronomes, and it is a step in the right direction. I by no +means agree with the cynical Geoffroy, who used to say that if our +modern writings are weak, it is because literary men now drink +nothing stronger than lemonade. The present age is rich in talents, +and the very number of books probably interferes with their proper +appreciation; but posterity, being more calm and judicial, will see +amongst them much to admire, just as we ourselves have done justice +to the masterpieces of Racine and Molière, which were +received by their contemporaries with coldness.</p> +<p>Never has the social position of men of letters been more +pleasant than at present. They no longer live in wretched garrets; +the fields of literature are become more fertile, and even the +study of the Muses has become productive. Received on an equality +in any rank of life, they no longer wait for patronage; and to fill +up their cup of happiness, good living bestows upon them its +dearest favors. Men of letters are invited because of the good +opinion men have of their talents; because their conversation has, +generally speaking, something piquant in it, and also because now +every dinner-party must as a matter of course have its literary +man.</p> +<p>Those gentlemen always arrive a little late, but are welcomed, +because expected. They are treated as favorites so that they may +come again, and regaled that they may shine; and as they find all +this very natural, by being accustomed to it they become, are, and +remain gastronomes.</p> +<p>Finally, amongst the most faithful in the ranks of gastronomy we +must reckon many of the devout--i.e., those spoken of by Louis XIV. +and Molière, whose religion consists in outward +show;--nothing to do with those who are really pious and +charitable.</p> +<p>Let us consider how this comes about. Of those who wish to +secure their salvation, the greater number try to find the most +pleasant road. Men who flee from society, sleep on the ground, and +wear hair-cloth next the skin, have always been, and must ever be, +exceptions. Now there are certain things unquestionably to be +condemned, and on no account to be indulged in--as balls, theatres, +gambling, and other similar amusements; and whilst they and all +that practice them are to be hated, good living presents itself +insinuatingly in a thoroughly orthodox guise.</p> +<p>By right divine, man is king of nature, and all that the earth +produces was created for him. It is for him that the quail is +fattened, for him that Mocha possesses so agreeable an aroma, for +him that sugar has such wholesome properties. How then neglect to +use, within reasonable limits, the good things which Providence +presents to us; especially if we continue to regard them as things +that perish with the using, especially if they raise our +thankfulness towards the Author of all!</p> +<p>Other equally strong reasons come to strengthen these. Can we be +too hospitable in receiving those who have charge of our souls, and +keep us in the way of safety? Should those meetings with so +excellent an object not be made pleasant, and therefore +frequent?</p> +<p>Sometimes, also, the gifts of Comus arrive unsought--perhaps a +souvenir of college days, a present from an old friend, a +peace-offering from a penitent or a college chum recalling himself +to one's memory. How refuse to accept such offerings, or to make +systematic use of them? It is simply a necessity.</p> +<p>The monasteries were real magazines of charming dainties, which +is one reason why certain connoisseurs so bitterly regret them. +Several of the monastic orders, especially that of St. Bernard, +made a profession of good cheer. The limits of gastronomic art have +been extended by the cooks of the clergy, and when M. de Pressigni +(afterwards Archbishop of Besançon) returned from the +Conclave at the election of Pius VI., he said that the best dinner +he had had in Rome was at the table of the head of the +Capuchins.</p> +<p>We cannot conclude this article better than by honorably +mentioning two classes of men whom we have seen in all their glory, +and whom the Revolution has eclipsed--the chevaliers and the +abbés. How they enjoyed good living, those dear old fellows! +That could be told at a glance by their nervous nostrils, their +clear eyes, their moist lips and mobile tongues. Each class had at +the same time its own special manner of eating: the chevalier +having something military and dignified in his air and attitude; +while the abbé gathered himself together, as it were, to be +nearer his plate, with his right hand curved inward like the paw of +a cat drawing chestnuts from the fire, whilst in every feature was +shown enjoyment and an indefinable look of close attention.</p> +<p>So far from good living being hurtful to health, it has been +arithmetically proved by Dr. Villermé in an able paper read +before the Académie des Sciences, that other things being +equal, the gourmands live longer than ordinary men.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRONTE"></a> +<h2>CHARLOTTE BRONTÉ AND HER SISTERS</h2> +<h3>(1816-1855)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-t.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>he least that can be said of Charlotte Bronté is that she +is a unique figure in literature. Nowhere else do we find another +personality combining such extraordinary qualities of mind and +heart,--qualities strangely contrasted, but still more strangely +harmonized. At times they are baffling, but always fascinating. +Nowhere else do we find so intimate an association of the +personality of the author with the work, so thorough an +identification with it of the author's life, even to the smaller +details. So true is this in the case of Charlotte Bronté +that the four novels 'Jane Eyre,' 'Shirley,' 'Villette,' and 'The +Professor' might with some justice be termed 'Charlotte +Bronté; her life and her friends.' Her works were in large +part an expression of herself; at times the best expression of +herself--of her actual self in experience and of her spiritual self +in travail and in aspiration. It is manifestly impossible therefore +to consider the works of Charlotte Bronté with justice apart +from herself. A correct understanding of her books can be obtained +only from a study of her remarkable personality and of the sad +circumstances of her life.</p> +<p>Public interest in Charlotte Bronté was first roused in +1847. In October of that year there appeared in London a novel that +created a sensation, the like of which had not been known since the +publication of 'Waverley.' Its stern and paradoxical disregard for +the conventional, its masculine energy, and its intense realism, +startled the public, and proclaimed to all in accents unmistakable +that a new, strange, and splendid power had come into literature, +"but yet a woman."</p> +<p>And with the success of 'Jane Eyre' came a lively curiosity to +know something of the personality of the author. This was not +gratified for some time. There were many conjectures, all of them +far amiss. The majority of readers asserted confidently that the +work must be that of a man; the touch was unmistakably masculine. +In some quarters it met with hearty abuse. The Quarterly Review, in +an article still notorious for its brutality, condemned the book as +coarse, and stated that if 'Jane Eyre' were really written by a +woman, she must be an improper woman, who had forfeited the society +of her sex. This was said in December, 1848, of one of the noblest +and purest of womankind. It is not a matter of surprise that the +identity of this audacious speculator was not revealed. The recent +examination into the topic by Mr. Clement Shorter seems, however, +to fix the authorship of the notice on Lady Eastlake, at that time +Miss Driggs.</p> +<p>But hostile criticism of the book and its mysterious author +could not injure its popularity. The story swept all before +it--press and public. Whatever might be the source, the work stood +there and spoke for itself in commanding terms. At length the +mystery was cleared. A shrewd Yorkshireman guessed and published +the truth, and the curious world knew that the author of 'Jane +Eyre' was the daughter of a clergyman in the little village of +Haworth, and that the literary sensation of the day found its +source in a nervous, shrinking, awkward, plain, delicate young +creature of thirty-one years of age, whose life, with the exception +of two years, had been spent on the bleak and dreary moorlands of +Yorkshire, and for the most part in the narrow confines of a grim +gray stone parsonage. There she had lived a pinched and meagre +little life, full of sadness and self-denial, with two sisters more +delicate than herself, a dissolute brother, and a father her only +parent,--a stern and forbidding father. This was no genial +environment for an author, even if helpful to her vivid +imagination. Nor was it a temporary condition; it was a permanent +one. Nearly all the influences in Charlotte Bronté's life +were such as these, which would seem to cramp if not to stifle +sensitive talent. Her brother Branwell (physically weaker than +herself, though unquestionably talented, and for a time the idol +and hope of the family) became dissipated, irresponsible, +untruthful, and a ne'er-do-weel, and finally yielding to +circumstances, ended miserably a life of failure.</p> +<p>But Charlotte Bronté's nature was one of indomitable +courage, that circumstances might shadow but could not obscure. Out +of the meagre elements of her narrow life she evolved works that +stand among the imperishable things of English literature. It is a +paradox that finds its explanation only in a statement of natural +sources, primitive, bardic, the sources of the early epics, the +sources of such epics as Cædmon and Beowulf bore. She wrote +from a sort of necessity; it was in obedience to the commanding +authority of an extraordinary genius,--a creative power that +struggled for expression,--and much of her work deserves in the +best and fullest sense the term "inspired."</p> +<br> +<a name="bronte.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/bronte.jpg"><img src= +"images/bronte.jpg" width="45%" alt=""></a></p> +<br> +<p>The facts of her life are few in number, but they have a direct +and significant bearing on her work. She was born at Thornton, in +the parish of Bradford, in 1816. Four years later her father moved +to Haworth, to the parsonage now indissolubly associated with her +name, and there Mr. Bronté entered upon a long period of +pastorate service, that only ended with his death. Charlotte's +mother was dead. In 1824 Charlotte and two older sisters, Maria and +Elizabeth, went to a school at Cowan's Bridge. It was an +institution for clergymen's children, a vivid picture of which +appears in 'Jane Eyre.' It was so badly managed and the food was so +poor that many of the children fell sick, among them Maria +Bronté, who died in 1825. Elizabeth followed her a few +months later, and Charlotte returned to Haworth, where she remained +for six years, then went to school at Roe Head for a period of +three years. She was offered the position of teacher by Miss +Wooler, the principal at Roe Head, but considering herself unfit to +teach, she resolved to go to Brussels to study French. She spent +two years there, and it was there that her intimate and +misconstrued friendship for M. Heger developed. The incidents of +that period formed the material of a greater portion of her novel +'Villette,' filled twenty-two volumes of from sixty to one hundred +pages of fine writing, and consisted of some forty complete +novelettes or other stories and childish "magazines."</p> +<p>On returning to Haworth, she endeavored, together with her +sister Emily, to establish a school at their home. But pupils were +not to be had, and the outlook was discouraging. Two periods of +service as governess, and the ill health that had followed, had +taught Charlotte the danger that threatened her. Her experiences as +a governess in the Sedgwick family were pictured by-and-by in 'Jane +Eyre.' In a letter to Miss Ellen Nussey, written at this time, she +gives a dark vignette of her situation.</p> +<p>With her two sisters Emily and Anne she lived a quiet and +retired life. The harsh realities about them, the rough natures of +the Yorkshire people, impelled the three sisters to construct in +their home an ideal world of their own, and in this their pent-up +natures found expression. Their home was lonely and gloomy. Mr. +Clement K. Shorter, in his recent study of the novelist and her +family, says that the house is much the same to-day, though its +immediate surroundings are brightened. He writes:</p> +<p>"One day Emily confided to Charlotte that she had written some +verses. Charlotte answered with a similar confidence, and then Anne +acknowledged that she too had been secretly writing. This mutual +confession brought about a complete understanding and sympathy, and +from that time on the sisters worked together--reading their +literary productions to one another and submitting to each other's +criticism."</p> +<p>This was however by no means Charlotte's first literary work. +She has left a catalogue of books written by her between 1829 and +1830. Her first printed work however appeared in a volume of +'Poems' by Acton, Ellis, and Currer Bell, published in 1846 at the +expense of the authors. Under these names the little book of the +Bronté sisters went forth to the world, was reviewed with +mild favor in some few periodicals, and was lost to sight.</p> +<p>Then came a period of novel-writing. As a result, Emily +Bronté's 'Wuthering Heights,' Anne Bronté's 'Agnes +Grey,' and Charlotte Bronté's 'The Professor' set out +together to find a publisher. The last-named was unsuccessful; but +on the day it was returned to her, Charlotte Bronté began +writing 'Jane Eyre.' That first masterpiece was shaped during a +period of sorrow and discouragement. Her father was ill and in +danger of losing his eyesight. Her brother Bran well was sinking +into the slough of disgrace. No wonder 'Jane Eyre' is not a story +of sunshine and roses. She finished the story in 1847, and it was +accepted by the publishers promptly upon examination.</p> +<p>After its publication and the sensation produced, Charlotte +Bronté continued her literary work quietly, and unaffected +by the furore she had aroused. A few brief visits to London, where +attempts were made to lionize her,--very much to her distaste,--a +few literary friendships, notably those with Thackeray, George +Henry Lewes, Mrs. Gaskell, and Harriet Martineau, were the only +features that distinguished her literary life from the simple life +she had always led and continued to lead at Haworth. She was ever +busy, if not ever at her desk. Success had come; she was sane in +the midst of it. She wrote slowly and only as she felt the impulse, +and when she knew she had found the proper impression. In 1849 +'Shirley' was published. In 1853 appeared 'Villette,' her last +finished work, and the one considered by herself the best.</p> +<p>In 1854 she married her father's curate, Mr. A.B. Nicholls. She +had lost her brother Branwell and her two sisters Emily and Anne. +Sorrow upon sorrow had closed like deepening shadows about her. All +happiness in life for her had apparently ended, when this marriage +brought a brief ray of sunshine. It was a happy union, and seemed +to assure a period of peace and rest for the sorely tried soul. +Only a few short months, however, and fate, as if grudging her even +the bit of happiness, snapped the slender threads of her life and +the whole sad episode of her existence was ended. She died March +31st, 1855, leaving her husband and father to mourn together in the +lonely parsonage. She left a literary fragment--the story entitled +'Emma,' which was published with an introduction by Thackeray.</p> +<p>Such are the main facts of this reserved life of Charlotte +Bronté. Are they dull and commonplace? Some of them are +indeed inexpressibly sad. Tragedy is beneath all the bitter +chronicle. The sadness of her days can be appreciated by all who +read her books. Through all her stories there is an intense note, +especially in treating the pathos of existence, that is +unmistakably subjective. There is a keen perception of the darker +depths of human nature that could have been revealed to a human +heart only by suffering and sorrow.</p> +<p>She did not allow sadness, however, to crush her spirit. She was +neither morbid nor melancholy, but on the contrary Charlotte was +cheerful and pleasant in disposition and manner. She was a loving +sister and devoted daughter, patient and obedient to a parent who +afterwards made obedience a severe hardship. There were other sides +to her character. She was not always calm. She was not ever tender +and a maker of allowances. But who is such? And she had good reason +to be impatient with the world as she found it.</p> +<p>Her character and disposition are partially reflected in 'Jane +Eyre.' The calm, clear mind, the brave, independent spirit are +there. But a fuller and more accurate picture of her character may +be found in Lucy Snowe, the heroine of 'Villette.' Here we find +especially that note of hopelessness that predominated in +Charlotte's character. Mrs. Gaskell, in her admirable biography of +Charlotte Bronté, has called attention to this absence of +hope in her nature. Charlotte indeed never allowed herself to look +forward to happy issues. She had no confidence in the future. The +pressure of grief apparently crushed all buoyancy of expectation. +It was in this attitude that when literary success greeted her, she +made little of it, scarcely allowing herself to believe that the +world really set a high value on her work. Throughout all the +excitement that her books produced, she was almost indifferent. +Brought up as she had been to regard literary work as something +beyond the proper limits of her sex, she never could quite rid +herself of the belief that in writing successfully, she had made of +herself not so much a literary figure as a sort of social +curiosity. Nor was that idea wholly foreign to her time.</p> +<p>Personally Charlotte Bronté was not unattractive. Though +somewhat too slender and pale, and plain of feature, she had a +pleasant expression, and her homelier features were redeemed by a +strong massive forehead, luxuriant glossy hair, and handsome eyes. +Though she had little faith in her powers of inspiring affection, +she attracted people strongly and was well beloved by her friends. +That she could stir romantic sentiment too was attested by the fact +that she received and rejected three proposals of marriage from as +many suitors, before her acceptance of Mr. Nicholls.</p> +<p>Allusion has been made to the work of Charlotte's two sisters, +Emily and Anne. Of the two Emily is by far the more remarkable, +revealing in the single novel we have from her pen a genius as +distinct and individual as that of her more celebrated sister. Had +she lived, it is more than likely that her literary achievements +would have rivaled Charlotte's.</p> +<p>Emily Bronté has always been something of a puzzle to +biographers. She was eccentric, an odd mixture of bashful reserve +and unexpected spells of frankness, sweet, gentle, and retiring in +disposition, but possessed of great courage. She was two years +younger than Charlotte, but taller. She was slender, though well +formed, and was pale in complexion, with great gray eyes of +remarkable beauty. Emily's literary work is to be found in the +volume of "Poems" of her sisters, her share in that work being +considered superior in imaginative quality and in finish to that of +the others; and in the novel "Wuthering Heights," a weird, horrid +story of astonishing power, written when she was twenty-eight years +of age. Considered purely as an imaginative work, "Wuthering +Heights" is one of the most remarkable stories in English +literature, and is worthy to be ranked with the works of Edgar A. +Poe. Many will say that it might better not have been written, so +utterly repulsive is it, but others will value it as a striking, +though distorted, expression of unmistakable genius. It is a +ghastly and gruesome creation. Not one bright ray redeems it. It +deals with the most evil characters and the most evil phases of +human experience. But it fascinates. Heathcliff, the chief figure +in the book, is one of the greatest villains in fiction,--an +abhorrent creature,--strange, monstrous, Frankensteinesque.</p> +<p>Anne Bronté is known by her share in the book of "Poems" +and by two novels, "Agnes Gray" and "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," +both of which are disappointing. The former is based on the +author's experiences as a governess, and is written in the usual +placid style of romances of the time. "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" +found its suggestion in the wretched career of Branwell +Bronté, and presents a sad and depressing picture of a life +of degradation. The book was not a success, and would no doubt have +sunk long ago into oblivion but for its association with the novels +of Emily and Charlotte.</p> +<p>In studying the work of Charlotte Bronté, the gifted +older sister of the group, one of the first of the qualities that +impress the reader is her actual creative power. To one of her +imaginative power, the simplest life was sufficient, the smallest +details a fund of material. Mr. Swinburne has called attention to +the fact that Charlotte Bronté's characters are individual +creations, not types constructed out of elements gathered from a +wide observation of human nature, and that they are <i>real</i> +creations; that they compel our interest and command our assent +because they are true, inevitably true. Perhaps no better example +of this individualism could be cited than Rochester. The character +is unique. It is not a type, nor has it even a prototype, like so +many of Charlotte Bronté's characters. Gossip insisted at +one time that the author intended to picture Thackeray in +Rochester, but this is groundless. Rochester is an original +creation. The character of Jane Eyre, too, while reflecting +something of the author's nature, was distinctly individual; and it +is interesting to note here that with Jane Eyre came a new heroine +into fiction, a woman of calm, clear reason, of firm positive +character, and what was most novel, a plain woman, a homely +heroine.</p> +<p>"Why is it," Charlotte had once said, "that heroines must always +be beautiful?" The hero of romance was always noble and handsome, +the heroine lovely and often insipid, and the scenes set in an +atmosphere of exaggerated idealism. Against this idealism Charlotte +Bronté revolted. Her effort was always toward realism.</p> +<p>In her realism she reveals a second characteristic scarcely less +marked than her creative powers,--an extraordinary faculty of +observation. She saw the essence, the spirit of things, and the +simplest details of life revealed to her the secrets of human +nature. What she had herself seen and felt--the plain rugged types +of Yorkshire character, the wild scenery of the moorlands--she +reflected with living truth. She got the real fact out of every bit +of material in humanity and nature that her simple life afforded +her. And where her experience could not afford her the necessary +material, she drew upon some mysterious resources in her nature, +which were apparently not less reliable than actual experience. On +being asked once how she could describe so accurately the effects +of opium as she does in 'Villette,' she replied that she knew +nothing of opium, but that she had followed the process she always +adopted in cases of this kind. She had thought intently on the +matter for many a night before falling asleep; till at length, +after some time, she waked in the morning with all clear before +her, just as if she had actually gone through the experience, and +then could describe it word for word as it happened.</p> +<p>Her sensitiveness to impressions of nature was exceedingly keen. +She had what Swinburne calls "an instinct for the tragic use of +landscape." By constant and close observation during her walks she +had established a fellowship with nature in all her phases; +learning her secrets from the voices of the night, from the whisper +of the trees, and from the eerie moaning of the moorland blasts. +She studied the cold sky, and had watched the "coming night-clouds +trailing low like banners drooping."</p> +<p>Other qualities that distinguish her work are purity, depth and +ardor of passion, and spiritual force and fervor. Her genius was +lofty and noble, and an exalted moral quality predominates in her +stories. She was ethical as sincerely as she was emotional.</p> +<p>We have only to consider her technique, in which she is +characteristically original. This originality is noticeable +especially in her use of words. There is a sense of fitness that +often surprises the reader. Words at times in her hands reveal a +new power and significance. In the choice of words Charlotte +Bronté was scrupulous. She believed that there was just one +word fit to express the idea or shade of meaning she wished to +convey, and she never admitted a substitute, sometimes waiting days +until the right word came. Her expressions are therefore well +fitted and forcible. Though the predominant key is a serious one, +there is nevertheless considerable humor in Charlotte +Bronté's work. In 'Shirley' especially we find many happy +scenes, and much wit in repartee. And yet, with all these merits, +one will find at times her style to be lame, stiff, and crude, and +even when strongest, occasionally coarse. Not infrequently she is +melodramatic and sensational. But through it all there is that +pervading sense of reality and it redeems these defects.</p> +<p>Of the unusual, the improbable, the highly colored in Charlotte +Bronté's books we shall say little. In criticizing works so +true to life and nature as these, one should not be hasty. We feel +the presence of a seer. Some one once made an objection in +Charlotte Bronté's presence to that part of 'Jane Eyre' in +which she hears Rochester's voice calling to her at a great crisis +in her life, he being many miles distant from her at the time. +Charlotte caught her breath and replied in a low voice:--"But it is +a true thing; it really happened." And so it might be said of +Charlotte Bronté's work as a whole:--"It is a true thing; it +really happened."</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRONTE01"></a> +<h3>JANE EYRE'S WEDDING DAY</h3> +<center>From 'Jane Eyre'</center> +<br> +<p>Sophie came at seven to dress me. She was very long indeed in +accomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester--grown, I +suppose, impatient of my delay--sent up to ask why I did not come. +She was just fastening my veil (the plain square of blonde, after +all) to my hair with a brooch; I hurried from under her hands as +soon as I could.</p> +<p>"Stop!" she cried in French, "Look at yourself in the mirror; +you have not taken one peep."</p> +<p>So I turned at the door. I saw a robed and veiled figure, so +unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the image of a +stranger.</p> +<p>"Jane!" called a voice, and I hastened down. I was received at +the foot of the stairs by Mr. Rochester. "Lingerer," he said, "my +brain is on fire with impatience; and you tarry so long!"</p> +<p>He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over, +pronounced me "fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life, +but the desire of his eyes"; and then, telling me he would give me +but ten minutes to eat some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of his +lately hired servants, a footman, answered it.</p> +<p>"Is John getting the carriage ready?"</p> +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> +<p>"Is the luggage brought down?"</p> +<p>"They are bringing it down, sir."</p> +<p>"Go you to the church; see if Mr. Wood" (the clergyman) "and the +clerk are there; return and tell me."</p> +<p>The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; +the footman soon returned.</p> +<p>"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice."</p> +<p>"And the carriage?"</p> +<p>"The horses are harnessing."</p> +<p>"We shall not want it to go to church; but it must be ready the +moment we return--all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped +on, and the coachman in his seat."</p> +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> +<p>"Jane, are you ready?"</p> +<p>I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to +wait for or marshal; none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax +stood in the hall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her, +but my hand was held by a grasp of iron; I was hurried along by a +stride I could hardly follow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's face +was to feel that not a second of delay would be tolerated for any +purpose. I wondered what other bridegroom ever looked as he did--so +bent up to a purpose, so grimly resolute; or who, under such +steadfast brows, ever revealed such flaming and flashing eyes.</p> +<p>I know not whether the day was fair or foul; in descending the +drive I gazed neither on sky nor earth; my heart was with my eyes, +and both seemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I wanted to +see the invisible thing on which, as we went along, he appeared to +fasten a glance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the thoughts +whose force he seemed breasting and resisting.</p> +<p>At the churchyard wicket he stopped; he discovered I was quite +out of breath.</p> +<p>"Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant; lean on me, +Jane."</p> +<p>And now I can recall the picture of the gray old house of God +rising calm before me, of a rook wheeling around the steeple, of a +ruddy morning sky beyond. I remember something, too, of the green +grave-mounds; and I have not forgotten, either, two figures of +strangers, straying among the low hillocks, and reading the +mementos graven on the few mossy headstones. I noticed them because +as they saw us they passed around to the back of the church; and I +doubted not they were going to enter by the side aisle door and +witness the ceremony. By Mr. Rochester they were not observed; he +was earnestly looking at my face, from which the blood had, I dare +say, momentarily fled; for I felt my forehead dewy and my cheeks +and lips cold. When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently +with me up the path to the porch.</p> +<p>We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in his +white surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All was +still; two shadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecture had +been correct; the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now +stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their backs toward us, +viewing through the rails the old time-stained marble tomb, where a +kneeling angel guarded the remains of Damer de Rochester, slain at +Marston Moor in the time of the civil wars, and of Elizabeth his +wife.</p> +<p>Our place was taken at the communion-rails. Hearing a cautious +step behind me, I glanced over my shoulder; one of the strangers--a +gentleman, evidently--was advancing up the chancel. The service +began. The explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through: +and then the clergyman came a step farther forward, and bending +slightly toward Mr. Rochester, went on:--</p> +<p>"I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the +dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be +disclosed) that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not +lawfully be joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for +be ye well assured that so many as are coupled together otherwise +than God's word doth allow are not joined together by God, neither +is their matrimony lawful."</p> +<p>He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that +sentence ever broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred +years. And the clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his +book, and had held his breath but for a moment, was proceeding; his +hand was already stretched toward. Mr. Rochester, as his lips +unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded +wife?"--when a distinct and near voice said, "The marriage cannot +go on: I declare the existence of an impediment."</p> +<p>The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute: the clerk +did the same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had +rolled under his feet; taking a firmer footing, and not turning his +head or eyes, he said, "Proceed!"</p> +<p>Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep +but low intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said, "I cannot proceed +without some investigation into what has been asserted, and +evidence of its truth or falsehood."</p> +<p>"The ceremony is quite broken off," subjoined the voice behind +us. "I am in a condition to prove my allegation; an insuperable +impediment to this marriage exists."</p> +<p>Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not; he stood stubborn and +rigid; making no movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a +hot and strong grasp he had!--and how like quarried marble was his +pale, firm, massive front at this moment! How his eye shone, still, +watchful, and yet wild beneath!</p> +<p>Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the +impediment?" he asked. "Perhaps it may be got over--explained +away?"</p> +<p>"Hardly," was the answer: "I have called it insuperable, and I +speak advisedly."</p> +<p>The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, +uttering each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not +loudly.</p> +<p>"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. +Rochester has a wife now living."</p> +<p>My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never +vibrated to thunder; my blood felt their subtle violence as it had +never felt frost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger of +swooning. I looked at Mr. Rochester; I made him look at me. His +whole face was colorless rock; his eye was both spark and flint. He +disavowed nothing; he seemed as if he would defy all things. +Without speaking, without smiling, without seeming to recognize in +me a human being, he only twined my waist with his arm and riveted +me to his side.</p> +<p>"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder.</p> +<p>"My name is Briggs, a solicitor of ---- Street, London."</p> +<p>"And you would thrust on me a wife?"</p> +<p>"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law +recognizes if you do not."</p> +<p>"Favor me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, +her place of abode."</p> +<p>"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and +read out in a sort of official, nasal voice:--</p> +<p>"I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October, A.D.--" (a +date of fifteen years back), "Edward Fairfax Rochester, of +Thornfield Hall, in the county of ----, and of Ferndean Manor, in +---- shire, England, was married to my sister, Bertha Antoinetta +Mason, daughter of Jonas Mason, merchant, and of Antoinetta his +wife, a Creole, at ---- church, Spanish Town, Jamaica. The record +of the marriage will be found in the register of that church--a +copy of it is now in my possession. Signed, Richard Mason."</p> +<p>"That, if a genuine document, may prove I have been married, but +it does not prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is +still living."</p> +<p>"She was living three months ago," returned the lawyer.</p> +<p>"How do you know?"</p> +<p>"I have a witness to the fact whose testimony even you, sir, +will scarcely controvert."</p> +<p>"Produce him--or go to hell!"</p> +<p>"I will produce him first--he is on the spot: Mr. Mason, have +the goodness to step forward."</p> +<p>Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth: he +experienced, too, a sort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him +as I was, I felt the spasmodic movement of fury or despair run +through his frame.</p> +<p>The second stranger, who had hitherto lingered in the +background, now drew near; a pale face looked over the solicitor's +shoulder--yes, it was Mason himself. Mr. Rochester turned and +glared at him. His eye, as I have often said, was a black eye--it +had now a tawny, nay, a bloody light in its gloom; and his face +flushed--olive cheek and hueless forehead received a glow, as from +spreading, ascending heart-fire; and he stirred, lifted his strong +arm; he could have struck Mason--dashed him on the church +floor--shocked by ruthless blow the breath from his body; but Mason +shrank away, and cried faintly, "Good God!" Contempt fell cool on +Mr. Rochester--his passion died as if a blight had shriveled it up; +he only asked, "What have <i>you</i> to say?"</p> +<p>An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips.</p> +<p>"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again +demand, what have <i>you</i> to say?"</p> +<p>"Sir--sir," interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you are in +a sacred place." Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, "Are +you aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's wife is still +living?"</p> +<p>"Courage," urged the lawyer; "speak out."</p> +<p>"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in more +articulate tones. "I saw her there last April. I am her +brother."</p> +<p>"At Thornfield Hall!" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossible! I +am an old resident in this neighborhood, sir, and I never heard of +a Mrs. Rochester at Thornfield Hall."</p> +<p>I saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lip, and he muttered, +"No, by God! I took care that none should hear of it, or of her +under that name." He mused; for ten minutes he held counsel with +himself: he formed his resolve, and announced it:--"Enough; all +shall bolt out at once, like a bullet from the barrel. Wood, close +your book and take off your surplice; John Green" (to the clerk) +"leave the church: there will be no wedding to-day." The man +obeyed.</p> +<p>Mr. Rochester continued hardily and recklessly:--"Bigamy is an +ugly word! I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has +out-manoeuvred me, or Providence has checked me--perhaps the last. +I am little better than a devil at this moment; and as my pastor +there would tell me, deserve no doubt the sternest judgments of +God, even to the quenchless fire and deathless worm.</p> +<p>"Gentlemen, my plan is broken up! what this lawyer and his +client say is true: I have been married, and the woman to whom I +was married lives! You say you never heard of a Mrs. Rochester at +the house up yonder, Wood; but I dare say you have many a time +inclined your ear to gossip about the mysterious lunatic kept there +under watch and ward. Some have whispered to you that she is my +bastard half-sister; some, my cast-off mistress: I now inform you +that she is my wife, whom I married fifteen years ago--Bertha Mason +by name; sister of this resolute personage who is now, with his +quivering limbs and white cheeks, showing you what a stout heart +men may bear. Cheer up, Dick! never fear me! I'd almost as soon +strike a woman as you. Bertha Mason is mad; and she came of a mad +family--idiots and maniacs through three generations! Her mother, +the Creole, was both a mad-woman and a drunkard!--as I found out +after I had wed the daughter; for they were silent on family +secrets before. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in +both points. I had a charming partner--pure, wise, modest; you can +fancy I was a happy man. I went through rich scenes! Oh! my +experience has been heavenly, if you only knew it! But I owe you no +further explanation. Briggs, Wood, Mason, I invite you all to come +up to the house and visit Mrs. Poole's patient, and <i>my wife</i>! +You shall see what sort of a being I was cheated into espousing, +and judge whether or not I had a right to break the compact, and +seek sympathy with something at least human. This girl," he +continued, looking at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, of the +disgusting secret: she thought all was fair and legal, and never +dreamed that she was going to be entrapped into a feigned union +with a defrauded wretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and imbruted +partner! Come, all of you, follow."</p> +<p>Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen +came after. At the front door of the hall we found the +carriage.</p> +<p>"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester, +coolly: "it will not be wanted to-day."</p> +<p>At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adèle, Sophie, Leah, +advanced to meet and greet us.</p> +<p>"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master: "away with +your congratulations! Who wants them? Not I! they are fifteen years +too late!"</p> +<p>He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and +still beckoning the gentlemen to follow him; which they did. We +mounted the first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to +the third story: the low black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's +master-key, admitted us to the tapestried room, with its great bed +and its pictorial cabinet.</p> +<p>"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and +stabbed you here."</p> +<p>He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second +door; this too he opened. In a room without a window there burned a +fire, guarded by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended +from the ceiling by a chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, +apparently cooking something in a saucepan. In the deep shade, at +the further end of the room, a figure ran backward and forward. +What it was, whether beast or human being, one could not at first +sight tell; it groveled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and +growled like some strange wild animal; but it was covered with +clothing; and a quantity of dark grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid +its head and face.</p> +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Poole," said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? +and how is your charge to-day?"</p> +<p>"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the +boiling mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not +'rageous."</p> +<p>A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favorable report: the +clothed hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet.</p> +<p>"Ah, sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not +stay."</p> +<p>"Only a few moments, Grace; you must allow me a few +moments."</p> +<p>"Take care then, sir! for God's sake, take care!"</p> +<p>The maniac bellowed; she parted her shaggy locks from her +visage, and gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognized well that +purple face--those bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.</p> +<p>"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside; +"she has no knife now, I suppose? and I'm on my guard."</p> +<p>"One never knows what she has, sir, she is so cunning; it is not +in mortal discretion to fathom her craft."</p> +<p>"We had better leave her," whispered Mason.</p> +<p>"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation.</p> +<p>"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated +simultaneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him; the lunatic +sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his +cheek; they struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost +equaling her husband, and corpulent besides; she showed virile +force in the contest--more than once she almost throttled him, +athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-planted +blow; but he would not strike her; he would only wrestle. At last +he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned +them behind her; with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to +a chair. The operation was performed amid the fiercest yells and +the most convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the +spectators; he looked at them with a smile both acrid and +desolate.</p> +<p>"That is <i>my wife</i>," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal +embrace I am ever to know--such are the endearments which are to +solace my leisure hours! And <i>this</i> is what I wished to have" +(laying his hand on my shoulder): "this young girl, who stands so +grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the +gambols of a demon. I wanted her just as a change, after that +fierce ragoût. Wood and Briggs, look at the difference. +Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder--this face with +that mask--this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of the +Gospel and man of the law, and remember, with what judgment ye +judge ye shall be judged! Off with you now: I must shut up my +prize."</p> +<p>We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to +give some further order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me +as he descended the stair.</p> +<p>"You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame; your uncle +will be glad to hear it--if indeed he should be still living--when +Mr. Mason returns to Madeira."</p> +<p>"My uncle? What of him? Do you know him?"</p> +<p>"Mr. Mason does; Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent of +his house for some years. When your uncle received your letter +intimating the contemplated union between yourself and Mr. +Rochester, Mr. Mason, who was staying at Madeira to recruit his +health, on his way back to Jamaica happened to be with him. Mr. +Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for he knew that my client here +was acquainted with a gentleman of the name of Rochester. Mr. +Mason, astonished and distressed, as you may suppose, revealed the +real state of matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, is now on a +sick-bed; from which, considering the nature of his +disease--decline--and the stage it has reached, it is unlikely he +will ever rise. He could not then hasten to England himself, to +extricate you from the snare into which you had fallen, but he +implored Mr. Mason to lose no time in taking steps to prevent the +false marriage. He referred him to me for assistance, I used all +dispatch, and am thankful I was not too late: as you, doubtless, +must be also. Were I not morally certain that your uncle will be +dead ere you reach Madeira, I would advise you to accompany Mr. +Mason back; but as it is, I think you had better remain in England +till you can hear further, either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we +anything else to stay for?" he inquired of Mr. Mason.</p> +<p>"No, no; let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without +waiting to take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the +hall door. The clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either +of admonition or reproof, with his haughty parishioner: this duty +done, he too departed.</p> +<p>I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, +to which I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in, +fastened the bolt that none might intrude, and proceeded--not to +weep, not to mourn, I was yet too calm for that, but--mechanically +to take off the wedding-dress, and replace if by the stuff gown I +had worn yesterday, as I thought for the last time. I then sat +down: I felt weak and tired. I leaned my arms on a table, and my +head dropped on them. And now I thought: till now I had only heard, +seen, moved--followed up and down where I was led or +dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure open beyond +disclosure; but <i>now I thought</i>.</p> +<p>The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the +brief scene with the lunatic. The transaction in the church had not +been noisy; there was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, +no dispute, no defiance or challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few +words had been spoken, a calmly pronounced objection to the +marriage made; some stern, short questions put by Mr. Rochester; +answers, explanations given, evidence adduced; an open admission of +the truth had been uttered by my master: then the living proof had +been seen; the intruders were gone, and all was over.</p> +<p>I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious +change; nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And +yet where was the Jane Eyre of yesterday? where was her life? where +were her prospects?</p> +<p>Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a +bride--was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her +prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a +white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe +apples; drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hay-field and +corn-field lay a frozen shroud; lanes which last night blushed full +of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the +woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and fragrant as groves +between the tropics, now spread waste, wild, and white as pine +forests in wintry Norway.</p> +<p>My hopes were all dead--struck with a subtle doom, such as in +one night fell on all the first-born in the land of Egypt. I looked +on my cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing; they lay +stark, chill, livid corpses that could never revive. I looked at my +love, that feeling which was my master's--which he had created: it +shivered in my heart, like a suffering child in a cold cradle; +sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not seek Mr. +Rochester's arms--it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh, +never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted--confidence +destroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he was +not what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; I +would not say he had betrayed me: but the attribute of stainless +truth was gone from his idea; and from his presence I must go; +<i>that</i> I perceived well. When--how--whither, I could not yet +discern; but he himself, I doubted not, would hurry me from +Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he could not have for me; it +had been only fitful passion; that was balked; he would want me no +more. I should fear even to cross his path now: my view must be +hateful to him. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! how weak my +conduct!</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRONTE02"></a> +<h3>MADAME BECK</h3> +<center>(From 'Villette')</center> +<br> +<p>"You ayre Engliss?" said a voice at my elbow. I almost bounded, +so unexpected was the sound; so certain had I been of solitude.</p> +<p>No ghost stood beside me, nor anything of spectral aspect; +merely a motherly, dumpy little woman, in a large shawl, a +wrapping-gown, and a clean, trim, nightcap.</p> +<p>I said I was English, and immediately, without further prelude, +we fell to a most remarkable conversation. Madame Beck (for Madame +Beck it was; she had entered by a little door behind me, and being +shod with the shoes of silence, I had heard neither her entrance +nor approach)--Madame Beck had exhausted her command of insular +speech when she said "You ayre Engliss," and she now proceeded to +work away volubly in her own tongue. I answered in mine. She partly +understood me, but as I did not at all understand her--though we +made together an awful clamor (anything like madame's gift of +utterance I had not hitherto heard or imagined)--we achieved little +progress. She rang, ere long, for aid; which arrived in the shape +of a "maîtresse," who had been partly educated in an Irish +convent, and was esteemed a perfect adept in the English language. +A bluff little personage this maîtresse +was--Labasse-courienne from top to toe: and how she did slaughter +the speech of Albion! However, I told her a plain tale, which she +translated. I told her how I had left my own country, intent on +extending my knowledge and gaining my bread; how I was ready to +turn my hand to any useful thing, provided it was not wrong or +degrading: how I would be a child's nurse or a lady's-maid, and +would not refuse even housework adapted to my strength. Madame +heard this; and questioning her countenance, I almost thought the +tale won her ear.</p> +<p>"Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises," said +she: "sont-elles done intrépides, ces femmes-là!"</p> +<p>She asked my name, my age; she sat and looked at me--not +pityingly, not with interest: never a gleam of sympathy or a shade +of compassion crossed her countenance during the interview. I felt +she was not one to be led an inch by her feelings: grave and +considerate, she gazed, consulting her judgment and studying my +narrative....</p> +<p>In the dead of night I suddenly awoke. All was hushed, but a +white figure stood in the room--Madame in her night-dress. Moving +without perceptible sound, she visited the three children in the +three beds; she approached me; I feigned sleep, and she studied me +long. A small pantomime ensued, curious enough. I dare say she sat +a quarter of an hour on the edge of my bed, gazing at my face. She +then drew nearer, bent close over me; slightly raised my cap, and +turned back the border so as to expose my hair; she looked at my +hand lying on the bed-clothes. This done, she turned to the chair +where my clothes lay; it was at the foot of the bed. Hearing her +touch and lift them, I opened my eyes with precaution, for I own I +felt curious to see how far her taste for research would lead her. +It led her a good way: every article did she inspect. I divined her +motive for this proceeding; viz., the wish to form from the +garments a judgment respecting the wearer, her station, means, +neatness, etc. The end was not bad, but the means were hardly fair +or justifiable. In my dress was a pocket; she fairly turned it +inside out; she counted the money in my purse; she opened a little +memorandum-book, coolly perused its contents, and took from between +the leaves a small plaited lock of Miss Marchmont's gray hair. To a +bunch of three keys, being those of my trunk, desk, and work-box, +she accorded special attention: with these, indeed, she withdrew a +moment to her own room. I softly rose in my bed and followed her +with my eye: these keys, reader, were not brought back till they +had left on the toilet of the adjoining room the impress of their +wards in wax. All being thus done decently and in order, my +property was returned to its place, my clothes were carefully +refolded. Of what nature were the conclusions deduced from this +scrutiny? Were they favorable or otherwise? Vain question. Madame's +face of stone (for of stone in its present night-aspect it looked: +it had been human, and as I said before, motherly, in the salon) +betrayed no response.</p> +<p>Her duty done--I felt that in her eyes this business was a +duty--she rose, noiseless as a shadow: she moved toward her own +chamber; at the door she turned, fixing her eyes on the heroine of +the bottle, who still slept and loudly snored. Mrs. Svini (I +presume this was Mrs. Svini, Anglicé or Hibernicé +Sweeny)--Mrs. Sweeny's doom was in Madame Beck's eye--an immutable +purpose that eye spoke: madame's visitations for shortcomings might +be slow, but they were sure. All this was very un-English: truly I +was in a foreign land....</p> +<p>When attired, Madame Beck appeared a personage of a figure +rather short and stout, yet still graceful in its own peculiar way: +that is, with the grace resulting from proportion of parts. Her +complexion was fresh and sanguine, not too rubicund; her eye, blue +and serene; her dark silk dress fitted her as a French sempstress +alone can make a dress fit; she looked well, though a little +bourgeoise, as bourgeoise indeed she was. I know not what of +harmony pervaded her whole person; and yet her face offered +contrast too: its features were by no means such as are usually +seen in conjunction with a complexion of such blended freshness and +repose: their outline was stern; her forehead was high but narrow; +it expressed capacity and some benevolence, but no expanse; nor did +her peaceful yet watchful eye ever know the fire which is kindled +in the heart or the softness which flows thence. Her mouth was +hard: it could be a little grim; her lips were thin. For +sensibility and genius, with all their tenderness and temerity, I +felt somehow that madame would be the right sort of Minos in +petticoats.</p> +<p>In the long run, I found that she was something else in +petticoats too. Her name was Modeste Maria Beck, née Kint: +it ought to have been Ignacia. She was a charitable woman, and did +a great deal of good. There never was a mistress whose rule was +milder. I was told that she never once remonstrated with the +intolerable Mrs. Sweeny [the heroine's predecessor], despite her +tipsiness, disorder, and general neglect; yet Mrs. Sweeny had to +go, the moment her departure became convenient. I was told too that +neither masters nor teachers were found fault with in that +establishment: yet both masters and teachers were often changed; +they vanished and others filled their places, none could well +explain how.</p> +<p>The establishment was both a pensionnat and an externat: the +externes or day-pupils exceeded one hundred in number; the boarders +were about a score. Madame must have possessed high administrative +powers: she ruled all these, together with four teachers, eight +masters, six servants, and three children, managing at the same +time to perfection the pupil's parents and friends; and that +without apparent effort, without bustle, fatigue, fever, or any +symptom of undue excitement; occupied she always was--busy, rarely. +It is true that madame had her own system for managing and +regulating this mass of machinery; and a very pretty system it was: +the reader has seen a specimen of it in that small affair of +turning my pocket inside out and reading my private memoranda. +<i>Surveillance, espionnage</i>, these were her watchwords.</p> +<p>Still, madame knew what honesty was, and liked it--that is, when +it did not obtrude its clumsy scruples in the way of her will and +interest. She had a respect for "Angleterre"; and as to "les +Anglaises," she would have the women of no other country about her +own children, if she could help it.</p> +<p>Often in the evening, after she had been plotting and +counter-plotting, spying and receiving the reports of spies all +day, she would come up to my room, a trace of real weariness on her +brow, and she would sit down and listen while the children said +their little prayers to me in English: the Lord's Prayer and the +hymn beginning "Gentle Jesus," these little Catholics were +permitted to repeat at my knee; and when I had put them to bed, she +would talk to me (I soon gained enough French to be able to +understand and even answer her) about England and Englishwomen, and +the reason for what she was pleased to term their superior +intelligence, and, more real and reliable probity. Very good sense +she often showed; very sound opinions she often broached: she +seemed to know that keeping girls in distrustful restraint, in +blind ignorance, and under a surveillance that left them no moment +and no corner for retirement, was not the best way to make them +grow up honest and modest women; but she averred that ruinous +consequences would ensue if any other method were tried with +Continental children--they were so accustomed to restraint that +relaxation, however guarded, would be misunderstood and fatally +presumed on: she was sick, she would declare, of the means she had +to use, but use them she must; and after discoursing, often with +dignity and delicacy, to me, she would move away on her "souliers +de silence," and glide ghost-like through the house, watching and +spying everywhere, peering through every key-hole, listening behind +every door.</p> +<p>After all, madame's system was not bad--let me do her justice. +Nothing could be better than all her arrangements for the physical +well-being of her scholars. No minds were overtasked; the lessons +were well distributed and made incomparably easy to the learner; +there was a liberty of amusement and a provision for exercise which +kept the girls healthy; the food was abundant and good: neither +pale nor puny faces were anywhere to be seen in the Rue Fossette. +She never grudged a holiday; she allowed plenty of time for +sleeping, dressing, washing, eating: her method in all these +matters was easy, liberal, salutary, and rational; many an austere +English schoolmistress would do vastly well to imitate it--and I +believe many would be glad to do so, if exacting English parents +would let them.</p> +<p>As Madame Beck ruled by espionage, she of course had her staff +of spies; she perfectly knew the quality of the tools she used, and +while she would not scruple to handle the dirtiest for a dirty +occasion--flinging this sort from her like refuse rind? after the +orange has been duly squeezed--I have known her fastidious in +seeking pure metal for clean uses; and when once a bloodless and +rustless instrument was found, she was careful of the prize, +keeping it in silk and cotton-wool. Yet woe be to the man or woman +who relied on her one inch beyond the point where it was her +interest to be trustworthy; interest was the master-key of madame's +nature--the mainspring of her motives--the alpha and omega of her +life. I have seen her <i>feelings</i> appealed to, and I have +smiled in half-pity, half-scorn at the appellants. None ever gained +her ear through that channel, or swayed her purpose by that means. +On the contrary, to attempt to touch her heart was the surest way +to rouse her antipathy, and to make of her a secret foe. It proved +to her that she had no heart to be touched: it reminded her where +she was impotent and dead. Never was the distinction between +charity and mercy better exemplified than in her. While devoid of +sympathy, she had a sufficiency of rational benevolence: she would +give in the readiest manner to people she had never seen--rather, +however, to classes than to individuals. "Pour les pauvres" she +opened her purse freely--against the <i>poor man</i>, as a rule, +she kept it closed. In philanthropic schemes, for the benefit of +society at large, she took a cheerful part; no private sorrow +touched her: no force or mass of suffering concentrated in one +heart had power to pierce hers. Not the agony of Gethsemane, not +the death on Calvary, could have wrung from her eyes one tear.</p> +<p>I say again, madame was a very great and a very capable woman. +That school offered for her powers too limited a sphere: she ought +to have swayed a nation; she should have been the leader of a +turbulent legislative assembly. Nobody could have browbeaten her, +none irritated her nerves, exhausted her patience, or overreached +her astuteness. In her own single person, she could have comprised +the duties of a first minister and a superintendent of police. +Wise, firm, faithless, secret, crafty, passionless; watchful and +inscrutable; acute and insensate--withal perfectly decorous--what +more could be desired?</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRONTE03"></a> +<h3>A YORKSHIRE LANDSCAPE</h3> +<center>From 'Shirley'</center> +<br> +<p>"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunneley +dale and wood."</p> +<p>They both halted on the green brow of the Common. They looked +down on the deep valley robed in May raiment; on varied meads, some +pearled with daisies and some golden with kingcups: to-day all this +young verdure smiled clear in sunlight; transparent emerald and +amber gleams played over it. On Nunnwood--the sole remnant of +antique British forest in a region whose lowlands were once all +sylvan chase, as its highlands were breast-deep heather--slept the +shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were dappled, the horizon was +shaded and tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery blues, soft +purples, evanescent greens and rose-shades, all melting into +fleeces of white cloud, pure as azury snow, allured the eye with a +remote glimpse of heaven's foundations. The air blowing on the brow +was fresh and sweet and bracing.</p> +<p>"Our England is a bonnie island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire +is one of her bonniest nooks."</p> +<p>"You are a Yorkshire girl too?"</p> +<p>"I am--Yorkshire in blood and birth. Five generations of my race +sleep under the aisles of Briarfield Church: I drew my first breath +in the old black hall behind us."</p> +<p>Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly +taken and shaken. "We are compatriots," said she.</p> +<p>"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod.</p> +<p>"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is +Nunnwood?"</p> +<p>"It is."</p> +<p>"Were you ever there?"</p> +<p>"Many a time."</p> +<p>"In the heart of it?"</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"What is it like?"</p> +<p>"It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak. The trees are +huge and old. When you stand at their roots, the summits seem in +another region: the trunks remain still and firm as pillars, while +the boughs sway to every breeze. In the deepest calm their leaves +are never quite hushed, and in a high wind a flood rushes--a sea +thunders above you."</p> +<p>"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?"</p> +<p>"Yes, and there are mementos of him still existing. To penetrate +into Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far back into the dim days of +old. Can you see a break in the forest, about the centre?"</p> +<p>"Yes, distinctly."</p> +<p>"That break is a dell--a deep hollow cup, lined with turf as +green and short as the sod of this Common: the very oldest of the +trees, gnarled mighty oaks, crowd about the brink of this dell; in +the bottom lie the ruins of a nunnery.</p> +<p>"We will go--you and I alone, Caroline--to that wood, early some +fine summer morning, and spend a long day there. We can take +pencils and sketch-books, and any interesting reading-book we like; +and of course we shall take something to eat. I have two little +baskets, in which Mrs. Gill, my house-keeper, might pack our +provisions, and we could each carry our own. It would not tire you +too much to walk so far?"</p> +<p>"Oh, no; especially if we rested the whole day in the wood; and +I know all the pleasantest spots. I know where we could get nuts in +nutting time; I know where wild strawberries abound; I know certain +lonely, quite untrodden glades, carpeted with strange mosses, some +yellow as if gilded, some a sober gray, some gem-green. I know +groups of trees that ravish the eye with their perfect, +picture-like effects: rude oak, delicate birch, glossy beech, +clustered in contrast; and ash-trees, stately as Saul, standing +isolated; and superannuated wood-giants clad in bright shrouds of +ivy."</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRONTE04"></a> +<h3>THE END OF HEATHCLIFF</h3> +<center>From Emily Bronté's 'Wuthering Heights'</center> +<br> +<p>For some days after that evening Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting +us at meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton +and Cathy. He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his +feelings, choosing rather to absent himself; and eating once in +twenty-four hours seemed sufficient sustenance for him.</p> +<p>One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go +down-stairs and out at the front door; I did not hear him re-enter, +and in the morning I found he was still away. We were in April +then, the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as green as showers +and sun could make it, and the two dwarf apple-trees near the +southern wall in full bloom.</p> +<p>After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and +sitting with my work under the fir-trees at the end of the house; +and she beguiled Hareton, who had recovered from his accident, to +dig and arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner +by the influence of Joseph's complaints.</p> +<p>I was comfortably reveling in the spring fragrance around, and +the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had run +down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, +returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was +coming in.</p> +<p>"And he spoke to me," she added with a perplexed look.</p> +<p>"What did he say?" asked Hareton.</p> +<p>"He told me to begone as fast as I could," she answered. "But he +looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to +stare at him."</p> +<p>"How?" he inquired.</p> +<p>"Why, almost bright and cheerful--no, almost nothing--<i>very +much</i> excited, and wild, and glad!" she replied.</p> +<p>"Night-walking amuses him, then," I remarked, affecting a +careless manner; in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to +ascertain the truth of her statement--for to see the master looking +glad would not be an every-day spectacle; I framed an excuse to go +in.</p> +<p>Heathcliff stood at the open door--he was pale, and he trembled; +yet certainly he had a strange joyful glitter in his eyes, that +altered the aspect of his whole face.</p> +<p>"Will you have some breakfast?" I said. "You must be hungry, +rambling about all night!"</p> +<p>I wanted to discover where he had been; but I did not like to +ask directly.</p> +<p>"No, I'm not hungry," he answered, averting his head, and +speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to +divine the occasion of his good humor.</p> +<p>I felt perplexed--I didn't know whether it were not a proper +opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.</p> +<p>"I don't think it right to wander out of doors," I observed, +"instead of being in bed; it is not wise, at any rate, this moist +season. I daresay you'll catch a bad cold, or a fever--you have +something the matter with you now!"</p> +<p>"Nothing but what I can bear," he replied, "and with the +greatest pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone--get in, and +don't annoy me."</p> +<p>I obeyed; and in passing, I saw he breathed as fast as a +cat.</p> +<p>"Yes!" I reflected to myself, "we shall have a fit of illness. I +cannot conceive what he has been doing!"</p> +<p>That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a +heaped-up plate from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for +previous fasting.</p> +<p>"I've neither cold nor fever, Nelly," he remarked, in allusion +to my morning speech. "And I'm ready to do justice to the food you +give me."</p> +<p>He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, +when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid +them on the table, looked eagerly toward the window, then rose and +went out. We saw him walking to and fro in the garden, while we +concluded our meal; and Earnshaw said he'd go and ask why he would +not dine; he thought we had grieved him some way.</p> +<p>"Well, is he coming?" cried Catherine, when he returned.</p> +<p>"Nay," he answered; "but he's not angry: he seemed rare and +pleased indeed; only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice: +and then he bid me be off to you; he wondered how I could want the +company of anybody else."</p> +<p>I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or +two he re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer: +the same unnatural--it was unnatural!--appearance of joy under his +black brows; the same bloodless hue; and his teeth visible now and +then in a kind of smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers +with chill or weakness, but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates--a +strong thrilling, rather than trembling.</p> +<p>"I will ask what is the matter," I thought, "or who should?" And +I exclaimed, "Have you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff? You +look uncommonly animated."</p> +<p>"Where should good news come from to me?" he said. "I'm animated +with hunger; and seemingly I must not eat."</p> +<p>"Your dinner is here," I returned: "why won't you get it?"</p> +<p>"I don't want it now," he muttered hastily. "I'll wait till +supper. And, Nelly, once for all, let me beg you to warn Hareton +and the other away from me. I wish to be troubled by nobody--I wish +to have this place to myself."</p> +<p>"Is there some new reason for this banishment?" I inquired. +"Tell me why you are so queer, Mr. Heathcliff. Where were you last +night? I'm not putting the question through idle curiosity, +but--"</p> +<p>"You are putting the question through very idle curiosity," he +interrupted, with a laugh. "Yet I'll answer it. Last night I was on +the threshold of hell. To-day I am within sight of my heaven--I +have my eyes on it--hardly three feet to sever me. And now you'd +better go. You'll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you if +you refrain from prying."</p> +<p>Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed more +perplexed than ever. He did not quit the house again that +afternoon, and no one intruded on his solitude till at eight +o'clock I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle +and his supper to him.</p> +<p>He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not +looking out; his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire +had smoldered to ashes; the room was filled with the damp, mild air +of the cloudy evening; and so still, that not only the murmur of +the beck down Gimmerton was distinguishable, but its ripples, and +its gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large stones which it +could not cover.</p> +<p>I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal +grate, and commenced shutting the casements, one after another, +till I came to his.</p> +<p>"Must I close this?" I asked, in order to rouse him, for he +would not stir.</p> +<p>The light flashed on his features as I spoke. O Mr. Lockwood, I +cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! +Those deep black eyes! That smile and ghastly paleness! It appeared +to me not Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; and in my terror I let the +candle bend toward the wall, and it left me in darkness.</p> +<p>"Yes, close it," he replied in his familiar voice. "There, that +is pure awkwardness! Why did you hold the candle horizontally? Be +quick, and bring another."</p> +<p>I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to Joseph, +"The master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire." +For I dare not go in myself again just then.</p> +<p>Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel and went; but he +brought it back immediately, with the supper tray in his other +hand, explaining that Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he +wanted nothing to eat till morning.</p> +<p>We heard him mount the stairs directly. He did not proceed to +his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the paneled bed; +its window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to +get through, and it struck me that he plotted another midnight +excursion, which he had rather we had no suspicion of.</p> +<p>"Is he a ghoul, or a vampire?" I mused. I had read of such +hideous incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how I +had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and +followed him almost through his whole course, and what nonsense it +was to yield to that sense of horror.</p> +<p>"But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harbored by +a good man to his bane?" muttered Superstition, as I dozed into +unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary myself with +imagining some fit parentage for him: and repeating my waking +meditations I tracked his existence over again, with grim +variations; at last picturing his death and funeral; of which all I +can remember is being exceedingly vexed at having the task of +dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting the +sexton about it; and as he had no surname, and we could not tell +his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with the single word +"Heathcliff." That came true--we were. If you enter the kirkyard, +you'll read on his headstone only that, and the date of his death. +Dawn restored me to common-sense. I rose, and went into the garden, +as soon as I could see, to ascertain if there were any foot-marks +under his window. There were none.</p> +<p>"He has staid at home," I thought, "and he'll be all right +to-day!"</p> +<p>I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my usual custom, +but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master came +down, for he lay late. They preferred taking it out of doors, under +the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them.</p> +<p>On my re-entrance I found Mr. Heathcliff below. He and Joseph +were conversing about some farming business; he gave clear, minute +directions concerning the matter discussed, but he spoke rapidly, +and turned his head continually aside, and had the same excited +expression, even more exaggerated.</p> +<p>When Joseph quitted the room, he took his seat in the place he +generally chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him. He drew it +nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at the +opposite wall, as I supposed surveying one particular portion, up +and down, with glittering, restless eyes, and with such eager +interest that he stopped breathing during half a minute +together.</p> +<p>"Come now," I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his hand, +"eat and drink that while it is hot. It has been waiting near an +hour."</p> +<p>He didn't notice me, and yet he smiled. I'd rather have seen him +gnash his teeth than smile so.</p> +<p>"Mr. Heathcliff! master!" I cried. "Don't, for God's sake, stare +as if you saw an unearthly vision."</p> +<p>"Don't, for God's sake, shout so loud," he replied. "Turn round +and tell me, are we by ourselves?"</p> +<p>"Of course," was my answer, "of course we are!"</p> +<p>Still I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I were not quite sure. +With a sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front among +the breakfast things, and leaned forward to gaze more at his +ease.</p> +<p>Now I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I +regarded him alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something +within two yards' distance. And, whatever it was, it communicated +apparently both pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes; at least +the anguished yet raptured expression of his countenance suggested +that idea.</p> +<p>The fancied object was not fixed either; his eyes pursued it +with unwearied vigilance, and even in speaking to me, were never +weaned away.</p> +<p>I vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food. If +he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties--if +he stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread--his fingers +clenched before they reached it, and remained on the table, +forgetful of their aim.</p> +<p>I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed +attention from its engrossing speculation till he grew irritable +and got up, asking why I would not allow him to have his own time +in taking his meals? and saying that on the next occasion I needn't +wait--I might set the things down and go. Having uttered these +words, he left the house, slowly sauntered down the garden path, +and disappeared through the gate.</p> +<p>The hours crept anxiously by: another evening came. I did not +retire to rest till late, and when I did I could not sleep. He +returned after midnight, and instead of going to bed, shut himself +into the room beneath. I listened and tossed about, and finally +dressed and descended. It was too irksome to lie up there, +harassing my brain with a hundred idle misgivings.</p> +<p>I distinguished Mr. Heathcliff's step, restlessly measuring the +floor; and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration, +resembling a groan. He muttered detached words also; the only one I +could catch was the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term +of endearment or suffering, and spoken as one would speak to a +person present--low and earnest, and wrung from the depth of his +soul.</p> +<p>I had not courage to walk straight into the apartment; but I +desired to divert him from his revery, and therefore fell foul of +the kitchen fire; stirred it and began to scrape the cinders. It +drew him forth sooner than I expected. He opened the door +immediately, and said:--</p> +<p>"Nelly, come here--is it morning? Come in with your light."</p> +<p>"It is striking four," I answered; "you want a candle to take +upstairs--you might have lighted one at this fire."</p> +<p>"No, I don't wish to go upstairs," he said. "Come in, and kindle +<i>me</i> a fire, and do anything there is to do about the +room."</p> +<p>"I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any," I +replied, getting a chair and the bellows.</p> +<p>He roamed to and fro, meantime, in a state approaching +distraction, his heavy sighs succeeding each other so thick as to +leave no space for common breathing between.</p> +<p>"When day breaks, I'll send for Green," he said; "I wish to make +some legal inquiries of him, while I can bestow a thought on those +matters, and while I can act calmly. I have not written my will +yet, and how to leave my property I cannot determine! I wish I +could annihilate it from the face of the earth."</p> +<p>"I would not talk so, Mr. Heathcliff," I interposed. "Let your +will be a while--you'll be spared to repent of your many injustices +yet! I never expected that your nerves would be disordered--they +are, at present, marvelously so, however; and almost entirely +through your own fault. The way you've passed these last three days +might knock up a Titan. Do take some food and some repose. You need +only look at yourself in a glass to see how you require both. Your +cheeks are hollow and your eyes bloodshot, like a person starving +with hunger and going blind with loss of sleep."</p> +<p>"It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest," he replied. "I +assure you it is through no settled designs. I'll do both as soon +as I possibly can. But you might as well bid a man struggling in +the water rest within arm's-length of the shore! I must reach it +first, and then I'll rest. Well, never mind Mr. Green; as to +repenting of my injustices, I've done no injustice, and I repent of +nothing. I'm too happy, and yet I'm not happy enough. My soul's +bliss kills my body, but does not satisfy itself."</p> +<p>"Happy, master?" I cried. "Strange happiness! If you would hear +me without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make +you happier."</p> +<p>"What is that?" he asked. "Give it."</p> +<p>"You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff," I said, "that from the time you +were thirteen years old you have lived a selfish, unchristian life: +and probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that +period. You must have forgotten the contents of the book, and you +may not have space to search it now. Could it be hurtful to send +for some one--some minister of any denomination, it does not matter +which--to explain it, and show you how very far you have erred from +its precepts, and how unfit you will be for its heaven, unless a +change takes place before you die?"</p> +<p>"I'm rather obliged than angry, Nelly," he said, "for you remind +me of the manner that I desire to be buried in. It is to be carried +to the churchyard in the evening. You and Hareton may, if you +please, accompany me--and mind, particularly, to notice that the +sexton obeys my directions concerning the two coffins! No minister +need come; nor need anything be said over me. I tell you, I have +nearly attained <i>my</i> heaven; and that of others is altogether +unvalued and uncoveted by me!"</p> +<p>"And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast, and died +by that means, and they refused to bury you in the precincts of the +kirk?" I said, shocked at his godless indifference. "How would you +like it?"</p> +<p>"They won't do that," he replied; "if they did, you must have me +removed secretly; and if you neglect it, you shall prove +practically that the dead are not annihilated!"</p> +<p>As soon as he heard the other members of the family stirring, he +retired to his den, and I breathed freer. But in the afternoon, +while Joseph and Hareton were at their work, he came into the +kitchen again, and with a wild look bid me come and sit in the +house--he wanted somebody with him.</p> +<p>I declined, telling him plainly that his strange talk and manner +frightened me, and I had neither the nerve nor the will to be his +companion alone.</p> +<p>"I believe you think me a fiend!" he said, with his dismal +laugh; "something too horrible to live under a decent roof!"</p> +<p>Then turning to Catherine, who was there, and who drew behind me +at his approach, he added, half sneeringly:--</p> +<p>"Will <i>you</i> come, chuck? I'll not hurt you. No! to you I've +made myself worse than the devil. Well, there is <i>one</i> who +won't shrink from my company! By God! she's relentless. Oh, damn +it! It's unutterably too much for flesh and blood to bear, even +mine."</p> +<p>He solicited the society of no one more. At dusk he went into +his chamber. Through the whole night, and far into the morning, we +heard him groaning and murmuring to himself. Hareton was anxious to +enter, but I bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth, and he should go in and see +him.</p> +<p>When he came, and I requested admittance and tried to open the +door, I found it locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was +better, and would be left alone; so the doctor went away.</p> +<p>The following evening was very wet; indeed, it poured down till +day-dawn; and as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed +the master's window swinging open, and the rain driving straight +in.</p> +<p>"He cannot be in bed," I thought: "those showers would drench +him through! He must be either up or out. But I'll make no more +ado; I'll go boldly, and look!"</p> +<p>Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran +to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant--quickly pushing +them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there--laid on his +back. His eyes met mine, so keen and fierce that I started; and +then he seemed to smile.</p> +<p>I could not think him dead--but his face and throat were washed +with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The +lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on +the sill--no blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my +fingers to it I could doubt no more--he was dead and stark!</p> +<p>I hasped the window; I combed his long, black hair from his +forehead; I tried to close his eyes--to extinguish, if possible, +that frightful, lifelike exultation, before any one else beheld it. +They would not shut--they seemed to sneer at my attempts, and his +parted lips and sharp white teeth sneered too! Taken with another +fit of cowardice, I cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled up and +made a noise, but resolutely refused to meddle with him. "Th' +divil's harried off his soul," he cried, "and he muh hev his +carcass intuh t' bargain, for ow't aw care! Ech! what a wicked un +he looks, grinning at death!" and the old sinner grinned in +mockery.</p> +<p>I thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but suddenly +composing himself, he fell on his knees and raised his hands, and +returned thanks that the lawful master and the ancient stock were +restored to their rights.</p> +<p>I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably +recurred to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness. But +poor Hareton, the most wronged, was the only one that really +suffered much. He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter +earnest. He pressed its hand, and kissed the sarcastic, savage face +that every one else shrank from contemplating; and bemoaned him +with that strong grief which springs naturally from a generous +heart, though it be tough as tempered steel.</p> +<p>Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the master +died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four +days, fearing it might lead to trouble; and then, I am persuaded, +he did not abstain on purpose: it was the consequence of his +strange illness, not the cause.</p> +<p>We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighborhood, as he +had wished. Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the +coffin, comprehended the whole attendance.</p> +<p>The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave: +we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug +green sods and laid them over the brown mold himself. At present it +is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds--and I hope its +tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you asked them, +would swear on their Bibles that he <i>walks</i>. There are those +who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and +even within this house. Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. Yet +that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen "two on 'em" +looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his +death--and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago.</p> +<p>I was going to the grange one evening--a dark evening +threatening thunder--and, just at the turn of the Heights, I +encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him. He +was crying terribly, and I supposed the lambs were skittish and +would not be guided.</p> +<p>"What is the matter, my little man?" I asked.</p> +<p>"They's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t' nab," he +blubbered, "un' aw darnut pass 'em."</p> +<p>I saw nothing, but neither the sheep nor he would go on, so I +bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms +from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he +had heard his parents and companions repeat; yet still I don't like +being out in the dark now, and I don't like being left by myself in +this grim house. I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave +it and shift to the Grange!</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>"They are going to the Grange, then?" I said.</p> +<p>"Yes," answered Mrs. Dean, "as soon as they are married; and +that will be on New Year's day."</p> +<p>"And who will live here then?"</p> +<p>"Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and perhaps a lad to +keep him company. They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will +be shut up."</p> +<p>"For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it," I +observed.</p> +<p>"No, Mr. Lockwood," said Nelly, shaking her head. "I believe the +dead are at peace, but it is not right to speak of them with +levity."</p> +<p>At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were +returning.</p> +<p>"<i>They</i> are afraid of nothing," I grumbled, watching their +approach through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and +all his legions."</p> +<p>As they stepped upon the door-stones, and halted to take a last +look at the moon, or more correctly at each other, by her light, I +felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and pressing a +remembrance into the hands of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her +expostulations at my rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen, as +they opened the house-door; and so should have confirmed Joseph in +his opinion of his fellow-servant's gay indiscretions, had he not +fortunately recognized me for a respectable character by the sweet +ring of a sovereign at his feet.</p> +<p>My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of +the kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made +progress even in seven months--many a window showed black gaps +deprived of glass; and slates jutted off, here and there, beyond +the right line of the roof, to be gradually worked off in coming +autumn storms.</p> +<p>I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope +next the moor--the middle one, gray, and half buried in the +heath--Edgar Linton's only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping +up its foot--Heathcliff's still bare.</p> +<p>I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths +fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind +breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever +imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BROOKS"></a> +<h2>PHILLIPS BROOKS</h2> +<h3>(1835-1893)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-p.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>hillips Brooks was born in Boston, Massachusetts, December 13th, +1835, and died there January 23d, 1893. He inherited the best +traditions of New England history, being on the paternal side the +direct descendant of John Cotton, and his mother's name, Phillips, +standing for high learning and distinction in the Congregational +church. Born at a time when the orthodox faith was fighting its +bitterest battle with Unitarianism, his parents accepted the dogmas +of the new theology, and had him baptized by a Unitarian clergyman. +But while refusing certain dogmas of the orthodox church, they were +the more thrown back for spiritual support upon the internal +evidences of evangelical Christianity. "Holding still," says the +Rev. Arthur Brooks, "in a greater or less degree, and with more or +less precision, to the old statements, they counted the great fact +that these statements enshrined more precious truth than any +other." Transition to the Episcopal church was easy; the mother +became an Episcopalian, and Phillips Brooks received all his early +training in that communion. But heredity had its influence, and in +after-life the great Bishop said that the Episcopal church could +reap the fruits of the long and bitter controversy which divided +the New England church, only as it discerned the spiritual worth of +Puritanism, and the value of its contributions to the history of +religious thought and character.</p> +<p>Such were the early surroundings of the man, and the subsequent +influences of his life tended to foster this liberal spirit. For +such a purpose, Boston itself was a good place to live in: it was +too large to be wholly provincial, and it was not so large that the +individual was lost; and at that time it was moreover the literary +centre of America. When Phillips Brooks entered Harvard, he came +into an atmosphere of intense intellectual activity. James Walker +was the president of the college, and Lowell, Holmes, Agassiz, and +Longfellow were among the professors. He graduated with honor in +1855, and soon after entered the Episcopal theological seminary at +Alexandria, Virginia.</p> +<p>The transition from Harvard to this college was an abrupt one. +The standards of the North and South were radically different. The +theology of the Church in Virginia, while tolerant to that of other +denominations, was uncompromisingly hostile to what it regarded as +heterodox.</p> +<p>When the War was declared he threw himself passionately into the +cause of the Union. Yet his affection for his Southern classmates, +men from whom he so widely differed, broadened that charity that +was one of his finest characteristics, a charity that respected +conviction wherever found.</p> +<p>No man, in truth, ever did so much to remove prejudice against a +Church that had never been popular in New England. To the old +Puritan dislike of Episcopacy and distrust of the English Church as +that of the oppressors of the colony, was added a sense of +resentment toward its sacerdotal claims and its assumption of +ecclesiastical supremacy. But he nevertheless protested against the +claim by his own communion to the title of "The American Church," +he preached occasionally in other pulpits, he even had among his +audiences clergymen of other denominations, and he was able to +reconcile men of different creeds into concord on what is essential +in all. The breadth and depth of his teaching attracted so large a +following that he increased the strength of the Episcopal Church in +America far more than he could have done by carrying on an active +propaganda in its behalf. Under his pastorate Trinity Church, +Boston, became the centre of some of the most vigorous Christian +activity in America.</p> +<p>His first charge was the Church of the Advent, in Philadelphia; +in two years he became rector of Holy Trinity Church in the same +city. In 1869 he was called to Trinity Church, Boston, of which he +was rector until his election as bishop of Massachusetts in +1891.</p> +<p>It is impossible to give an idea of Phillips Brooks without a +word about his personality, which was almost contradictory. His +commanding figure, his wit, the charm of his conversation, and a +certain boyish gayety and naturalness, drew people to him as to a +powerful magnet. He was one of the best known men in America; +people pointed him out to strangers in his own city as they pointed +out the Common and the Bunker Hill monument. When he went to +England, where he preached before the Queen, men and women of all +classes greeted him as a friend. They thronged the churches where +he preached, not only to hear him but to see him. Many stories are +told of him; some true, some more or less apocryphal, all proving +the affectionate sympathy existing between him and his kind. It was +said of him that as soon as he entered a pulpit he was absolutely +impersonal. There was no trace of individual experience or +theological conflict by which he might be labeled. He was simply a +messenger of the truth as he held it, a mouthpiece of the gospel as +he believed it had been delivered to him.</p> +<br> +<a name="brooks.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/brooks.jpg"><img src= +"images/brooks.jpg" width="45%" alt=""></a></p> +<br> +<p>Although in his seminary days his sermons were described as +vague and unpractical, Phillips Brooks was as great a preacher when +under thirty years of age as he was at any later time. His early +sermons, delivered to his first charge in Philadelphia, displayed +the same individuality, the same force and completeness and +clearness of construction, the same deep, strong undertone of +religious thought, as his great discourses preached in Westminster +Abbey six months before his death. His sentences are sonorous; his +style was characterized by a noble simplicity, impressive, but +without a touch showing that dramatic effect was strained for.</p> +<p>He passionately loved nature in all her aspects, and traveled +widely in search of the picturesque; but he used his experience +with reserve, and his illustrations are used to explain human life. +His power of painting a picture in a few bold strokes appears +strikingly in the great sermon on the 'Lesson of the Life of Saul,' +where he contrasts early promise and final failure; and in that +other not less remarkable presentation of the vision of Saint +Peter. His treatment of Bible narratives is not a translation into +the modern manner, nor is it an adaptation, but a poetical +rendering, in which the flavor of the original is not lost though +the lesson is made contemporary. And while he did not transcribe +nature upon his pages, his sermons are not lacking in decoration. +He used figures of speech and drew freely on history and art for +illustrations, but not so much to elucidate his subject as to +ornament it. His essays on social and literary subjects are written +with the aim of directness of statement, pure and simple; but the +stuff of which his sermons are woven is of royal purple.</p> +<p>The conviction that religious sentiment should penetrate the +whole life showed itself in Phillips Brooks's relation to +literature. "Truth bathed in light and uttered in love makes the +new unit of power," he says in his essay on literature. It was his +task to mediate between literature and theology, and restore +theology to the place it lost through the abstractions of the +schoolmen. What he would have done if he had devoted himself to +literature alone, we can only conjecture by the excellence of his +style in essays and sermons. They show his poetical temperament; +and his little lyric 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' will be sung as +long as Christmas is celebrated. His essays show more clearly even +than his sermons his opinions on society, literature, and religion. +They place him where he belongs, in that "small transfigured band +the world cannot tame,"--the world of Cranmer, Jeremy Taylor, +Robertson, Arnold, Maurice. His paper on Dean Stanley discloses his +theological views as openly as do his addresses on 'Heresies and +Orthodoxy.'</p> +<p>As might be expected of one who, in the word's best sense, was +so thoroughly a man, he had great influence with young men and was +one of the most popular of Harvard preachers. It was his custom for +thirty alternate years to go abroad in the summer, and there, as in +America, he was regarded as a great pulpit orator. He took a large +view of social questions and was in sympathy with all great popular +movements. His advancement to the episcopate was warmly welcomed by +all parties, except one branch of his own church with which his +principles were at variance, and every denomination delighted in +his elevation as if he were the peculiar property of each.</p> +<p>He published several volumes of sermons. His works include +'Lectures on Preaching' (New York, 1877), 'Sermons' (1878-81), +'Bohlen Lectures' (1879), 'Baptism and Confirmation' (1880), +'Sermons Preached in English Churches' (1883), 'The Oldest Schools +in America' (Boston, 1885), 'Twenty Sermons' (New York, 1886), +'Tolerance' (1887), 'The Light of the World, and Other Sermons' +(1890), and 'Essays and Addresses' (1894). His 'Letters of Travel' +show him to be an accurate observer, with a large fund of +spontaneous humor. No letters to children are so delightful as +those in this volume.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROOKS01"></a> +<blockquote> <b>O LITTLE TOWN OF +BETHLEHEM</b><br> +<br> +<br> + O little town of Bethlehem,<br> + How still we see thee +lie!<br> + Above thy deep and dreamless +sleep<br> + The silent stars go +by.<br> + Yet in thy dark streets shineth<br> + The everlasting +Light;<br> + The hopes and fears of all the +years<br> + Are met in thee +to-night.<br> +<br> + O morning stars, together<br> + Proclaim the holy +birth!<br> + And praises sing to God the King,<br> + And peace to men on +earth.<br> + For Christ is born of Mary,<br> + And gathered all +above;<br> + While mortals sleep the angels +keep<br> + Their watch of wondering +love.<br> +<br> + How silently, how silently,<br> + The wondrous gift is +given!<br> + So God imparts to human hearts<br> + The blessings of his +heaven.<br> + No ear may hear his coming;<br> + But in this world of +sin,<br> + Where meek souls will receive him +still,<br> + The dear Christ enters +in.<br> +<br> + Where children pure and happy<br> + Pray to the +blessèd Child,<br> + Where Misery cries out to thee,<br> + Son of the Mother +mild;<br> + Where Charity stands watching,<br> + And Faith holds wide the +door,<br> + The dark night wakes; the glory +breaks,<br> + And Christmas comes once +more.<br> +<br> + O holy Child of Bethlehem,<br> + Descend to us, we +pray!<br> + Cast out our sin and enter in;<br> + Be born in us to-day.<br> + We hear the Christmas angels<br> + The great glad tidings +tell;<br> + O come to us, abide with us,<br> + Our Lord Emmanuel!<br> +<br> + Copyrighted by E.P. Dutton and +Company, New York.</blockquote> +<br> +<a name="illus-2420.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/illus-2420.jpg"><img src= +"images/illus-2420.jpg" width="80%" alt=""></a><br> +<b>The Holy Child of Bethlehem</b></p> +<br> +<center>Photogravure from a Painting by H. Havenith.<br> +<br> +"Where children pure and happy<br> + Pray to the blessed Child."</center> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROOKS02"></a> +<h3>PERSONAL CHARACTER</h3> +<center>From 'Essays and Addresses'</center> +<br> +<p>As one looks around the world, and as one looks around our own +land to-day, he sees that the one thing we need in high places--the +thing whose absence, among those who hold the reins of highest +power, is making us all anxious with regard to the progress of the +country--is personal character. The trouble is not what we hold to +be mistaken ideas with regard to policies of government, but it is +the absence of lofty and unselfish character. It is the absence of +the complete consecration of a man's self to the public good; it is +the willingness of men to bring their personal and private spites +into spheres whose elevation ought to shame such things into +absolute death; the tendencies of men, even of men whom the nation +has put in very high places indeed, to count those high places +their privileges, and to try to draw from them, not help for +humanity and the community over which they rule, but their own mean +personal private advantage.</p> +<p>If there is any power that can elevate human character: if there +is any power which, without inspiring men with a supernatural +knowledge with regard to policies of government; without making men +solve all at once, intuitively, the intricacies of problems of +legislation with which they are called upon to deal; without making +men see instantly to the very heart of every matter; if there is +any power which could permeate to the very bottom of our community, +which would make men unselfish and true--why, the errors of men, +the mistakes men might make in their judgment, would not be an +obstacle in the way of the progress of this great nation in the +work which God has given her to do. They would make jolts, but +nothing more. Or in the course which God has appointed her to run +she would go to her true results. There is no power that man has +ever seen that can abide; there is no power of which man has ever +dreamed that can regenerate human character except religion; and +till the Christian religion, which is the religion of this +land--till the Christian religion shall have so far regenerated +human character in this land that multitudes of men shall act under +its high impulses and principles, so that the men who are not +inspired with them shall be shamed at least into an outward +conformity with them, there is no security for the great final +continuance of the nation.</p> +<p>Copyrighted by E.P. Dutton and Company, New York.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROOKS03"></a> +<h3>THE COURAGE OF OPINIONS</h3> +<center>From 'Essays and Addresses'</center> +<br> +<p>We have spoken of physical courage, or the courage of nerves; of +moral courage, or the courage of principles. Besides these there is +intellectual courage, or the courage of opinions. Let me say a few +words upon that, for surely there is nothing which we more need to +understand.</p> +<p>The ways in which people form their opinions are most +remarkable. Every man, when he begins his reasonable life, finds +certain general opinions current in the world. He is shaped by +these opinions in one way or another, either directly or by +reaction. If he is soft and plastic, like the majority of people, +he takes the opinions that are about him for his own. If he is +self-asserting and defiant, he takes the opposite of these opinions +and gives to them his vehement adherence. We know the two kinds +well, and as we ordinarily see them, the fault which is at the root +of both is intellectual cowardice. One man clings servilely to the +old ready-made opinions which he finds, because he is afraid of +being called rash and radical; another rejects the traditions of +his people from fear of being thought fearful, and timid, and a +slave. The results are very different: one is the tame conservative +and the other is the fiery iconoclast; but I beg you to see that +the cause in both cases is the same. Both are cowards. Both are +equally removed from that brave seeking of the truth which is not +set upon either winning or avoiding any name, which will take no +opinion for the sake of conformity and reject no opinion for the +sake of originality; which is free, therefore--free to gather its +own convictions, a slave neither to any compulsion nor to any +antagonism. Tell me, have you never seen two teachers, one of them +slavishly adopting old methods because he feared to be called +"imitator," the other crudely devising new plans because he was +afraid of seeming conservative, both of them really cowards, +neither of them really thinking out his work? ...</p> +<p>The great vice of our people in their relation to the politics +of the land is cowardice. It is not lack of intelligence: our +people know the meaning of political conditions with wonderful +sagacity. It is not low morality: the great mass of our people +apply high standards to the acts of public men. But it is +cowardice. It is the disposition of one part of our people to fall +in with current ways of working, to run with the mass; and of +another part to rush headlong into this or that new scheme or +policy of opposition, merely to escape the stigma of +conservatism.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROOKS04"></a> +<h3>LITERATURE AND LIFE</h3> +<center>From 'Essays and Addresses'</center> +<br> +<p>Life comes before literature, as the material always comes +before the work. The hills are full of marble before the world +blooms with statues. The forests are full of trees before the sea +is thick with ships. So the world abounds in life before men begin +to reason and describe and analyze and sing, and literature is +born. The fact and the action must come first. This is true in +every kind of literature. The mind and its workings are before the +metaphysician. Beauty and romance antedate the poet. The nations +rise and fall before the historian tells their story. Nature's +profusion exists before the first scientific book is written. Even +the facts of mathematics must be true before the first diagram is +drawn for their demonstration.</p> +<p>To own and recognize this priority of life is the first need of +literature. Literature which does not utter a life already +existent, more fundamental than itself, is shallow and unreal. I +had a schoolmate who at the age of twenty published a volume of +poems called 'Life-Memories.' The book died before it was born. +There were no real memories, because there had been no life. So +every science which does not utter investigated fact, every history +which does not tell of experience, every poetry which is not based +upon the truth of things, has no real life. It does not perish; it +is never born. Therefore men and nations must live before they can +make literature. Boys and girls do not write books. Oregon and Van +Diemen's Land produce no literature: they are too busy living. The +first attempts at literature of any country, as of our own, are apt +to be unreal and imitative and transitory, because life has not yet +accumulated and presented itself in forms which recommend +themselves to literature. The wars must come, the clamorous +problems must arise, the new types of character must be evolved, +the picturesque social complication must develop, a life must come, +and then will be the true time for a literature.... Literature +grows feeble and conceited unless it ever recognizes the priority +and superiority of life, and stands in genuine awe before the +greatness of the men and of the ages which have simply lived.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="CHARLES_BROWN"></a> +<h2>CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN</h2> +<h3>(1771-1810)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-n.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>ot only was Brockden Brown the first American man-of-letters +proper,--one writing for a living before we had any real literature +of our own,--but his work possessed a genuine power and originality +which gives it some claim to remembrance for its own sake. And it +is fair always to remember that a given product from a pioneer +indicates a far greater endowment than the same from one of a group +in a more developed age. The forerunner lacks not one thing only, +but many things, which help his successors. He lacks the mental +friction from, the emulation of, the competition with, other +writers; he lacks the stimulus and comfort of sympathetic +companionship; he lacks an audience to spur him on, and a market to +work for; lacks labor-saving conventions, training, and an +environment that heartens him instead of merely tolerating him. +Like Robinson Crusoe, he must make his tools before he can use +them. A meagre result may therefore be a proof of great +abilities.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/brown_c.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Charles B. Brown</b></p> +<p>The United States in 1800 was mentally and morally a colony of +Great Britain still. A few hundred thousand white families +scattered over about as many square miles of territory, much of it +refractory wilderness with more refractory inhabitants; with no +cities of any size, and no communication save by wretched roads or +by sailing vessels; no rich old universities for centres of +culture, and no rich leisured society to enjoy it; the energies of +the people perforce absorbed in subduing material obstacles, or +solidifying a political experiment disbelieved in by the very men +who organized it;--neither time nor materials existed then for an +independent literary life, which is the growth of security and +comfort and leisure if it embraces a whole society, or of endowed +college foundations and an aristocracy if it is only of the few. +Hence American society took its literary meals at the common table +of the English-speaking race, with little or no effort at a +separate establishment. There was much writing, but mostly polemic +or journalistic. When real literature was attempted, it consisted +in general of imitations of British essays, or fiction, or poetry; +and in the last two cases not even imitations of the best models in +either. The essays were modeled on Addison; the poetry on the heavy +imitators of Pope's heroics; the fiction either on the effusive +sentimentalists who followed Richardson, or on the +pseudo-Orientalists like Walpole and Lewis, or on the +pseudo-mediævalists like Mrs. Roche and Mrs. Radcliffe. This +sort of work filled the few literary periodicals of the day, but +was not read enough to make such publications profitable even then, +and is pretty much all unreadable now.</p> +<p>Charles Brockden Brown stands in marked contrast to these +second-hand weaklings, not only by his work but still more by his +method and temper. In actual achievement he did not quite fulfill +the promise of his early books, and cannot be set high among his +craft. He was an inferior artist; and though he achieved naturalism +of matter, he clung to the theatrical artificiality of style which +was in vogue. But if he had broken away from all traditions, he +could have gained no hearing whatever; he died young--twenty years +more might have left him a much greater figure; and he wrought in +disheartening loneliness of spirit. His accomplishment was that of +a pioneer. He was the first American author to see that the true +field for his fellows was America and not Europe. He realized, as +the genius of Châteaubriand realized at almost the same +moment, the artistic richness of the material which lay to hand in +the silent forest vastnesses, with their unfamiliar life of man and +beast, and their possibilities of mystery enough to satisfy the +most craving. He was not the equal of the author of 'The Natchez' +and 'Atala'; but he had a fresh and daring mind. He turned away +from both the emotional orgasms and the stage claptrap of his time, +to break ground for all future American novelists. He antedated +Cooper in the field of Indian life and character; and he entered +the regions of mystic supernaturalism and the disordered human +brain in advance of Hawthorne and Poe.</p> +<p>That his choice of material was neither chance nor blind +instinct, but deliberate judgment and insight, is shown by the +preface to 'Edgar Huntly,' in which he sets forth his views:--</p> +<blockquote>"America has opened new views to the naturalist and +politician, but has seldom furnished themes to the moral-pointer. +That new springs of action and new motives of curiosity should +operate, that the field of investigation opened to us by our own +country should differ essentially from those which exist in Europe, +may be readily conceived. The sources of amusement to the fancy and +instruction to the heart that are peculiar to ourselves are equally +numerous and inexhaustible. It is the purpose of this work to +profit by some of these sources, to exhibit a series of adventures +growing out of the conditions of our country, and connected with +one of the most common and wonderful diseases of the human frame. +Puerile superstition and exploded manners, Gothic castles and +chimeras, are the materials usually employed for this end. The +incidents of Indian hostility and the perils of the Western +wilderness are far more suitable, and for a native of America to +overlook these would admit of no apology. These therefore are in +part the ingredients of this tale."</blockquote> +<p>Brown's was an uneventful career. He was much given to solitary +rambles and musings, varied by social intercourse with a few +congenial friends and the companionship of his affectionate family, +and later, many hours spent at his writing-desk or in an editorial +chair.</p> +<p>He was born January 17th, 1771, in Philadelphia, of good Quaker +stock. A delicate boyhood, keeping him away from the more active +life of youths of his own age, fostered, a love for solitude and a +taste for reading. He received a good classical education; but poor +health prevented him from pursuing his studies at college. At his +family's wish he entered a law office instead; but the literary +instinct was strong within him. Literature at this time was +scarcely considered a profession. Magazine circulations were too +limited for publishers to pay for contributions, and all an author +usually got or expected to get was some copies to distribute among +his friends. To please his prudent home circle, Brown dallied for a +while with the law; but a visit to New York, where he was cordially +received by the members of the "Friendly Club," opened up avenues +of literary work to him, and he removed to New York in 1796 to +devote himself to it.</p> +<p>The first important work he produced was 'Wieland: or the +Transformation' (1798). It shows at the outset Brown's +characteristic traits--independence of British materials and +methods. It is in substance a powerful tale of ventriloquism +operating on an unbalanced and superstitious mind. Its psychology +is acute and searching; the characterization realistic and +effective. His second book, 'Ormond: or the Secret Witness' (1799), +does not reach the level of 'Wieland.' It is more conventional, and +not entirely independent of foreign models, especially Godwin, whom +Brown greatly admired. A rapid writer, he soon had the MS. of his +next novel in the hands of the publisher. The first part of 'Arthur +Mervyn: or Memoirs of the Year 1793' came out in 1799, and the +second part in 1800. It is the best known of his six novels. Though +the scene is laid in Philadelphia, Brown embodied in it his +experience of the yellow fever which raged in New York in 1799. The +passage describing this epidemic can stand beside Defoe's or Poe's +or Manzoni's similar descriptions, for power in setting forth the +horrors of the plague.</p> +<p>In the same year with the first volume of 'Arthur Mervyn' +appeared 'Edgar Huntly: or Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker.' Here he +deals with the wild life of nature, the rugged solitudes, and the +redskins, the field in which he was followed by Cooper. A thrilling +scene in which a panther is chief actor was long familiar to +American children in their school reading-books.</p> +<p>In 1801 came out his last two novels, 'Clara Howard: In a Series +of Letters,' and 'Jane Talbot.' They are a departure from his +previous work: instead of dealing with uncanny subjects they treat +of quiet domestic and social life. They show also a great advance +on his previous books in constructive art. In 1799 Brown became +editor of the Monthly Magazine and American Review, and contributed +largely to it.</p> +<p>In the autumn of 1801 he returned to Philadelphia, to assume the +editorship of Conrad's Literary Magazine and American Review. The +duties of this office suspended his own creative work, and he did +not live to take up again the novelist's stylus. In 1806 he became +editor of the Annual Register. His genuine literary force is best +proved by the fact that whatever periodical he took in charge, he +raised its standard of quality and made it a success for the +time.</p> +<p>He died in February, 1810. The work to which he had given the +greater part of his time and strength, especially toward the end of +his life, was in its nature not only transitory, but not of a sort +to keep his name alive. The magazines were children of a day, and +the editor's repute as such could hardly survive them long. The +fame which belongs to Charles Brockden Brown, grudgingly accorded +by a country that can ill afford to neglect one of its earliest, +most devoted, and most original workers, rests on his novels. +Judged by standards of the present day, these are far from +faultless. The facts are not very coherent, the diction is +artificial in the fashion of the day. But when all is said, Brown +was a rare story-teller; he interested his readers by the novelty +of his material, and he was quite objective in its treatment, never +obtruding his own personality. 'Wieland,' 'Edgar Huntly,' and +'Arthur Mervyn,' the trilogy of his best novels, are not to be +contemned; and he has the distinction of being in very truth the +pioneer of <i>American</i> letters.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWN01"></a> +<h3>WIELAND'S STATEMENT</h3> +<br> +<p>Theodore Wieland, the prisoner at the bar, was now called upon +for his defense. He looked around him for some time in silence, and +with a mild countenance. At length he spoke:--</p> +<p>It is strange: I am known to my judges and my auditors. Who is +there present a stranger to the character of Wieland? Who knows him +not as a husband, as a father, as a friend? Yet here am I arraigned +as a criminal. I am charged with diabolical malice; I am accused of +the murder of my wife and my children!</p> +<p>It is true, they were slain by me; they all perished by my hand. +The task of vindication is ignoble. What is it that I am called to +vindicate? and before whom?</p> +<p>You know that they are dead, and that they were killed by me. +What more would you have? Would you extort from me a statement of +my motives? Have you failed to discover them already? You charge me +with malice: but your eyes are not shut; your reason is still +vigorous; your memory has not forsaken you. You know whom it is +that you thus charge. The habits of his life are known to you; his +treatment of his wife and his offspring is known to you; the +soundness of his integrity and the unchangeableness of his +principles are familiar to your apprehension: yet you persist in +this charge! You lead me hither manacled as a felon; you deem me +worthy of a vile and tormenting death!</p> +<p>Who are they whom I have devoted to death? My wife--the little +ones that drew their being from me--that creature who, as she +surpassed them in excellence, claimed a larger affection than those +whom natural affinities bound to my heart. Think ye that malice +could have urged me to this deed? Hide your audacious fronts from +the scrutiny of heaven. Take refuge in some cavern unvisited by +human eyes. Ye may deplore your wickedness or folly, but ye cannot +expiate it.</p> +<p>Think not that I speak for your sakes. Hug to your hearts this +detestable infatuation. Deem me still a murderer, and drag me to +untimely death. I make not an effort to dispel your illusion; I +utter not a word to cure you of your sanguinary folly: but there +are probably some in this assembly who have come from far; for +their sakes, whose distance has disabled them from knowing me, I +will tell what I have done, and why.</p> +<p>It is needless to say that God is the object of my supreme +passion. I have cherished in his presence a single and upright +heart. I have thirsted for the knowledge of his will. I have burnt +with ardor to approve my faith and my obedience. My days have been +spent in searching for the revelation of that will; but my days +have been mournful, because my search failed. I solicited +direction; I turned on every side where glimmerings of light could +be discovered. I have not been wholly uninformed; but my knowledge +has always stopped short of certainty. Dissatisfaction has +insinuated itself into all my thoughts. My purposes have been pure, +my wishes indefatigable; but not till lately were these purposes +thoroughly accomplished and these wishes fully gratified.</p> +<p>I thank Thee, my Father, for Thy bounty; that Thou didst not ask +a less sacrifice than this; that Thou placedst me in a condition to +testify my submission to Thy will! What have I withheld which it +was Thy pleasure to exact? Now may I, with dauntless and erect eye, +claim my reward, since I have given Thee the treasure of my +soul.</p> +<p>I was at my own house; it was late in the evening; my sister had +gone to the city, but proposed to return. It was in expectation of +her return that my wife and I delayed going to bed beyond the usual +hour; the rest of the family, however, were retired. My mind was +contemplative and calm--not wholly devoid of apprehension on +account of my sister's safety. Recent events, not easily explained, +had suggested the existence of some danger; but this danger was +without a distinct form in our imagination, and scarcely ruffled +our tranquillity.</p> +<p>Time passed, and my sister did not arrive. Her house is at some +distance from mine, and though her arrangements had been made with +a view of residing with us, it was possible that through +forgetfulness, or the occurrence of unforeseen emergencies, she had +returned to her own dwelling.</p> +<p>Hence it was conceived proper that I should ascertain the truth +by going thither. I went. On my way my mind was full of those ideas +which related to my intellectual condition. In the torrent of +fervid conceptions I lost sight of my purpose. Sometimes I stood +still; sometimes I wandered from my path, and experienced some +difficulty, on recovering from my fit of musing, to regain it.</p> +<p>The series of my thoughts is easily traced. At first every vein +beat with raptures known only to the man whose parental and +conjugal love is without limits, and the cup of whose desires, +immense as it is, overflows with gratification. I know not why +emotions that were perpetual visitants should now have recurred +with unusual energy. The transition was not new from sensations of +joy to a consciousness of gratitude. The Author of my being was +likewise the dispenser of every gift with which that being was +embellished. The service to which a benefactor like this was +entitled could not be circumscribed. My social sentiments were +indebted to their alliance with devotion for all their value. All +passions are base, all joys feeble, all energies malignant, which +are not drawn from this source.</p> +<p>For a time my contemplations soared above earth and its +inhabitants. I stretched forth my hands; I lifted my eyes, and +exclaimed, "Oh, that I might be admitted to thy presence! that mine +were the supreme delight of knowing Thy will and of performing +it!--the blissful privilege of direct communication with Thee, and +of listening to the audible enunciation of Thy pleasure!</p> +<p>"What task would I not undertake, what privation would I not +cheerfully endure, to testify my love of Thee? Alas! Thou hidest +Thyself from my view; glimpses only of Thy excellence and beauty +are afforded me. Would that a momentary emanation from Thy glory +would visit me! that some unambiguous token of Thy presence would +salute my senses!"</p> +<p>In this mood I entered the house of my sister. It was vacant. +Scarcely had I regained recollection of the purpose that brought me +hither. Thoughts of a different tendency had such an absolute +possession of my mind, that the relations of time and space were +almost obliterated from my understanding. These wanderings, +however, were restrained, and I ascended to her chamber. I had no +light, and might have known by external observation that the house +was without any inhabitant. With this, however, I was not +satisfied. I entered the room, and the object of my search not +appearing, I prepared to return. The darkness required some caution +in descending the stair. I stretched out my hand to seize the +balustrade, by which I might regulate my steps. How shall I +describe the lustre which at that moment burst upon my vision?</p> +<p>I was dazzled. My organs were bereaved of their activity. My +eyelids were half closed, and my hands withdrawn from the +balustrade. A nameless fear chilled my veins, and I stood +motionless. This irradiation did not retire or lessen. It seemed as +if some powerful effulgence covered me like a mantle. I opened my +eyes and found all about me luminous and glowing. It was the +element of heaven that flowed around. Nothing but a fiery stream +was at first visible; but anon a shrill voice from behind called +upon me to attend.</p> +<p>I turned. It is forbidden to describe what I saw: words, indeed, +would be wanting to the task. The lineaments of that Being whose +veil was now lifted and whose visage beamed upon my sight, no hues +of pencil or of language can portray. As it spoke, the accents +thrilled to my heart:--"Thy prayers are heard. In proof of thy +faith, render me thy wife. This is the victim I choose. Call her +hither, and here let her fall." The sound and visage and light +vanished at once.</p> +<p>What demand was this? The blood of Catharine was to be shed! My +wife was to perish by my hand! I sought opportunity to attest my +virtue. Little did I expect that a proof like this would have been +demanded.</p> +<p>"My wife!" I exclaimed: "O God! substitute some other victim. +Make me not the butcher of my wife. My own blood is cheap. This +will I pour out before Thee with a willing heart; but spare, I +beseech Thee, this precious life, or commission some other than her +husband to perform the bloody deed."</p> +<p>In vain. The conditions were prescribed; the decree had gone +forth, and nothing remained but to execute it. I rushed out of the +house and across the intermediate fields, and stopped not till I +entered my own parlor. My wife had remained here during my absence, +in anxious expectation of my return with some tidings of her +sister. I had none to communicate. For a time I was breathless with +my speed. This, and the tremors that shook my frame, and the +wildness of my looks, alarmed her. She immediately suspected some +disaster to have happened to her friend, and her own speech was as +much overpowered by emotion as mine. She was silent, but her looks +manifested her impatience to hear what I had to communicate. I +spoke, but with so much precipitation as scarcely to be understood; +catching her at the same time by the arm, and forcibly pulling her +from her seat.</p> +<p>"Come along with me; fly; waste not a moment; time will be lost, +and the deed will be omitted. Tarry not, question not, but fly with +me."</p> +<p>This deportment added afresh to her alarms. Her eyes pursued +mine, and she said, "What is the matter? For God's sake, what is +the matter? Where would you have me go?"</p> +<p>My eyes were fixed upon her countenance while she spoke. I +thought upon her virtues; I viewed her as the mother of my babes; +as my wife. I recalled the purpose for which I thus urged her +attendance. My heart faltered, and I saw that I must rouse to this +work all my faculties. The danger of the least delay was +imminent.</p> +<p>I looked away from her, and, again exerting my force, drew her +toward the door. "You must go with me; indeed you must."</p> +<p>In her fright she half resisted my efforts, and again exclaimed, +"Good heaven! what is it you mean? Where go? What has happened? +Have you found Clara?"</p> +<p>"Follow me and you will see," I answered, still urging her +reluctant steps forward.</p> +<p>"What frenzy has seized you? Something must needs have happened. +Is she sick? Have you found her?"</p> +<p>"Come and see. Follow me and know for yourself."</p> +<p>Still she expostulated and besought me to explain this +mysterious behavior. I could not trust myself to answer her, to +look at her; but grasping her arm, I drew her after me. She +hesitated, rather through confusion of mind than from unwillingness +to accompany me. This confusion gradually abated, and she moved +forward, but with irresolute footsteps and continual exclamations +of wonder and terror. Her interrogations of "What was the matter?" +and "Whither was I going?" were ceaseless and vehement.</p> +<p>It was the scope of my efforts not to think; to keep up a +conflict and uproar in my mind in which all order and distinctness +should be lost; to escape from the sensations produced by her +voice. I was therefore silent. I strove to abridge this interval by +haste, and to waste all my attention in furious gesticulations.</p> +<p>In this state of mind we reached my sister's door. She looked at +the windows and saw that all was desolate. "Why come we here? There +is nobody here. I will not go in."</p> +<p>Still I was dumb; but, opening the door, I drew her into the +entry. This was the allotted scene; here she was to fall. I let go +her hand, and pressing my palms against my forehead, made one +mighty effort to work up my soul to the deed.</p> +<p>In vain; it would not be; my courage was appalled, my arms +nerveless. I muttered prayers that my strength might be aided from +above. They availed nothing.</p> +<p>Horror diffused itself over me. This conviction of my cowardice, +my rebellion, fastened upon me, and I stood rigid and cold as +marble. From this state I was somewhat relieved by my wife's voice, +who renewed her supplications to be told why we come hither and +what was the fate of my sister....</p> +<p>The fellness of a gloomy hurricane but faintly resembled the +discord that reigned in my mind. To omit this sacrifice must not +be; yet my sinews had refused to perform it. No alternative was +offered. To rebel against the mandate was impossible; but obedience +would render me the executioner of my wife. My will was strong, but +my limbs refused their office.</p> +<p>That accents and looks so winning should disarm me of my +resolution was to be expected. My thoughts were thrown anew into +anarchy. I spread my hand before my eyes that I might not see her, +and answered only by groans. She took my other hand between hers, +and pressing it to her heart, spoke with that voice which had ever +swayed my will and wafted away sorrow:--</p> +<p>"My friend! my soul's friend! tell me thy cause of grief. Do I +not merit to partake with thee in thy cares? Am I not thy +wife?"</p> +<p>This was too much. I broke from her embrace and retired to a +corner of the room. In this pause, courage was once more infused +into me. I resolved to execute my duty. She followed me, and +renewed her passionate entreaties to know the cause of my distress. +I raised my head and regarded her with steadfast looks. I muttered +something about death, and the injunctions of my duty. At these +words she shrunk back, and looked at me with a new expression of +anguish. After a pause, she clasped her hands, and +exclaimed:---</p> +<p>"O Wieland! Wieland! God grant that I am mistaken! but something +surely is wrong. I see it; it is too plain; thou art undone--lost +to me and to thyself." At the same time she gazed on my features +with intensest anxiety, in hope that different symptoms would take +place. I replied to her with vehemence:--</p> +<p>"Undone! No; my duty is known, and I thank my God that my +cowardice is now vanquished and I have power to fulfill it. +Catharine, I pity the weakness of thy nature; I pity thee, but must +not spare. Thy life is claimed from my hands; thou must die!"</p> +<p>Fear was now added to her grief. "What mean you? Why talk you of +death? Bethink yourself, Wieland; bethink yourself, and this fit +will pass. Oh, why came I hither? Why did you drag me hither?"</p> +<p>"I brought thee hither to fulfill a divine command. I am +appointed thy destroyer, and destroy thee I must." Saying this, I +seized her wrists. She shrieked aloud, and endeavored to free +herself from my grasp; but her efforts were vain.</p> +<p>"Surely, surely, Wieland, thou dost not mean it. Am I not thy +wife? and wouldst thou kill me? Thou wilt not; and yet--I see--thou +art Wieland no longer! A fury resistless and horrible possesses +thee. Spare me--spare--help--help--"</p> +<p>Till her breath was stopped she shrieked for help, for mercy. +When she could speak no longer, her gestures, her looks appealed to +my compassion. My accursed hand was irresolute and tremulous. I +meant thy death to be sudden, thy struggles to be brief. Alas! my +heart was infirm, my resolves mutable. Thrice I slackened my grasp, +and life kept its hold, though in the midst of pangs. Her eyeballs +started from their sockets. Grimness and distortion took the place +of all that used to bewitch me into transport and subdue me into +reverence. I was commissioned to kill thee, but not to torment thee +with the foresight of thy death; not to multiply thy fears and +prolong thy agonies. Haggard and pale and lifeless, at length thou +ceasedst to contend with thy destiny.</p> +<p>This was the moment of triumph. Thus had I successfully subdued +the stubbornness of human passions: the victim which had been +demanded was given; the deed was done past recall.</p> +<p>I lifted the corpse in my arms and laid it on the bed. I gazed +upon it with delight. Such was the elation of my thoughts that I +even broke into laughter. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "It is +done! My sacred duty is fulfilled! To that I have sacrificed, O my +God, Thy last and best gift, my wife!"</p> +<p>For a while I thus soared above frailty. I imagined I had set +myself forever beyond the reach of selfishness; but my imaginations +were false. This rapture quickly subsided. I looked again at my +wife. My joyous ebullitions vanished, and I asked myself who it was +whom I saw. Methought it could not be Catharine. It could not be +the woman who had lodged for years in my heart; who had slept +nightly in my bosom; who had borne in her womb, who had fostered at +her breast, the beings who called me father; whom I have watched +with delight, and cherished with a fondness ever new and +perpetually growing; it could not be the same. Where was her bloom? +These deadly and blood-suffused orbs but ill resemble the azure and +ecstatic tenderness of her eyes. The lucid stream that meandered +over that bosom, the glow of love that was wont to sit upon that +cheek, are much unlike these livid stains and this hideous +deformity. Alas! these were the traces of agony; the gripe of the +assassin had been here!</p> +<p>I will not dwell upon my lapse into desperate and outrageous +sorrow. The breath of heaven that sustained me was withdrawn, and I +sunk into <i>mere man</i>. I leaped from the floor; I dashed my +head against the wall; I uttered screams of horror; I panted after +torment and pain. Eternal fire and the bickerings of hell, compared +with what I felt, were music and a bed of roses.</p> +<p>I thank my God that this degeneracy was transient--that He +deigned once more to raise me aloft. I thought upon what I had done +as a sacrifice to duty, and <i>was calm</i>. My wife was dead; but +I reflected that though this source of human consolation was +closed, yet others were still open. If the transports of a husband +were no more, the feelings of a father had still scope for +exercise. When remembrance of their mother should excite too keen a +pang, I would look upon them and <i>be comforted</i>.</p> +<p>While I revolved these ideas, new warmth flowed in upon my +heart. I was wrong. These feelings were the growth of selfishness. +Of this I was not aware; and to dispel the mist that obscured my +perceptions, a new effulgence and a new mandate were necessary. +From these thoughts I was recalled by a ray that was shot into the +room. A voice spake like that which I had before heard:--"Thou hast +done well. But all is not done--the sacrifice is incomplete--thy +children must be offered--they must perish with their +mother!--"</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>Thou, Omnipotent and Holy! Thou knowest that my actions were +conformable to Thy will. I know not what is crime; what actions are +evil in their ultimate and comprehensive tendency, or what are +good. Thy knowledge, as Thy power, is unlimited. I have taken Thee +for my guide, and cannot err. To the arms of Thy protection I +intrust my safety. In the awards of Thy justice I confide for my +recompense.</p> +<p>Come death when it will, I am safe. Let calumny and abhorrence +pursue me among men; I shall not be defrauded of my dues. The peace +of virtue and the glory of obedience will be my portion +hereafter.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="JOHN_BROWN"></a> +<h2>JOHN BROWN</h2> +<h3>(1810-1882)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-j.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>ohn Brown, the son of a secession-church minister, was born in +Biggar, Lanarkshire, Scotland, September 22d, 1810, and died in +Edinburgh, May 11th, 1882. He was educated at the Edinburgh High +School and at the University, and graduated in medicine in 1833. +For a time he was a surgeon's assistant to the great Dr. Syme, the +man of whom he said "he never wasted a drop of ink or blood," and +whose character he has drawn in one of his most charming +biographies. When he began to practice for himself he gradually +"got into a good connection," and his patients made him their +confidant and adviser. He was considered a fine doctor too, for he +had remarkable common-sense, and was said to be unerring in +diagnosis.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/brown_j.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>John Brown</b></p> +<p>Dr. Brown did not, as is commonly believed, dislike his +profession; but later on he took a view of it which seemed +non-progressive, and his success as a writer no doubt interfered +with his practice. His friend Professor Masson draws a pleasant +picture of him when he first settled in practice, as a dark-haired +man with soft, fine eyes and a benignant manner, the husband of a +singularly beautiful woman, and much liked and sought after in the +social circles of Edinburgh. This was partly owing to the charm of +his conversation, and partly to the literary reputation he had +achieved through some articles on the Academy exhibition and on +local artists. Though he had little technical training, he had an +eye for color and form, an appreciation of the artist's meaning, +and an instinct for discovering genius, as in the case of Noel +Paton and David Scott. He soon became an authority among artists, +and he gave a new impulse to national art.</p> +<p>He contributed largely to the North British Review. In 1855 he +published 'Horæ Subsceivæ,' which contained, among +medical biography and medico-literary papers, the immortal Scotch +idyl, 'Rab and his Friends.' Up to this time the unique personality +of the doctor, with its delightful mixture of humor and sympathy, +was known only to his own circle. The appearance of 'Rab and his +Friends' revealed it to the world. Brief as it is in form, and +simple in outline, Scotland has produced nothing so full of pure, +pathetic genius since Scott.</p> +<p>Another volume of 'Horæ Subsceivæ' appeared two +years after, and some selections from it, and others from +unpublished manuscript, were printed separately in the volume +entitled 'Spare Hours.' They met with instant and unprecedented +success. In a short time ten thousand copies of 'Minchmoor' and +'James the Doorkeeper' were sold, fifteen thousand copies of 'Pet +Marjorie,' and 'Rab' had reached its fiftieth thousand. With all +this success and praise, and constantly besought by publishers for +his work, he could not be persuaded that his writings were of any +permanent value, and was reluctant to publish. In 1882 appeared a +third volume of the 'Horæ Subsceivæ,' which included +all his writings. A few weeks after its publication he died.</p> +<p>The Doctor's medical essays, which are replete with humor, are +written in defense of his special theory, the distinction between +the active and the speculative mind. He thought there was too much +science and too little intuitive sagacity in the world, and looked +back longingly to the old-time common-sense, which he believed +modern science had driven away. His own mind was anti-speculative, +although he paid just tributes to philosophy and science and +admired their achievements. He stigmatized the speculations of the +day as the "lust of innovation." But the reader cares little for +the opinions of Dr. Brown as arguments: his subject is of little +consequence if he will but talk. By the charm of his story-telling +these dead Scotch doctors are made to live again. The death-bed of +Syme, for instance, is as pathetic as the wonderful paper on +Thackeray's death; and to-day many a heart is sore for 'Pet +Marjorie,' the ten-year-old child who died in Scotland almost a +hundred years ago.</p> +<p>As an essayist, Dr. Brown belongs to the followers of Addison +and Charles Lamb, and he blends humor, pathos, and quiet +hopefulness with a grave and earnest dignity. He delighted, not +like Lamb "in the habitable parts of the earth," but in the lonely +moorlands and pastoral hills, over which his silent, stalwart +shepherds walked with swinging stride. He had a keen appreciation +for anything he felt to be excellent: his usual question concerning +a stranger, either in literature or life, was "Has he wecht, +sir?"--quoting Dr. Chalmers; and when he wanted to give the highest +praise, he said certain writing was "strong meat." He had a warm +enthusiasm for the work of other literary men: an artist himself, +he was quick to appreciate and seize upon the witty thing or the +excellent thing wherever he found it, and he was eager to share his +pleasure with the whole world. He reintroduced to the public Henry +Vaughn, the quaint seventeenth-century poet; he wrote a sympathetic +memoir of Arthur Hallam; he imported 'Modern Painters,' and +enlightened Edinburgh as to its merits. His art papers were what +Walter Pater would call "appreciations,"--that is to say, he dwelt +upon the beauties of what he described rather than upon the +defects. What he did not admire he left alone.</p> +<p>As the author of 'Rab' loved the lonely glens on Minchmoor and +in the Enterkin, or where Queen Mary's "baby garden" shows its +box-row border among the Spanish chestnuts of Lake Monteith, so he +loved the Scottish character, "bitter to the taste and sweet to the +diaphragm": "Jeemes" the beadle, with his family worship when he +himself was all the family; the old Aberdeen Jacobite people; Miss +Stirling Graham of Duntrune, who in her day bewitched Edinburgh; +Rab, Ailie, and Bob Ainslie. His characters are oddities, but are +drawn without a touch of cynicism. What an amount of playful, +wayward nonsense lies between these pages, and what depths of +melancholy under the fun! Like Sir Walter, he had a great love for +dogs, and never went out unaccompanied by one or two of them. They +are the heroes of several of his sketches.</p> +<p>Throughout the English-speaking world, he was affectionately +known as Dr. John Brown of Edinburgh. He stood aloof from political +and ecclesiastical controversies, and was fond of telling a story +to illustrate how little reasoning went to forming partisans. A +minister catechizing a raw plowboy, after asking the first +question, "Who made you?" and getting the answer "God," asked him, +"How do you know that God made you?" After some pause and +head-scratching, the reply came, "Weel, sir, it's the clash [common +talk] o' the kintry." "Ay," Brown added, "I'm afraid that a deal of +our belief is founded on just 'the clash o' the kintry.'"</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWN11"></a> +<h3>MARJORIE FLEMING</h3> +<center>From 'Spare Hours'</center> +<br> +<p>One November afternoon in 1810--the year in which 'Waverley' was +resumed and laid aside again, to be finished off, its last two +volumes in three weeks, and made immortal in 1814; and when its +author, by the death of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting a +civil appointment in India--three men, evidently lawyers, might +have been seen escaping like schoolboys from the Parliament House, +and speeding arm-in-arm down Bank Street and the Mound in the teeth +of a surly blast of sleet.</p> +<p>The three friends sought the <i>bield</i> of the low wall old +Edinburgh boys remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they +struggle with the stout west wind....</p> +<p>The third we all know. What has he not done for every one of us? +Who else ever, except Shakespeare, so diverted mankind, entertained +and entertains a world so liberally, so wholesomely? We are fain to +say not even Shakespeare, for his is something deeper than +diversion, something higher than pleasure; and yet who would care +to split this hair?</p> +<p>Had any one watched him closely before and after the parting, +what a change he would see! The bright, broad laugh, the shrewd, +jovial word, the man of the Parliament House and of the world; and +next step, moody, the light of his eye withdrawn, as if seeing +things that were invisible; his shut mouth like a child's, so +impressionable, so innocent, so sad; he was now all within, as +before he was all without; hence his brooding look. As the snow +blattered in his face, he muttered, "How it raves and drifts! +On-ding o' snaw,--ay, that's the word,--on-ding--" He was now at +his own door, "Castle Street, No. 39." He opened the door and went +straight to his den; that wondrous workshop, where in one year, +1823, when he was fifty-two, he wrote 'Peveril of the Peak,' +'Quentin Durward,' and 'St. Ronan's Well,' besides much else. We +once took the foremost of our novelists--the greatest, we would +say, since Scott--into this room, and could not but mark the +solemnizing effect of sitting where the great magician sat so often +and so long, and looking out upon that little shabby bit of sky, +and that back green where faithful dog Camp lies.</p> +<p>He sat down in his large green morocco elbow-chair, drew himself +close to his table, and glowered and gloomed at his writing +apparatus, "a very handsome old box, richly carved, lined with +crimson velvet, and containing ink-bottles, taper-stand, etc., in +silver, the whole in such order that it might have come from the +silversmith's window half an hour before." He took out his paper, +then starting up angrily, said, "'Go spin, you jade, go spin.' No, +d---- it, it won't do,--</p> +<blockquote>"'My spinnin' wheel is auld and stiff,<br> + The rock o't wunna stand, sir;<br> +To keep the temper-pin in tiff<br> + Employs ower aft my hand, sir.'</blockquote> +<p>I am off the fang. I can make nothing of 'Waverley' to-day; I'll +awa' to Marjorie. Come wi' me, Maida, you thief." The great +creature rose slowly, and the pair were off, Scott taking a +<i>maud</i> (a plaid) with him. "White as a frosted plum-cake, by +jingo!" said he, when he got to the street. Maida gamboled and +whisked among the snow, and his master strode across to Young +Street, and through it to 1 North Charlotte Street, to the house of +his dear friend, Mrs. William Keith, of Corstorphine Hill; niece of +Mrs. Keith of Ravelston, of whom he said at her death, eight years +after, "Much tradition, and that of the best, has died with this +excellent old lady, one of the few persons whose spirits, and +<i>cleanliness</i> and freshness of mind and body, made old age +lovely and desirable."</p> +<p>Sir Walter was in that house almost every day, and had a key, so +in he and the hound went, shaking themselves in the lobby. +"Marjorie! Marjorie!" shouted her friend, "where are ye, my bonnie +wee croodlin' doo?" In a moment a bright, eager child of seven was +in his arms, and he was kissing her all over. Out came Mrs. Keith. +"Come your ways in, Wattie." "No, not now. I am going to take +Marjorie wi' me, and you may come to your tea in Duncan Roy's +sedan, and bring the bairn home in your lap." "Tak' Marjorie, and +it <i>on-ding o' snaw</i>!" said Mrs. Keith. He said to himself, +"On-ding,'--that's odd,--that is the very word. Hoot, awa'! look +here," and he displayed the corner of his plaid, made to hold lambs +[the true shepherd's plaid, consisting of two breadths sewed +together, and uncut at one end, making a poke or +<i>cul-de-sac</i>]. "Tak' your lamb," said she, laughing at the +contrivance, and so the Pet was first well happit up, and then put, +laughing silently, into the plaid neuk, and the shepherd strode off +with his lamb,--Maida gamboling through the snow, and running races +in her mirth.</p> +<p>Didn't he face "the angry airt," and make her bield his bosom, +and into his own room with her, and lock the door, and out with the +warm rosy little wifie, who took it all with great composure! There +the two remained for three or more hours, making the house ring +with their laughter; you can fancy the big man's and Maidie's +laugh. Having made the fire cheery, he set her down in his ample +chair, and standing sheepishly before her, began to say his lesson, +which happened to be,--"Ziccotty, diccotty, dock, the mouse ran up +the clock; the clock struck one, down the mouse ran, ziccotty, +diccotty, dock." This done repeatedly till she was pleased, she +gave him his new lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it upon her +small fingers,--he saying it after her,--</p> +<blockquote>"Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven;<br> +Alibi, crackaby, ten and eleven;<br> +Pin, pan, musky dan;<br> +Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, twenty-wan;<br> +Eerie, orie, ourie,<br> +You, are, out."</blockquote> +<p>He pretended to great difficulty, and she rebuked him with most +comical gravity, treating him as a child. He used to say that when +he came to Alibi Crackaby he broke down, and Pin-Pan, Musky-Dan, +Tweedle-um Twoddle-um made him roar with laughter. He said +Musky-Dan especially was beyond endurance, bringing up an Irishman +and his hat fresh from the Spice Islands and odoriferous Ind; she +getting quite bitter in her displeasure at his ill behavior and +stupidness.</p> +<p>Then he would read ballads to her in his own glorious way, the +two getting wild with excitement over 'Gil Morrice' or the 'Baron +of Smailholm'; and he would take her on his knee, and make her +repeat Constance's speech in 'King John,' till he swayed to and +fro, sobbing his fill....</p> +<p>Scott used to say that he was amazed at her power over him, +saying to Mrs. Keith, "She's the most extraordinary creature I ever +met with, and her repeating of Shakespeare overpowers me as nothing +else does."</p> +<p>Thanks to the unforgetting sister of this dear child, who has +much of the sensibility and fun of her who has been in her small +grave these fifty and more years, we have now before us the letters +and journals of Pet Marjorie,--before us lies and gleams her rich +brown hair, bright and sunny as if yesterday's, with the words on +the paper, "Cut out in her last illness," and two pictures of her +by her beloved Isabella, whom she worshiped; there are the faded +old scraps of paper, hoarded still, over which her warm breath and +her warm little heart had poured themselves; there is the old +water-mark, "Lingard, 1808." The two portraits are very like each +other, but plainly done at different times; it is a chubby, healthy +face, deep-set, brooding eyes, as eager to tell what is going on +within as to gather in all the glories from without; quick with the +wonder and the pride of life; they are eyes that would not be soon +satisfied with seeing; eyes that would devour their object, and yet +childlike and fearless. And that is a mouth that will not be soon +satisfied with love; it has a curious likeness to Scott's own, +which has always appeared to us his sweetest, most mobile and +speaking feature.</p> +<p>There she is, looking straight at us as she did at +him,--fearless and full of love, passionate, wild, willful, fancy's +child.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>There was an old servant, Jeanie Robertson, who was forty years +in her grandfather's family. Marjorie Fleming--or as she is called +in the letters and by Sir Walter, Maidie--was the last child she +kept. Jeanie's wages never exceeded £3 a year, and when she +left service she had saved £40. She was devotedly attached to +Maidie, rather despising and ill-using her sister Isabella, a +beautiful and gentle child. This partiality made Maidie apt at +times to domineer over Isabella. "I mention this," writes her +surviving sister, "for the purpose of telling you an instance of +Maidie's generous justice. When only five years old, when walking +in Raith grounds, the two children had run on before, and old +Jeanie remembered they might come too near a dangerous mill-lade. +She called to them to turn back. Maidie heeded her not, rushed all +the faster on, and fell, and would have been lost, had her sister +not pulled her back, saving her life, but tearing her clothes. +Jeanie flew on Isabella to 'give it her' for spoiling her +favorite's dress; Maidie rushed in between, crying out, 'Pay (whip) +Maidie as much as you like, and I'll not say one word; but touch +Isy, and I'll roar like a bull!' Years after Maidie was resting in +her grave, my mother used to take me to the place, and told the +story always in the exact same words." This Jeanie must have been a +character. She took great pride in exhibiting Maidie's brother +William's Calvinistic acquirements when nineteen months old, to the +officers of a militia regiment then quartered in Kirkcaldy. This +performance was so amusing that it was often repeated, and the +little theologian was presented by them with a cap and feathers. +Jeanie's glory was "putting him through the carritch" (catechism) +in broad Scotch, beginning at the beginning with "Wha made ye, ma +bonnie man?" For the correctness of this and the three next +replies, Jeanie had no anxiety; but the tone changed to menace, and +the closed <i>nieve</i> (fist) was shaken in the child's face as +she demanded, "Of what are you made?" "DIRT," was the answer +uniformly given. "Wull ye never learn to say <i>dust</i>, ye thrawn +deevil?" with a cuff from the opened hand, was the as inevitable +rejoinder.</p> +<p>Here is Maidie's first letter, before she was six, the spelling +unaltered, and there are no "commoes."</p> +<p> "MY DEAR ISA--I now sit down to answer all your kind +and<br> +beloved letters which you was so good as to write to me. This is +the first time I ever wrote a letter in my Life. There are a great +many Girls in the Square and they cry just like a pig when we are +under the painfull necessity of putting it to Death. Miss Potune a +Lady of my acquaintance praises me dreadfully. I repeated something +out of Dean Swift and she said I was fit for the stage and you may +think I was primmed up with majestick Pride but upon my word I felt +myselfe turn a little birsay--birsay is a word which is a word that +William composed which is as you may suppose a little enraged. This +horrid fat simpliton says that my Aunt is beautifull which is +intirely impossible for that is not her nature."</p> +<br> +<p>What a peppery little pen we wield! What could that have been +out of the sardonic Dean? what other child of that age would have +used "beloved" as she does? This power of affection, this faculty +of <i>be</i>loving, and wild hunger to be beloved, comes out more +and more. She periled her all upon it, and it may have been as +well--we know, indeed, that it was far better--for her that this +wealth of love was so soon withdrawn to its one only infinite Giver +and Receiver. This must have been the law of her earthly life. Love +was indeed "her Lord and King"; and it was perhaps well for her +that she found so soon that her and our only Lord and King Himself +is Love. Here are bits from her Diary at Braehead:--</p> +<p>"The day of my existence here has been delightful and +enchanting. On Saturday I expected no less than three well-made +Bucks the names of whom is here advertised. Mr. Geo. Crakey +[Craigie], and Wm. Keith and Jn. Keith--the first is the funniest +of every one of them. Mr. Crakey and I walked to Crakyhall +[Craigiehall] hand in hand in Innocence and matitation [meditation] +sweet thinking on the kind love which flows in our tender hearted +mind which is overflowing with majestic pleasure no one was ever so +polite to me in the hole state of my existence. Mr. Craky you +must-know is a great Buck and pretty good-looking."</p> +<p>"I am at Ravelston enjoying nature's fresh air. The birds are +singing sweetly--the calf doth frisk and nature shows her glorious +face."</p> +<p>Here is a confession:</p> +<p>"I confess I have been very more like a little young divil than +a creature for when Isabella went up stairs to teach me religion +and my multiplication and to be good and all my other lessons I +stamped with my foot and threw my new hat which she had made on the +ground and was sulky and was dreadfully passionate, but she never +whiped me but said Marjory go into another room and think what a +great crime you are committing letting your temper git the better +of you. But I went so sulkily that the Devil got the better of me +but she never never never whips me so that I think I would be the +better of it and the next time that I behave ill I think she should +do it for she never does it.... Isabella has given me praise for +checking my temper for I was sulky even when she was kneeling an +hole hour teaching me to write."</p> +<p>Our poor little wifie, <i>she</i> has no doubts of the +personality of the Devil!--"Yesterday I behave extremely ill in +God's most holy church for I would never attend myself nor let +Isabella attend which was a great crime for she often, often tells +me that when to or three are geathered together God is in the midst +of them, and it was the very same Divil that tempted Job that +tempted me I am sure; but he resisted Satan though he had boils and +many many other misfortunes which I have escaped.... I am now going +to tell you the horible and wretched plaege that my multiplication +gives me you can't conceive it the most Devilish thing is 8 times 8 +and 7 times 7 it is what nature itself cant endure."</p> +<p>This is delicious; and what harm is there in her "Devilish"? it +is strong language merely; even old Rowland Hill used to say "he +grudged the Devil those rough and ready words." "I walked to that +delightful place Crakyhall with a delightful young man beloved by +all his friends especially by me his loveress, but I must not talk +any more about him for Isa said it is not proper for to speak of +gentalmen but I will never forget him! ... I am very very glad that +satan has not given me boils and many other misfortunes--In the +holy bible these words are written that the Devil goes like a +roaring lyon in search of his pray but the lord lets us escape from +him but we" (<i>pauvre petite</i>!) "do not strive with this awfull +Spirit.... To-day I pronounced a word which should never come out +of a lady's lips it was that I called John a Impudent Bitch. I will +tell you what I think made me in so bad a humor is I got one or two +of that bad sina [senna] tea to-day,"--a better excuse for bad +humor and bad language than most.</p> +<p>She has been reading the Book of Esther:--"It was a dreadful +thing that Haman was hanged on the very gallows which he had +prepared for Mordecai to hang him and his ten sons thereon and it +was very wrong and cruel to hang his sons for they did not commit +the crime; <i>but then Jesus was not then come to teach us to be +merciful</i>." This is wise and beautiful,--has upon it the very +dew of youth and holiness. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings +He perfects his praise.</p> +<p>"This is Saturday and I am very glad of it because I have play +half the Day and I get money too but alas I owe Isabella 4 pence +for I am finned 2 pence whenever I bite my nails. Isabella is +teaching me to make simmecoling nots of interrigations peorids +commoes, etc.... As this is Sunday I will meditate upon Senciable +and Religious subjects. First I should be very thankful I am not a +beggar."</p> +<p>This amount of meditation and thankfulness seems to have been +all she was able for.</p> +<p>"I am going to-morrow to a delightfull place, Braehead by name, +belonging to Mrs. Crraford, where there is ducks cocks hens +bubblyjocks 2 dogs 2 cats and swine which is delightful. I think it +is shocking to think that the dog and cat should bear them" (this +is a meditation physiological) "and they are drowned after all. I +would rather have a man-dog than a woman-dog, because they do not +bear like woman-dogs; it is a hard case--it is shocking. I came +here to enjoy natures delightful breath it is sweeter than a fial +of rose oil."</p> +<p>Braehead is the farm the historical Jock Howison asked and got +from our gay James the Fifth, "the gudeman o' Ballengiech," as a +reward for the services of his flail when the King had the worst of +it at Cramond Brig with the gipsies. The farm is unchanged in size +from that time, and still in the unbroken line of the ready and +victorious thrasher. Braehead is held on the condition of the +possessor being ready to present the King with a ewer and basin to +wash his hands, Jock having done this for his unknown king after +the <i>splore</i>; and when George the Fourth came to Edinburgh, +this ceremony was performed in silver at Holyrood.</p> +<p>It is a lovely neuk, this Braehead, preserved almost as it was +two hundred years ago. "Lot and his wife," mentioned by +Maidie,--two quaintly cropped yew-trees,--still thrive; the burn +runs as it did in her time, and sings the same quiet tune,--as much +the same and as different as <i>Now</i> and <i>Then</i>. The house +is full of old family relics and pictures, the sun shining on them +through the small deep windows with their plate-glass; and there, +blinking at the sun and chattering contentedly, is a parrot, that +might, for its looks of eld, have been in the ark, and domineered +over and <i>deaved</i> the dove. Everything about the place is old +and fresh.</p> +<p>This is beautiful:--"I am very sorry to say that I forgot +God--that is to say I forgot to pray to-day and Isabella told me +that I should be thankful that God did not forget me--if he did, O +what would become of me if I was in danger and God not friends with +me--I must go to unquenchable fire and if I was tempted to sin--how +could I resist it O no I will never do it again--no no--if I can +help it." (Canny wee wifie!) "My religion is greatly falling off +because I dont pray with so much attention when I am saying my +prayers, and my charecter is lost among the Braehead people. I hope +I will be religious again--but as for regaining my charecter I +despare for it." [Poor little "habit and repute"!]</p> +<p>Her temper, her passion, and her "badness" are almost daily +confessed and deplored:--"I will never again trust to my own power, +for I see that I cannot be good without God's assistance--. I will +not trust in my own selfe, and Isa's health will be quite ruined by +me--it will indeed." "Isa has giving me advice, which is, that when +I feel Satan beginning to tempt me, that I flea him and he would +flea me." "Remorse is the worst thing to bear, and I am afraid that +I will fall a marter to it."</p> +<p>Poor dear little sinner!--Here comes the world again:--"In my +travels I met with a handsome lad named Charles Balfour Esq., and +from him I got ofers of marage--offers of marage, did I say? Nay +plenty heard me." A fine scent for "breach of promise"!</p> +<p>This is abrupt and strong:--"The Divil is curced and all works. +'Tis a fine work 'Newton on the profecies.' I wonder if there is +another book of poems comes near the Bible. The Divil always girns +at the sight of the Bible." "Miss Potune" (her "simpliton" friend) +"is very fat; she pretends to be very learned. She says she saw a +stone that dropt from the skies; but she is a good Christian."</p> +<p>Here come her views on church government:--"An Anni-babtist is a +thing I am not a member of--I am a Pisplekan (Episcopalian) just +now, and" (O you little Laodicean and Latitudinarian!) "a +Prisbeteran at Kirkcaldy"--<i>(Blandula! Vagula! coelum et animum +mutas quoe trans mare</i> [i.e., <i>trans Bodotriam] +curris!</i>)--"my native town."</p> +<p>"Sentiment is not what I am acquainted with as yet, though I +wish it, and should like to practise it" (!) "I wish I had a great, +great deal of gratitude in my heart, in all my body." There is a +new novel published, named 'Self-Control' (Mrs. Brunton's)--"a very +good maxim forsooth!"</p> +<p>This is shocking:--"Yesterday a marrade man, named Mr. John +Balfour, Esq., offered to kiss me, and offered to marry me, though +the man" (a fine directness this!) "was espused, and his wife was +present and said he must ask her permission; but he did not. I +think he was ashamed and confounded before 3 gentelman--Mr. Jobson +and 2 Mr. Kings." "Mr. Banesters" (Bannister's) "Budjet is +to-night; I hope it will be a good one. A great many authors have +expressed themselves too sentimentally." You are right, Marjorie. +"A Mr. Burns writes a beautiful song on Mr. Cunhaming, whose wife +desarted him--truly it is a most beautiful one." "I like to read +the Fabulous historys, about the histerys of Robin, Dickey, +flapsay, and Peccay, and it is very amusing, for some were good +birds and others bad, but Peccay was the most dutiful and obedient +to her parients." "Thomson is a beautiful author, and Pope, but +nothing to Shakespear, of which I have a little knolege. 'Macbeth' +is a pretty composition, but awful one." "The 'Newgate Calender' is +very instructive."(!)</p> +<p>"A sailor called here to say farewell; it must be dreadful to +leave his native country when he might get a wife; or perhaps me, +for I love him very much. But O I forgot, Isabella forbid me to +speak about love." This antiphlogistic regimen and lesson is ill to +learn by our Maidie, for here she sins again:--"Love is a very +papithatick thing" (it is almost a pity to correct this into +pathetic), "as well as troublesome and tiresome--but O Isabella +forbid me to speak of it."</p> +<p>Here are her reflections on a pineapple:--"I think the price of +a pineapple is very dear: it is a whole bright goulden guinea, that +might have sustained a poor family." Here is a new vernal +simile:--"The hedges are sprouting like chicks from the eggs when +they are newly hatched or, as the vulgar say, <i>clacked</i>". +"Doctor Swift's works are very funny; I got some of them by heart." +"Moreheads sermons are I hear much praised, but I never read +sermons of any kind; but I read novelettes and my Bible, and I +never forget it, or my prayers." Brava, Marjorie!</p> +<p>She seems now, when still about six, to have broken out into +song:--</p> +<blockquote>EPHIBOL [EPIGRAM OR EPITAPH--WHO KNOWS WHICH?] ON MY +DEAR LOVE ISABELLA.<br> +<br> +"Here lies sweet Isabel in bed,<br> +With a night-cap on her head;<br> +Her skin is soft, her face is fair,<br> +And she has very pretty hair;<br> +She and I in bed lies nice,<br> +And undisturbed by rats or mice.<br> +She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan,<br> +Though he plays upon the organ.<br> +Her nails are neat, her teeth are white,<br> +Her eyes are very, very bright.<br> +In a conspicuous town she lives,<br> +And to the poor her money gives.<br> +Here ends sweet Isabella's story,<br> +And may it be much to her glory."</blockquote> +<p>Here are some bits at random:--</p> +<blockquote>"Of summer I am very fond,<br> +And love to bathe into a pond:<br> +The look of sunshine dies away,<br> +And will not let me out to play;<br> +I love the morning's sun to spy<br> +Glittering through the casement's eye;<br> +The rays of light are very sweet,<br> +And puts away the taste of meat;<br> +The balmy breeze comes down from heaven,<br> +And makes us like for to be living."</blockquote> +<p>"The casawary is an curious bird, and so is the gigantic crane, +and the pelican of the wilderness, whose mouth holds a bucket of +fish and water. Fighting is what ladies is not qualyfied for, they +would not make a good figure in battle or in a duel. Alas! we +females are of little use to our country. The history of all the +malcontents as ever was hanged is amusing." Still harping on the +Newgate Calendar!</p> +<p>"Braehead is extremely pleasant to me by the companie of swine, +geese, cocks, etc., and they are the delight of my soul."</p> +<p>"I am going to tell you of a melancholy story. A young turkie of +two or three months old, would you believe it, the father broke its +leg, and he killed another! I think he ought to be transported or +hanged."</p> +<p>"Queen Street is a very gay one, and so is Princes Street, for +all the lads and lasses, besides bucks and beggars, parade +there"</p> +<p>"I should like to see a play very much, for I never saw one in +all my life, and don't believe I ever shall; but I hope I can be +content without going to one. I can be quite happy without my +desire being granted."</p> +<p>"Some days ago Isabella had a terrible fit of the toothake, and +she walked with a long night-shift at dead of night like a ghost, +and I thought she was one. She prayed for nature's sweet +restorer--balmy sleep--but did not get it--a ghostly figure indeed +she was, enough to make a saint tremble. It made me quiver and +shake from top to toe. Superstition is a very mean thing, and +should be despised and shunned."</p> +<p>Here is her weakness and her strength again:--"In the +love-novels all the heroines are very desperate. Isabella will not +allow me to speak about lovers and heroins, and 'tis too refined +for my taste." "Miss Egward's [Edgeworth's] tails are very good, +particularly some that are very much adapted for youth (!) as Laz +Laurance and Tarelton, False Keys, etc., etc."</p> +<p>"Tom Jones and Gray's Elegey in a country churchyard are both +excellent, and much spoke of by both sex, particularly by the men." +Are our Marjories now-a-days better or worse, because they cannot +read 'Tom Jones' unharmed? More better than worse; but who among +them can repeat Gray's 'Lines on a Distant Prospect of Eton +College' as could our Maidie?</p> +<p>Here is some more of her prattle:--"I went into Isabella's bed +to make her smile like the Genius Demedicus [the Venus de' Medicis] +or the statute in an ancient Greece, but she fell asleep in my very +face, at which my anger broke forth, so that I awoke her from a +comfortable nap. All was now hushed up again, but again my anger +burst forth at her biding me get up."</p> +<p>She begins thus loftily,--</p> +<blockquote>"Death the righteous love to see,<br> +But from it doth the wicked flee."</blockquote> +<p>Then suddenly breaks off [as if with laughter],--</p> +<p>"I am sure they fly as fast as their legs can carry them!"</p> +<blockquote>"There is a thing I love to see,<br> +That is our monkey catch a flee."<br> +<br> +"I love in Isa's bed to lie,<br> +Oh, such a joy and luxury!<br> +The bottom of the bed I sleep,<br> +And with great care within I creep;<br> +Oft I embrace her feet of lillys,<br> +But she has goton all the pillys.<br> +Her neck I never can embrace,<br> +But I do hug her feet in place."</blockquote> +<p>How childish and yet how strong and free is her use of +words!--"I lay at the foot of the bed because Isabella said I +disturbed her by continial fighting and kicking, but I was very +dull, and continially at work reading the Arabian Nights, which I +could not have done if I had slept at the top. I am reading the +Mysteries of Udolpho. I am much interested in the fate of poor, +poor Emily."</p> +<p>Here is one of her swains:--</p> +<blockquote>"Very soft and white his cheeks,<br> +His hair is red, and gray his breeks;<br> +His tooth is like the daisy fair,<br> +His only fault is in his hair."</blockquote> +<p>This is a higher flight:--</p> +<blockquote>DEDICATED TO MRS. H. CRAWFORD BY THE AUTHOR, M.F.<br> +<br> +"Three turkeys fair their last have breathed,<br> +And now this world forever leaved;<br> +Their father, and their mother too,<br> +They sigh and weep as well as you;<br> +Indeed, the rats their bones have crunched,<br> +Into eternity theire laanched.<br> +A direful death indeed they had,<br> +As wad put any parent mad;<br> +But she was more than usual calm:<br> +She did not give a single dam."</blockquote> +<p>This last word is saved from all sin by its tender age, not to +speak of the want of the <i>n</i>. We fear "she" is the abandoned +mother, in spite of her previous sighs and tears.</p> +<p>"Isabella says when we pray we should pray fervently, and not +rattel over a prayer--for that we are kneeling at the foot-stool of +our Lord and Creator, who saves us from eternal damnation, and from +unquestionable fire and brimston."</p> +<p>She has a long poem on Mary Queen of Scots:--</p> +<blockquote>"Queen Mary was much loved by all,<br> +Both by the great and by the small,<br> +But hark! her soul to heaven doth rise?<br> +And I suppose she has gained a prize;<br> +For I do think she would not go<br> +Into the <i>awful</i> place below.<br> +There is a thing that I must tell--<br> +Elizabeth went to fire and hell!<br> +He who would teach her to be civil,<br> +It must be her great friend, the divil!"</blockquote> +<p>She hits off Darnley well:--</p> +<blockquote>"A noble's son,--a handsome lad,--<br> +By some queer way or other, had<br> +Got quite the better of her heart;<br> +With him she always talked apart:<br> +Silly he was, but very fair;<br> +A greater buck was not found there."</blockquote> +<p>"By some queer way or other": is not this the general case and +the mystery, young ladies and gentlemen? Goethe's doctrine of +"elective affinities" discovered by our Pet Maidie!</p> +<blockquote>SONNET TO A MONKEY<br> +<br> +O lively, O most charming pug:<br> +Thy graceful air and heavenly mug!<br> +The beauties of his mind do shine,<br> +And every bit is shaped and fine.<br> +Your teeth are whiter than the snow;<br> +Your a great buck, your a great beau;<br> +Your eyes are of so nice a shape,<br> +More like a Christian's than an ape;<br> +Your cheek is like the rose's blume;<br> +Your hair is like the raven's plume;<br> +His nose's cast is of the Roman:<br> +He is a very pretty woman.<br> +I could not get a rhyme for Roman,<br> +So was obliged to call him woman.</blockquote> +<p>This last joke is good. She repeats it when writing of James the +Second being killed at Roxburgh:--</p> +<blockquote>He was killed by a cannon splinter,<br> +Quite in the middle of the winter;<br> +Perhaps it was not at that time,<br> +But I can get no other rhyme.</blockquote> +<p>Here is one of her last letters, dated Kirkcaldy, 12th October, +1811. You can see how her nature is deepening and enriching:--</p> +<blockquote>MY DEAR MOTHER--You will think that I entirely forget +you but I assure you that you are greatly mistaken. I think of you +always and often sigh to think of the distance between us two +loving creatures of nature. We have regular hours for all our +occupations first at 7 o'clock we go to the dancing and come home +at 8 we then read our Bible and get our repeating and then play +till ten then we get our music till 11 when we get our writing and +accounts we sew from 12 till 1 after which I get my gramer and then +work till five. At 7 we come and knit till 8 when we dont go to the +dancing. This is an exact description. I must take a hasty farewell +to her whom I love, reverence and doat on and who I hope thinks the +same of<br> +<br> +MARJORY FLEMING.<br> +<br> +P.S.--An old pack of cards (!) would be very +exceptible.</blockquote> +<p>This other is a month earlier:--</p> +<blockquote>"MY DEAR LITTLE MAMA--I was truly happy to hear that +you were all well. We are surrounded with measles at present on +every side, for the Herons got it, and Isabella Heron was near +Death's Door, and one night her father lifted her out of bed, and +she fell down as they thought lifeless. Mr. Heron said, 'That +lassie's deed noo'--'I'm no deed yet.' She then threw up a big worm +nine inches and a half long. I have begun dancing, but am not very +fond of it, for the boys strikes and mocks me.--I have been another +night at the dancing; I like it better. I will write to you as +often as I can; but I am afraid not every week. <i>I long for you +with the longings of a child to embrace you--to fold you in my +arms. I respect you with all the respect due to a mother. You don't +know how I love you. So I shall remain, your loving child</i>,<br> +<br> +M. FLEMING."</blockquote> +<p>What rich involution of love in the words marked! Here are some +lines to her beloved Isabella, in July, 1811:--</p> +<blockquote>"There is a thing that I do want--<br> +With you these beauteous walks to haunt;<br> +We would be happy if you would<br> +Try to come over if you could.<br> +Then I would all quite happy be<br> +<i>Now and for all eternity</i>.<br> +My mother is so very sweet,<br> +<i>And checks my appetite to eat</i>;<br> +My father shows us what to do;<br> +But O I'm sure that I want you.<br> +I have no more of poetry;<br> +O Isa do remember me,<br> +And try to love your Marjory."</blockquote> +<p>In a letter from "Isa" to</p> +<blockquote>Miss Muff Maidie Marjory Fleming,<br> +favored by Rare Rear-Admiral Fleming,"</blockquote> +<p>she says:--"I long much to see you, and talk over all our old +stories together, and to hear you read and repeat. I am pining for +my old friend Cesario, and poor Lear, and wicked Richard. How is +the dear Multiplication table going on? are you still as much +attached to 9 times 9 as you used to be?"</p> +<p>But this dainty, bright thing is about to flee,--to come "quick +to confusion." The measles she writes of seized her, and she died +on the 19th of December, 1811. The day before her death, Sunday, +she sat up in bed, worn and thin, her eye gleaming as with the +light of a coming world, and with a tremulous, old voice repeated +the lines by Burns,--heavy with the shadow of death, and lit with +the fantasy of the judgment-seat,--the publican's prayer in +paraphrase:--</p> +<blockquote>Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene</blockquote> +<p>It is more affecting than we care to say to read her mother's +and Isabella Keith's letters, written immediately after her death. +Old and withered, tattered and pale, they are now: but when you +read them, how quick, how throbbing with life and love! how rich in +that language of affection which only women and Shakespeare and +Luther can use,--that power of detaining the soul over the beloved +object and its loss....</p> +<p>In her first letter to Miss Keith, Mrs. Fleming says of her dead +Maidie:--"Never did I behold so beautiful an object. It resembled +the finest wax-work. There was in the countenance an expression of +sweetness and serenity which seemed to indicate that the pure +spirit had anticipated the joys of heaven ere it quitted the mortal +frame. To tell you what your Maidie said of you would fill volumes; +for you were the constant theme of her discourse, the subject of +her thoughts, and ruler of her actions. The last time she mentioned +you was a few hours before all sense save that of suffering was +suspended, when she said to Dr. Johnstone, 'If you will let me out +at the New Year, I will be quite contented.' I asked what made her +so anxious to get out then. 'I want to purchase a New Year's gift +for Isa Keith with the sixpence you gave me for being patient in +the measles; and I would like to choose it myself.' I do not +remember her speaking afterwards, except to complain of her head, +till just before she expired, when she articulated, 'O mother! +mother!'"</p> +<p>Do we make too much of this little child, who has been in her +grave in Abbotshall. Kirkyard these fifty and more years? We may of +her cleverness,--not of her affectionateness, her nature. What a +picture the <i>animosa infans</i> gives us of herself, her +vivacity, her passionateness, her precocious love-making, her +passion for nature, for swine, for all living things, her reading, +her turn for expression, her satire, her frankness, her little sins +and rages, her great repentances. We don't wonder Walter Scott +carried her off in the neuk of his plaid, and played himself with +her for hours....</p> +<p>We are indebted for the following--and our readers will be not +unwilling to share our obligations--to her sister:--"Her birth was +15th January, 1803; her death 19th December, 1811. I take this from +her Bibles. I believe she was a child of robust health, of much +vigor of body, and beautifully formed arms, and until her last +illness, never was an hour in bed. She was niece to Mrs. Keith, +residing in No. 1 North Charlotte Street, who was <i>not</i> Mrs. +Murray Keith, although very intimately acquainted with that old +lady....</p> +<p>"As to my aunt and Scott, they were on a very intimate footing. +He asked my aunt to be godmother to his eldest daughter Sophia +Charlotte. I had a copy of Miss Edgeworth's 'Rosamond' and 'Harry +and Lucy' for long, which was 'a gift to Marjorie from Walter +Scott,' probably the first edition of that attractive series, for +it wanted 'Frank,' which is always now published as part of the +series under the title of 'Early Lessons.' I regret to say these +little volumes have disappeared."</p> +<p>Sir Walter was no relation of Marjorie's, but of the Keiths, +through the Swintons; and like Marjorie, he stayed much at +Ravelstone in his early days, with his grand-aunt Mrs. +Keith....</p> +<p>We cannot better end than in words from this same pen:--"I have +to ask you to forgive my anxiety in gathering up the fragments of +Marjorie's last days, but I have an almost sacred feeling to all +that pertains to her. You are quite correct in stating that measles +were the cause of her death. My mother was struck by the patient +quietness manifested by Marjorie during this illness, unlike her +ardent, impulsive nature; but love and poetic feeling were +unquenched. When lying very still, her mother asked her if there +was anything she wished: 'Oh yes! if you would just leave the room +door open a wee bit, and play 'The Land o' the Leal,' and I will +lie and <i>think</i>, and enjoy myself' (this is just as stated to +me by her mother and mine). Well, the happy day came, alike to +parents and child, when Marjorie was allowed to come forth from the +nursery to the parlor. It was Sabbath evening, and after tea. My +father, who idolized this child, and never afterwards in my hearing +mentioned her name, took her in his arms; and while walking up and +down the room, she said, 'Father, I will repeat something to you; +what would you like?' He said, 'Just choose yourself, Maidie.' She +hesitated for a moment between the paraphrase 'Few are thy days, +and full of woe,' and the lines of Burns already quoted, but +decided on the latter, a remarkable choice for a child. The +repeating these lines seemed to stir up the depths of feeling in +her soul. She asked to be allowed to write a poem; there was a +doubt whether it would be right to allow her, in case of hurting +her eyes. She pleaded earnestly, 'Just this once;' the point was +yielded, her slate was given her, and with great rapidity she wrote +an address of fourteen lines, 'To her loved cousin on the author's +recovery,' her last work on earth:--</p> +<blockquote>'Oh! Isa, pain did visit me,<br> +I was at the last extremity;<br> +How often did I think of you,<br> +I wished your graceful form to view,<br> +To clasp you in my weak embrace,<br> +Indeed I thought I'd run my race:<br> +Good care, I'm sure, was of me taken,<br> +But still indeed I was much shaken.<br> +At last I daily strength did gain,<br> +And oh! at last, away went pain;<br> +At length the doctor thought I might<br> +Stay in the parlor all the night;<br> +I now continue so to do;<br> +Farewell to Nancy and to you.'</blockquote> +<p>She went to bed apparently well, awoke in the middle of the +night with the old cry of woe to a mother's heart, 'My head, my +head!' Three days of the dire malady 'water in the head' followed, +and the end came."</p> +<blockquote>"Soft, silken primrose, fading +timelessly!"</blockquote> +<p>It is needless, it is impossible to add anything to this; the +fervor, the sweetness, the flush of poetic ecstasy, the lovely and +glowing eye, the perfect nature of that bright and warm +intelligence, that darling child; Lady Nairne's words, and the old +tune, stealing up from the depths of the human heart, deep calling +unto deep, gentle and strong like the waves of the great sea +hushing themselves to sleep in the dark; the words of Burns +touching the kindred chord; her last numbers, "wildly sweet," +traced with thin and eager fingers, already touched by the last +enemy and friend,--<i>moriens canit</i>,--and that love which is so +soon to be her everlasting light, is her song's burden to the +end.</p> +<blockquote>"She set as sets the morning star, which goes<br> +Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides<br> +Obscured among the tempests of the sky,<br> +But melts away into the light of heaven."</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWN12"></a> +<h3>THE DEATH OF THACKERAY</h3> +<center>From 'Spare Hours'</center> +<br> +<p>We cannot resist here recalling one Sunday evening in December, +when he was walking with two friends along the Dean road, to the +west of Edinburgh,--one of the noblest outlets to any city. It was +a lovely evening,--such a sunset as one never forgets: a rich dark +bar of cloud hovered over the sun, going down behind the Highland +hills, lying bathed in amethystine bloom; between this cloud and +the hills there was a narrow slip of the pure ether, of a tender +cowslip color, lucid, and as if it were the very body of heaven in +its clearness; every object standing out as if etched upon the sky. +The northwest end of Corstorphine Hill, with its trees and rocks, +lay in the heart of this pure radiance, and there a wooden crane, +used in the quarry below, was so placed as to assume the figure of +a cross; there it was, unmistakable, lifted up against the +crystalline sky. All three gazed at it silently. As they gazed, he +gave utterance in a tremulous, gentle, and rapid voice, to what all +were feeling, in the word "CALVARY!" The friends walked on in +silence, and then turned to other things. All that evening he was +very gentle and serious, speaking, as he seldom did, of divine +things,--of death, of sin, of eternity, of salvation; expressing +his simple faith in God and in his Savior.</p> +<p>There is a passage at the close of the 'Roundabout Paper' No. +23, 'De Finibus,' in which a sense of the ebb of life is very +marked; the whole paper is like a soliloquy. It opens with a +drawing of Mr. Punch, with unusually mild eye, retiring for the +night; he is putting out his high-heeled shoes, and before +disappearing gives a wistful look into the passage, as if bidding +it and all else good-night. He will be in bed, his candle out, and +in darkness, in five minutes, and his shoes found next morning at +his door, the little potentate all the while in his final sleep. +The whole paper is worth the most careful study; it reveals not a +little of his real nature, and unfolds very curiously the secret of +his work, the vitality and abiding power of his own creations; how +he "invented a certain Costigan, out of scraps, heel-taps, odds and +ends of characters," and met the original the other day, without +surprise, in a tavern parlor. The following is beautiful: "Years +ago I had a quarrel with a certain well-known person (I believed a +statement regarding him which his friends imparted to me, and which +turned out to be quite incorrect). To his dying day that quarrel +was never quite made up. I said to his brother, 'Why is your +brother's soul still dark against me? <i>It is I who ought to be +angry and unforgiving, for I was in the wrong</i>.'" <i>Odisse quem +læseris</i> was never better contravened. But what we chiefly +refer to now is the profound pensiveness of the following strain, +as if written with a presentiment of what was not then very far +off:--"Another Finis written; another milestone on this journey +from birth to the next world. Sure it is a subject for solemn +cogitation. Shall we continue this story-telling business, and be +voluble to the end of our age?" "Will it not be presently time, O +prattler, to hold your tongue?" And thus he ends:--</p> +<p>"Oh, the sad old pages, the dull old pages; oh, the cares, the +<i>ennui</i>, the squabbles, the repetitions, the old conversations +over and over again! But now and again a kind thought is recalled, +and now and again a dear memory. Yet a few chapters more, and then +the last; after which, behold Finis itself comes to an end, and the +Infinite begins."</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>He had been suffering on Sunday from an old and cruel enemy. He +fixed with his friend and surgeon to come again on Tuesday, but +with that dread of anticipated pain which is a common condition of +sensibility and genius, he put him off with a note from "yours +unfaithfully, W.M.T." He went out on Wednesday for a little, and +came home at ten. He went to his room, suffering much, but +declining his man's offer to sit with him. He hated to make others +suffer. He was heard moving, as if in pain, about twelve, on the +eve of--</p> +<blockquote>"That happy morn<br> +Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,<br> +Of wedded maid and virgin-mother born,<br> +Our great redemption from above did bring."</blockquote> +<p>Then all was quiet, and then he must have died--in a moment. +Next morning his man went in, and opening the windows found his +master dead, his arms behind his head, as if he had tried to take +one more breath. We think of him as of our Chalmers, found dead in +like manner: the same childlike, unspoiled, open face; the same +gentle mouth; the same spaciousness and softness of nature; the +same look of power. What a thing to think of,--his lying there +alone in the dark, in the midst of his own mighty London; his +mother and his daughters asleep, and, it may be, dreaming of his +goodness. God help them, and us all! What would become of us, +stumbling along this our path of life, if we could not, at our +utmost need, stay ourselves on Him?</p> +<p>Long years of sorrow, labor, and pain had killed him before his +time. It was found after death how little life he had to live. He +looked always fresh, with that abounding silvery hair, and his +young, almost infantine face, but he was worn to a shadow, and his +hands wasted as if by eighty years. With him it is the end of Ends; +finite is over and, infinite begun. What we all felt and feel can +never be so well expressed as in his own words of sorrow for the +early death of Charles Buller:--</p> +<blockquote>"Who knows the inscrutable design?<br> + Blest He who took and He who gave!<br> +Why should your mother, Charles, not mine,<br> + Be weeping at her darling's grave?<br> +We bow to heaven that willed it so,<br> + That darkly rules the fate of all,<br> +That sends the respite or the blow,<br> + That's free to give or to recall."</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="CHARLES_BROWNE"></a> +<h2>CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE (ARTEMUS WARD)</h2> +<h3>(1834-1867)</h3> +<center>BY CHARLES F. JOHNSON</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-c.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>harles Farrar Brown, better known to the public of thirty years +ago under his pen-name of Artemus Ward, was born in the little +village of Waterford, Maine, on the 26th day of April, 1834. +Waterford is a quiet village of about seven hundred inhabitants, +lying among the foot-hills of the White Mountains. When Browne was +a child it was a station on the western stage-route, and an +important depot for lumbermen's supplies. Since the extension of +railroads northerly and westerly from the seaboard, it has however +shared the fate of many New England villages in being left on one +side of the main currents of commercial activity, and gradually +assuming a character of repose and leisure, in many regards more +attractive than the life and bustle of earlier days. Many persons +are still living there who remember the humorist as a quaint and +tricksy boy, alternating between laughter and preternatural +gravity, and of a surprising ingenuity in devising odd practical +jokes in which good nature so far prevailed that even the victims +were too much amused to be very angry.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/browne_c.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Charles F. Browne</b></p> +<p>On both sides, he came from original New England stock; and +although he was proud of his descent from a very ancient English +family, in deference to whom he wrote his name with the final "e," +he felt greater pride in his American ancestors, and always said +that they were genuine and primitive Yankees,--people of +intelligence, activity, and integrity in business, but entirely +unaffected by new-fangled ideas. It is interesting to notice that +Browne's humor was hereditary on the paternal side, his father +especially being noted for his quaint sayings and harmless +eccentricities. His cousin Daniel many years later bore a strong +resemblance to what Charles had been, and he too possessed a +kindred humorous faculty and told a story in much the same solemn +manner, bringing out the point as if it were something entirely +irrelevant and unimportant and casually remembered. The subject of +this sketch, however, was the only member of the family in whom a +love for the droll and incongruous was a controlling disposition. +As is frequently the case, a family trait was intensified in one +individual to the point where talent passes over into genius.</p> +<p>On his mother's side, too, Browne was a thorough-bred +New-Englander. His maternal grandfather, Mr. Calvin Farrar, was a +man of influence in town and State, and was able to send two of his +sons to Bowdoin College. I have mentioned Browne's parentage +because his humor is so essentially American. Whether this consists +in a peculiar gravity in the humorous attitude towards the subject, +rather than playfulness, or in a tendency to exaggerated statement, +or in a broad humanitarian standpoint, or in a certain flavor given +by a blending of all these, it is very difficult to decide. +Probably the peculiar standpoint is the distinguishing note, and +American humor is a product of democracy.</p> +<p>Humor is as difficult of definition as is poetry. It is an +intimate quality of the mind, which predisposes a man to look for +remote and unreal analogies and to present them gravely as if they +were valid. It sees that many of the objects valued by men are +illusions, and it expresses this conviction by assuming that other +manifest trifles are important. It is the deadly enemy of +sentimentality and affectation, for its vision is clear. Although +it turns everything topsy-turvy in sport, its world is not a chaos +nor a child's play-ground, for humor is based on keen perception of +truth. There is no method--except the highest poetic +treatment--which reveals so distinctly the falsehoods and +hypocrisies of the social and economic order as the <i>reductio ad +absurdum</i> of humor; for all human institutions have their +ridiculous sides, which astonish and amuse us when pointed out, but +from viewing which we suddenly become aware of relative values +before misunderstood. But just as poetry may degenerate into a +musical collection of words and painting into a decorative +association of colors, so humor may degenerate into the merely +comic or amusing. The laugh which true humor arouses is not far +removed from tears. Humor indeed is not always associated with +kindliness, for we have the sardonic humor of Carlyle and the +savage humor of Swift; but it is naturally dissociated from +egotism, and is never more attractive than when, as in the case of +Charles Lamb and Oliver Goldsmith, it is based on a loving and +generous interest in humanity.</p> +<p>Humor, must rest on a broad human foundation, and cannot be +narrowed to the notions of a certain class. But in most English +humor,--as indeed in all English literature except the very +highest,--the social class to which the writer does not belong is +regarded <i>ab extra</i>. In Punch, for instance, not only are +servants always given a conventional set of features, but they are +given conventional minds, and the jokes are based on a hypothetical +conception of personality. Dickens was a great humorist, and +understood the nature of the poor because he had been one of them; +but his gentlemen and ladies are lay figures. Thackeray's studies +of the flunky are capital; but he studies him <i>qua flunky</i>, as +a naturalist might study an animal, and hardly ranks him <i>sub +specie humanitatis</i>. But to the American humorist all men are +primarily men. The waiter and the prince are equally ridiculous to +him, because in each he finds similar incongruities between the man +and his surroundings; but in England there is a deep impassable +gulf between the man at the table and the man behind his chair. +This democratic independence of external and adventitious +circumstance sometimes gives a tone of irreverence to American +persiflage, and the temporary character of class distinctions in +America undoubtedly diminishes the amount of literary material "in +sight" but when, as in the case of Browne and Clemens, there is in +the humorist's mind a basis of reverence for things and persons +that are really reverend, it gives a breadth and freedom to the +humorous conception that is distinctively American.</p> +<p>We put Clemens and Browne in the same line, because in reading a +page of either we feel at once the American touch. Browne of course +is not to be compared to Clemens in affluence or in range in +depicting humorous character-types; but it must be remembered that +Clemens has lived thirty active years longer than his predecessor +did. Neither has written a line that he would wish to blot for its +foul suggestion, or because it ridiculed things that were lovely +and of good report. Both were educated in journalism, and came into +direct contact with the strenuous and realistic life of labor. And +to repeat, though one was born and bred west of the Mississippi and +the other far "down east," both are distinctly American. Had either +been born and passed his childhood outside our magic line, this +resemblance would not have existed. And yet we cannot say precisely +wherein this likeness lies, nor what caused it; so deep, so subtle, +so pervading is the influence of nationality. But their original +expressions of the American humorous tone are worth ten thousand +literary echoes of Sterne or Lamb or Dickens or Thackeray.</p> +<p>The education of young Browne was limited to the strictly +preparatory years. At the age of thirteen he was forced by the +death of his father to try to earn his living. When about fourteen, +he was apprenticed to a Mr. Rex, who published a paper at +Lancaster, New Hampshire. He remained there about a year, then +worked on various country papers, and finally passed three years in +the printing-house of Snow and Wilder, Boston. He then went to +Ohio, and after working for some months on the Tiffin Advertiser, +went to Toledo, where he remained till the fall of 1857. Thence he +went to Cleveland, Ohio, as local editor of the Plain Dealer. Here +appeared the humorous letters signed "Artemus Ward" and written in +the character of an itinerant showman. In 1860 he went to New York +as editor of the comic journal Vanity Fair.</p> +<p>His reputation grew steadily, and his first volume, 'Artemus +Ward, His Book,' was brought out in 1862. In 1863 he went to San +Francisco by way of the Isthmus and returned overland. This journey +was chronicled in a short volume, 'Artemus Ward, His Travels.' He +had already undertaken a career of lecturing, and his comic +entertainments, given in a style peculiarly his own, became very +popular. The mimetic gift is frequently found in the humorist; and +Browne's peculiar drawl, his profound gravity and dreamy, far-away +expression, the unexpected character of his jokes and the surprise +with which he seemed to regard the audience, made a combination of +a delightfully quaint absurdity. Browne himself was a very winning +personality, and never failed to put his audience in good humor. +None who knew him twenty-nine years ago think of him without +tenderness. In 1866 he visited England, and became almost as +popular there as lecturer and writer for Punch. He died from a +pulmonary trouble in Southampton, March 6th, 1867, being not quite +thirty-three years old. He was never married.</p> +<p>When we remember that a large part of Browne's mature life was +taken up in learning the printer's trade, in which he became a +master, we must decide that he had only entered on his career as +humorous writer. Much of what he wrote is simply amusing, with +little depth or power of suggestion; it is comic, not humorous. He +was gaining the ear of the public and training his powers of +expression. What he has left consists of a few collections of +sketches written for a daily paper. But the subjoined extracts will +show, albeit dimly, that he was more than a joker, as under the cap +and bells of the fool in Lear we catch a glimpse of the face of a +tender-hearted and philosophic friend. Browne's nature was so +kindly and sympathetic, so pure and manly, that after he had +achieved a reputation and was relieved from immediate pecuniary +pressure, he would have felt an ambition to do some worthy work and +take time to bring out the best that was in him. As it is, he had +only tried his 'prentice hand. Still, the figure of the old +showman, though not very solidly painted, is admirably done. He is +a sort of sublimated and unoffensive Barnum; perfectly consistent, +permeated with his professional view of life, yet quite incapable +of anything underhand or mean; radically loyal to the Union, +appreciative of the nature of his animals, steady in his humorous +attitude toward life: and above all, not a composite of shreds and +patches, but a personality. Slight as he is, and unconscious and +unpracticed as is the art that went to his creation, he is one of +the humorous figures of all literature; and old Sir John Falstaff, +Sir Roger de Coverley, Uncle Toby, and Dr. Primrose will not +disdain to admit him into their company; for he too is a man, not +an abstraction, and need not be ashamed of his parentage nor +doubtful of his standing among the "children of the men of +wit."</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE01"></a> +<h3>EDWIN FORREST AS OTHELLO</h3> +<br> +<p>Durin a recent visit to New York the undersined went to see +Edwin Forrest. As I am into the moral show biziness myself I +ginrally go to Barnum's moral museum, where only moral peeple air +admitted, partickly on Wednesday arternoons. But this time I thot +I'd go and see Ed. Ed has bin actin out on the stage for many +years. There is varis 'pinions about his actin, Englishmen ginrally +bleevin that he's far superior to Mister Macready; but on one pint +all agree, & that is that Ed draws like a six-ox team. Ed was +actin at Niblo's Garding, which looks considerable more like a +parster than a garding, but let that pars. I sot down in the pit, +took out my spectacles and commenced peroosin the evenin's bill. +The awjince was all-fired large & the boxes was full of the +elitty of New York. Several opery glasses was leveled at me by +Gotham's fairest darters, but I didn't let on as tho I noticed it, +tho mebby I did take out my sixteen-dollar silver watch & +brandish it round more than was necessary. But the best of us has +our weaknesses & if a man has gewelry let him show it. As I was +peroosin the bill a grave young man who sot near me axed me if I'd +ever seen Forrest dance the Essence of Old Virginny. "He's immense +in that," sed the young man. "He also does a fair champion jig," +the young man continnered, "but his Big Thing is the Essence of Old +Virginny." Sez I, "Fair youth, do you know what I'd do with you if +you was my sun?"</p> +<p>"No," sez he.</p> +<p>"Wall," sez I, "I'd appint your funeral to-morrow arternoon, +& the <i>korps should be ready</i>. You're too smart to live on +this yerth."</p> +<p>He didn't try any more of his capers on me. But another +pussylanermuss individooul in a red vest and patent leather boots +told me his name was Bill Astor & axed me to lend him 50 cents +till early in the mornin. I told him I'd probly send it round to +him before he retired to his virtoous couch, but if I didn't he +might look for it next fall as soon as I'd cut my corn. The +orchestry was now fiddling with all their might & as the peeple +didn't understan anything about it they applaudid versifrusly. +Presently old Ed cum out. The play was Otheller or More of Veniss. +Otheller was writ by Wm. Shakspeer. The seene is laid in Veniss. +Otheller was a likely man & was a ginral in the Veniss army. He +eloped with Desdemony, a darter of the Hon. Mr. Brabantio, who +represented one of the back districks in the Veneshun legislater. +Old Brabantio was as mad as thunder at this & tore round +considerable, but finally cooled down, tellin Otheller, howsoever, +that Desdemony had come it over her par, & that he had better +look out or she'd come it over him likewise. Mr. and Mrs. Otheller +git along very comfortable-like for a spell. She is sweet-tempered +and lovin--a nice, sensible female, never goin in for he-female +conventions, green cotton umbrellers, and pickled beats. Otheller +is a good provider and thinks all the world of his wife. She has a +lazy time of it, the hird girl doin all the cookin and washin. +Desdemony in fact don't have to git the water to wash her own hands +with. But a low cuss named Iago, who I bleeve wants to git Otheller +out of his snug government birth, now goes to work & upsets the +Otheller family in most outrajus stile. Iago falls in with a +brainless youth named Roderigo & wins all his money at poker. +(Iago allers played foul.) He thus got money enuff to carry out his +onprincipled skeem. Mike Cassio, a Irishman, is selected as a tool +by Iago. Mike was a clever feller & a orficer in Otheller's +army. He liked his tods too well, howsoever, & they floored him +as they have many other promisin young men. Iago injuces Mike to +drink with him, Iago slily throwin his whiskey over his shoulder. +Mike gits as drunk as a biled owl & allows that he can lick a +yard full of the Veneshun fancy before breakfast, without sweatin a +hair. He meets Roderigo & proceeds for to smash him. A feller +named Mentano undertakes to slap Cassio, when that infatooated +person runs his sword into him. That miserble man, Iago, pretends +to be very sorry to see Mike conduck hisself in this way & +undertakes to smooth the thing over to Otheller, who rushes in with +a drawn sword & wants to know what's up. Iago cunningly tells +his story & Otheller tells Mike that he thinks a good deal of +him but that he cant train no more in his regiment. Desdemony +sympathises with poor Mike & interceds for him with Otheller. +Iago makes him bleeve she does this because she thinks more of Mike +than she does of hisself. Otheller swallers Iagos lyin tail & +goes to makin a noosence of hisself ginrally. He worries poor +Desdemony terrible by his vile insinuations & finally smothers +her to deth with a piller. Mrs. Iago comes in just as Otheller has +finished the fowl deed & givs him fits right & left, showin +him that he has been orfully gulled by her miserble cuss of a +husband. Iago cums in & his wife commences rakin him down also, +when he stabs her. Otheller jaws him a spell & then cuts a +small hole in his stummick with his sword. Iago pints to +Desdemony's deth bed & goes orf with a sardonic smile onto his +countenance. Otheller tells the peple that he has dun the state +some service & they know it; axes them to do as fair a thing as +they can for him under the circumstances, & kills hisself with +a fish-knife, which is the most sensible thing he can do. This is a +breef skedule of the synopsis of the play.</p> +<p>Edwin Forrest is a grate acter. I thot I saw Otheller before me +all the time he was actin &, when the curtin fell, I found my +spectacles was still mistened with salt-water, which had run from +my eyes while poor Desdemony was dyin. Betsy Jane--Betsy Jane! let +us pray that our domestic bliss may never be busted up by a +Iago!</p> +<p>Edwin Forrest makes money actin out on the stage. He gits five +hundred dollars a nite & his board & washin. I wish I had +such a Forrest in my Garding!</p> +<p>Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company, New York.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE02"></a> +<h3>HIGH-HANDED OUTRAGE AT UTICA</h3> +<br> +<p>In the fall of 1856 I showed my show in Utiky, a trooly grate +sitty in the State of New York.</p> +<p>The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The press was loud in +her prases.</p> +<p>1 day as I was givin a descripshun of my Beests and Snaiks in my +usual flowry stile, what was my skorn & disgust to see a big +burly feller walk up to the cage containin my wax figgers of the +Lord's Last Supper, and cease Judas Iscariot by the feet and drag +him out on the ground. He then commenced fur to pound him as hard +as he cood.</p> +<p>"What under the son are you abowt?" cried I.</p> +<p>Sez he, "What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?" +& he hit the wax figger another tremenjus blow on the hed.</p> +<p>Sez I, "You egrejus ass that air's a wax figger--a +representashun of the false 'Postle."</p> +<p>Sez he, "That's all very well fur you to say, but I tell you, +old man, that Judas Iscariot can't show hisself in Utiky with +impunerty by a darn site!" with which observashun he kaved in +Judassis hed. The young man belonged to 1 of the first famerlies in +Utiky. I sood him and the Joory brawt in a verdick of Arson in the +3d degree.</p> +<p>Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company, New York.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE03"></a> +<h3>AFFAIRS ROUND THE VILLAGE GREEN</h3> +<br> +<p>And where are the friends of my youth? I have found one of 'em, +certainly. I saw him ride in a circus the other day on a bareback +horse, and even now his name stares at me from yonder board-fence +in green and blue and red and yellow letters. Dashington, the youth +with whom I used to read the able orations of Cicero, and who as a +declaimer on exhibition days used to wipe the rest of us boys +pretty handsomely out--well, Dashington is identified with the +halibut and cod interests --drives a fish-cart, in fact, from a +certain town on the coast back into the interior. Hurburtson--the +utterly stupid boy--the lunkhead who never had his lesson, he's +about the ablest lawyer a sister State can boast. Mills is a +newspaper man, and is just now editing a Major General down South. +Singlingson, the sweet-faced boy whose face was always washed and +who was never rude, <i>he</i> is in the penitentiary for putting +his uncle's autograph to a financial document. Hawkins, the +clergyman's son, is an actor; and Williamson, the good little boy +who divided his bread and butter with the beggar-man, is a failing +merchant, and makes money by it. Tom Slink, who used to smoke Short +Sixes and get acquainted with the little circus boys, is popularly +supposed to be the proprietor of a cheap gaming establishment in +Boston, where the beautiful but uncertain prop is nightly tossed. +Be sure the Army is represented by many of the friends of my youth, +the most of whom have given a good account of themselves.</p> +<p>But Chalmerson hasn't done much. No, Chalmerson is rather of a +failure. He plays on the guitar and sings love-songs. Not that he +is a bad man--a kinder-hearted creature never lived, and they say +he hasn't yet got over crying for his little curly-haired sister +who died ever so long ago. But he knows nothing about business, +politics, the world, and those things. He is dull at trade--indeed, +it is the common remark that "Everybody cheats Chalmerson." He came +to the party the other evening and brought his guitar. They +wouldn't have him for a tenor in the opera, certainly, for he is +shaky in his upper notes; but if his simple melodies didn't gush +straight from the heart! why, even my trained eyes were wet! And +although some of the girls giggled, and some of the men seemed to +pity him, I could not help fancying that poor Chalmerson was nearer +heaven than any of us all.</p> +<p>Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE04"></a> +<h3>MR. PEPPER</h3> +<center>From 'Artemus Ward: His Travels'</center> +<br> +<p>My arrival at Virginia City was signalized by the following +incident:--</p> +<p>I had no sooner achieved my room in the garret of the +International Hotel than I was called upon by an intoxicated man, +who said he was an Editor. Knowing how rare it is for an Editor to +be under the blighting influence of either spirituous or malt +liquors, I received this statement doubtfully. But I said:</p> +<p>"What name?"</p> +<p>"Wait!" he said, and went out.</p> +<p>I heard him pacing unsteadily up and down the hall outside.</p> +<p>In ten minutes he returned, and said, "Pepper!"</p> +<p>Pepper was indeed his name. He had been out to see if he could +remember it, and he was so flushed with his success that he +repeated it joyously several times, and then, with a short laugh, +he went away.</p> +<p>I had often heard of a man being "so drunk that he didn't know +what town he lived in," but here was a man so hideously inebriated +that he didn't know what his name was.</p> +<p>I saw him no more, but I heard from him. For he published a +notice of my lecture, in which he said that I had <i>a dissipated +air!</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE05"></a> +<h3>HORACE GREELEY'S RIDE TO PLACERVILLE</h3> +<center>From 'Artemus Ward: His Travels'</center> +<br> +<p>When Mr. Greeley was in California, ovations awaited him at +every town. He had written powerful leaders in the Tribune in favor +of the Pacific Railroad, which had greatly endeared him to the +citizens of the Golden State. And therefore they made much of him +when he went to see them.</p> +<p>At one town the enthusiastic populace tore his celebrated white +coat to pieces and carried the pieces home to remember him by.</p> +<p>The citizens of Placerville prepared to fête the great +journalist, and an extra coach with extra relays of horses was +chartered of the California Stage Company to carry him from Folsom +to Placerville--distance, forty miles. The extra was in some way +delayed, and did not leave Folsom until late in the afternoon. Mr. +Greeley was to be fêted at seven o'clock that evening by the +citizens of Placerville, and it was altogether necessary that he +should be there by that time. So the Stage Company said to Henry +Monk, the driver of the extra, "Henry, this great man must be there +by seven to-night." And Henry answered, "The great man shall be +there."</p> +<p>The roads were in an awful state, and during the first few miles +out of Folsom slow progress was made.</p> +<p>"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "are you aware that I must be in +Placerville at seven o'clock to-night?"</p> +<p>"I've got my orders!" laconically replied Henry Monk.</p> +<p>Still the coach dragged slowly forward.</p> +<p>"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter. I +<i>must</i> be there at seven!"</p> +<p>Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!"</p> +<p>But the speed was not increased, and Mr. Greeley chafed away +another half-hour; when, as he was again about to remonstrate with +the driver, the horses suddenly started into a furious run, and all +sorts of encouraging yells filled the air from the throat of Henry +Monk.</p> +<p>"That is right, my good fellow," said Mr. Greeley. "I'll give +you ten dollars when we get to Placerville. Now we are going!"</p> +<p>They were indeed, and at a terrible speed.</p> +<p>Crack, crack! went the whip, and again "that voice" split the +air, "Get up! Hi-yi! G'long! Yip-yip."</p> +<p>And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a +rate of speed never before achieved by stage horses.</p> +<p>Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end of the stage to +the other like an India-rubber ball, managed to get his head out of +the window, when he said:--</p> +<p>"Do-on't-on't-on't you-u-u think we-e-e-e shall get there by +seven if we do-on't-on't go so fast?"</p> +<p>"I've got my orders!" That was all Henry Monk said. And on tore +the coach.</p> +<p>It was becoming serious. Already the journalist was extremely +sore from the terrible jolting--and again his head "might have been +seen from the window."</p> +<p>"Sir," he said, "I don't care-care-air if we <i>don't</i> get +there at seven."</p> +<p>"I've got my orders!" Fresh horses--forward again, faster than +before--over rocks and stumps, on one of which the coach narrowly +escaped turning a summerset.</p> +<p>"See here!" shrieked Mr. Greeley, "I don't care if we don't get +there at all."</p> +<p>"I've got my orders! I work fer the California Stage Company, I +do. That's wot I <i>work</i> fer. They said, 'Get this man through +by seving.' An' this man's goin' through, you bet! Gerlong! +Whoo-ep!"</p> +<p>Another frightful jolt, and Mr. Greeley's bald head suddenly +found its way through the roof of the coach, amidst the crash of +small timbers and the ripping of strong canvas.</p> +<p>"Stop, you--maniac!" he roared.</p> +<p>Again answered Henry Monk:--</p> +<p>"I've got my orders! <i>Keep your seat, Horace!</i>"</p> +<p>At Mud Springs, a village a few miles from Placerville, they met +a large delegation of the citizens of Placerville, who had come out +to meet the celebrated editor, and escort him into town. There was +a military company, a brass band, and a six-horse wagon-load of +beautiful damsels in milk-white dresses, representing all the +States in the Union. It was nearly dark now, but the delegation was +amply provided with torches, and bonfires blazed all along the road +to Placerville.</p> +<p>The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of Mud Springs, and +Mr. Monk reined in his foam-covered steeds.</p> +<p>"Is Mr. Greeley on board?" asked the chairman of the +committee.</p> +<p>"<i>He was, a few miles back</i>!" said Mr. Monk. "Yes," he +added, looking down through the hole which the fearful jolting had +made in the coach-roof, "Yes, I can see him! He is there!"</p> +<p>"Mr. Greeley," said the chairman of the committee, presenting +himself at the window of the coach, "Mr. Greeley, sir! We are come +to most cordially welcome you, sir!--Why, God bless me, sir, you +are bleeding at the nose!"</p> +<p>"I've got my orders!" cried Mr. Monk. "My orders is as follows: +Git him there by seving! It wants a quarter to seving. Stand out of +the way!"</p> +<p>"But, sir," exclaimed the committee-man, seizing the off-leader +by the reins, "Mr. Monk, we are come to escort him into town! Look +at the procession, sir, and the brass-band, and the people, and the +young women, sir!"</p> +<p>"<i>I've got my orders</i>!" screamed Mr. Monk. "My orders don't +say nothin' about no brass bands and young women. My orders says, +'Git him there by seving.' Let go them lines! Clear the way there! +Whoo-ep! Keep your seat, Horace!" and the coach dashed wildly +through the procession, upsetting a portion of the brass band, and +violently grazing the wagon which contained the beautiful young +women in white.</p> +<p>Years hence, gray-haired men who were little boys in this +procession will tell their grandchildren how this stage tore +through Mud Springs, and how Horace Greeley's bald head ever and +anon showed itself like a wild apparition above the coach-roof.</p> +<p>Mr. Monk was on time. There is a tradition that Mr. Greeley was +very indignant for a while: then he laughed and finally presented +Mr. Monk with a brand-new suit of clothes. Mr. Monk himself is +still in the employ of the California Stage Company, and is rather +fond of relating a story that has made him famous all over the +Pacific coast. But he says he yields to no man in his admiration +for Horace Greeley.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="THOMAS_BROWNE"></a> +<h2>SIR THOMAS BROWNE</h2> +<h3>(1605-1682)</h3> +<center>BY FRANCIS BACON</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-w.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>hen Sir Thomas Browne, in the last decade of his life, was asked +to furnish data for the writing of his memoirs in Wood's +'Athenæ Oxonienses,' he gave in a letter to his friend Mr. +Aubrey in the fewest words his birthplace and the places of his +education, his admission as "Socius Honorarius of the College of +Physitians in London," the date of his being knighted, and the +titles of the four books or tracts which he had printed; and ended +with "Have some miscellaneous tracts which may be published."</p> +<p>This account of himself, curter than many an epitaph, and +scantier in details than the requirements of a census-taker's +blank, may serve, with many other signs that one finds scattered +among the pages of this author, to show his rare modesty and +effacement of his physical self. He seems, like some other +thoughtful and sensitive natures before and since, averse or at +least indifferent to being put on record as an eating, digesting, +sleeping, and clothes-wearing animal, of that species of which his +contemporary Sir Samuel Pepys stands as the classical instance, and +which the newspaper interviewer of our own day--that "fellow who +would vulgarize the Day of Judgment"--has trained to the most +noxious degree of offensiveness.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/browne_t.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Sir Thomas Browne</b></p> +<p>Sir Thomas felt, undoubtedly, that having admitted that select +company--"fit audience though few"--who are students of the +'Religio Medici' to a close intimacy with his highest mental +processes and conditions, his "separable accidents," affairs of +assimilation and secretion as one may say, were business between +himself and his grocer and tailor, his cook and his laundress.</p> +<p>The industrious research of Mr. Simon Wilkin, who in 1836 +produced the completest edition (William Pickering, London) of the +literary remains of Sir Thomas Browne, has gathered from all +sources--his own note-books, domestic and friendly correspondence, +allusions of contemporary writers and the works of subsequent +biographers--all that we are likely, this side of Paradise, to know +of this great scholar and admirable man.</p> +<p>The main facts of his life are as follows. He was born in the +Parish of St. Michael's Cheap, in London, on the 19th of October, +1605 (the year of the Gunpowder Plot). His father, as is +apologetically admitted by a granddaughter, Mrs. Littleton, "was a +tradesman, a mercer, though a gentleman of a good family in +Cheshire" (<i>generosa familia</i>, says Sir Thomas's own epitaph). +That he was the parent of his son's temperament, a devout man with +a leaning toward mysticism in religion, is shown by the charming +story Mrs. Littleton tells of him, exhibiting traits worthy of the +best ages of faith, and more to be expected in the father of a +mediæval saint than in a prosperous Cheapside mercer, whose +son was to be one of the most learned and philosophical physicians +of the age of Harvey and Sydenham:--"His father used to open his +breast when he was asleep and kiss it in prayers over him, as 'tis +said of Origen's father, that the Holy Ghost would take possession +there." Clearly, it was with reverent memory of this good man that +Sir Thomas, near the close of his own long life, wrote:--"Among thy +multiplied acknowledgments, lift up one hand unto heaven that thou +wert born of honest parents; that modesty, humility, patience, and +veracity lay in the same egg and came into the world with +thee."</p> +<p>This loving father, of whom one would fain know more, died in +the early childhood of his son Thomas. He left a handsome estate of +£9,000, and a widow not wholly inconsolable with her third +portion and a not unduly deferred second marriage to a titled +gentleman, Sir Thomas Button,--a knight so scantily and at the same +time so variously described, as "a worthy person who had great +places," and "a bad member" of "mutinous and unworthy carriage," +that one is content to leave him as a problematical character.</p> +<p>The boy Thomas Browne being left to the care of guardians, his +estate was despoiled, though to what extent does not appear; nor +can it be considered greatly deplorable, since it did not prevent +his early schooling at that ancient and noble foundation of +Winchester, nor in 1623 his entrance into Pembroke College, Oxford, +and in due course his graduation in 1626 as bachelor of arts. With +what special assistance or direction he began his studies in +medical science, cannot now be ascertained; but after taking his +degree of master of arts in 1629, he practiced physic for about two +years in some uncertain place in Oxfordshire. He then began a +course of travel, unusually extensive for that day. His stepfather +upon occasion of his official duties under the government "shewed +him all Ireland in some visitation of the forts and castles." It is +improbable that Ireland at that time long detained a traveler +essentially literary in his tastes. Browne betook himself to France +and Italy, where he appears to have spent about two years, residing +at Montpellier and Padua, then great centres of medical learning, +with students drawn from most parts of Christendom. Returning +homeward through Holland, he received the degree of doctor of +medicine from the University of Leyden in 1633, and settled in +practice at Halifax, England.</p> +<p>At this time--favored probably by the leisure which largely +attends the beginning of a medical career, but which is rarely so +laudably or productively employed,--he wrote the treatise 'Religio +Medici,' which more than any other of his works has established his +fame and won the affectionate admiration of thoughtful readers. +This production was not printed until seven years later, although +some unauthorized manuscript copies, more or less faulty, were in +circulation. When in 1642 "it arrived in a most depraved copy at +the press," Browne felt it necessary to vindicate himself by +publishing a correct edition, although, he protests, its original +"intention was not publick: and being a private exercise directed +to myself, what is delivered therein was rather a memorial unto me +than an example or rule unto any other."</p> +<p>In 1636 he removed to Norwich and permanently established +himself there in the practice of physic. There in 1641 he married +Dorothy Mileham, a lady of good family in Norfolk; thereby not only +improving his social connections, but securing a wife "of such +symmetrical proportion to her worthy husband both in the graces of +her body and mind, that they seemed to come together by a kind of +natural magnetism." Such at least was the view of an intimate +friend of more than forty years, Rev. John Whitefoot, in the +'Minutes' which, at the request of the widow, he drew up after Sir +Thomas's death, and which contain the most that is known of his +personal appearance and manners. Evidently the marriage was a happy +one for forty-one years, when the Lady Dorothy was left +<i>mæstissima conjux</i>, as her husband's stately epitaph, +rich with many an <i>issimus</i>, declares. Twelve children were +born of it; and though only four of them survived their parents, +such mortality in carefully tended and well-circumstanced families +was less remarkable than it would be now, when two centuries more +of progress in medical science have added security and length to +human life.</p> +<p>The good mother--had she not endeared herself to the modern +reader by the affectionate gentleness and the quaint glimpses of +domestic life that her family letters reveal--would be irresistible +by the ingeniously bad spelling in which she reveled, transgressing +even the wide limits then allowed to feminine heterography.</p> +<p>It is noteworthy that Dr. Browne's professional prosperity was +not impaired by the suspicion which early attached to him, and soon +deepened into conviction, that he was addicted to literary +pursuits. He was in high repute as a physician. His practice was +extensive, and he was diligent in it, as also in those works of +literature and scientific investigation which occupied all +"snatches of time," he says, "as medical vacations and the +fruitless importunity of uroscopy would permit." His large family +was liberally reared; his hospitality and his charities were +ample.</p> +<p>In 1646 he printed his second book, the largest and most operose +of all his productions: the 'Pseudodoxia Epidemica, or Inquiries +into Vulgar and Common Errors' the work evidently of the +<i>horæ subsecivæ</i> of many years. In 1658 he gave to +the public two smaller but important and most characteristic works, +'Hydriotaphia' and 'The Garden of Cyrus.' Beside these publications +he left many manuscripts which appeared posthumously; the most +important of them, for its size and general interest, being +'Christian Morals.'</p> +<p>When Sir Thomas's long life drew to its close, it was with all +the blessings "which should accompany old age." His domestic life +had been one of felicity. His eldest and only surviving son, Edward +Browne, had become a scholar after his father's own heart; and +though not inheriting his genius, was already renowned in London, +one of the physicians to the King, and in a way to become, as +afterward he did, President of the College of Physicians. All his +daughters who had attained womanhood had been well married. He +lived in the society of the honorable and learned, and had received +from the King the honor of knighthood<a name= +"FNanchor1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1">[1]</a>.</p> +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor1">[1]</a> +As for this business of the knighting, one hesitates fully to adopt +Dr. Johnson's remark that Charles II. "had skill to discover +excellence and virtue to reward it, at least with such honorary +distinctions as cost him nothing." A candid observer of the walk +and conversation of this illustrious monarch finds room for doubt +that he was an attentive reader or consistent admirer of the +'Religio Medici,' or 'Christian Morals'; and though his own +personal history might have contributed much to a complete +catalogue of Vulgar Errors, Browne's treatise so named did not +include divagations from common decency in its scope, and so may +have failed to impress the royal mind. The fact is that the King on +his visit to Norwich, looking about for somebody to knight, +intended, as usual on such occasions, to confer the title on the +mayor of the city; but this functionary,--some brewer or grocer +perhaps, of whom nothing else than this incident is +recorded,--declined the honor, whereupon the gap was stopped with +Dr. Browne.</blockquote> +<p>Mr. John Evelyn, carrying out a long and cherished plan of +seeing one whom he had known and admired by his writings, visited +him at Norwich in 1671. He found Sir Thomas among fit surroundings, +"his whole house and garden being a paradise and cabinet of +rarities, and that of the best collections, especially medails, +books, plants, and natural things<a name="FNanchor2"></a><a href= +"#Footnote_2">[2]</a>." Here we have the right background and +accessories for Whitefoot's portrait of the central figure:--</p> +<blockquote>"His complexion and hair ... answerable to his name, +his stature moderate, and habit of body neither fat nor lean but +[Greek: eusarkos;] ... never seen to be transported with mirth or +dejected with sadness; always cheerful, but rarely merry at any +sensible rate; seldom heard to break a jest, and when he did, ... +apt to blush at the levity of it: his gravity was natural without +affectation. His modesty ... visible in a natural habitual blush, +which was increased upon the least occasion, and oft discovered +without any observable cause.... So free from loquacity or much +talkativeness, that he was something difficult to be engaged in any +discourse; though when he was so, it was always singular and never +trite or vulgar."</blockquote> +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor2">[2]</a> +These two distinguished authors were of congenial tastes, and both +cultivated the same Latinistic literary diction. Their meeting must +have occasioned a copious effusion of those "long-tailed words in +osity and ation" which both had so readily at command or made to +order. It is regrettable that Evelyn never completed a work +entitled 'Elysium Brittannicum' which he planned, and to which +Browne contributed a chapter 'Of Coronary Plants.' It would have +taken rank with its author's 'Sylva' among English +classics.</blockquote> +<p>A man of character so lofty and self-contained might be expected +to leave a life so long, honorable, and beneficent with becoming +dignity. Sir Thomas's last sickness, a brief but very painful one, +was "endured with exemplary patience founded upon the Christian +philosophy," and "with a meek, rational, and religious courage," +much to the edification of his friend Whitefoot. One may see even a +kind of felicity in his death, falling exactly on the completion of +his seventy-seventh year.</p> +<p>He was buried in the church of St. Peter Mancroft, where his +monument still claims regard as chief among the <i>memorabilia</i> +of that noble sanctuary<a name="FNanchor3"></a><a href= +"#Footnote_3">[3]</a>.</p> +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor3">[3]</a> +In the course of repairs, "in August, 1840, his coffin was broken +open by a pickaxe; the bones were found in good preservation, the +fine auburn hair had not lost its freshness." It is painful to +relate that the cranium was removed and placed in the pathological +museum of the Norwich Hospital, labeled as "the gift of" some +person (name not recalled), whose own cranium is probably an object +of interest solely to its present proprietor. "Who knows the fate +of his own bones? ... We insult not over their ashes," says Sir +Thomas. The curator of the museum feels that he has a clever joke +on the dead man, when with a grin he points to a label bearing +these words from the 'Hydriotaphia':--"To be knaved out of our +graves, to have our skulls made drinking-bowls, and our bones +turned into pipes to delight and sport our enemies, are tragical +abominations escaped in burning burials."</blockquote> +<p>At the first appearance of Browne's several publications, they +attracted that attention from the learned and thoughtful which they +have ever since retained. The 'Religio Medici' was soon translated +into several modern languages as well as into Latin, and became the +subject of curiously diverse criticism. The book received the +distinction of a place in the Roman 'Index Expurgatorius,' while +from various points of view its author was regarded as a Romanist, +an atheist, a deist, a pantheist, and as bearing the number 666 +somewhere about him.</p> +<p>A worthy Quaker, a fellow-townsman, was so impressed by his tone +of quietistic mysticism that he felt sure the philosophic doctor +was guided by "the inward light," and wrote, sending a godly book, +and proposing to clinch his conversion in a personal interview. +Such are the perils that environ the man who not only repeats a +creed in sincerity, but ventures to do and to utter his own +thinking about it.</p> +<p>From Browne's own day to the present time his critics and +commentators have been numerous and distinguished; one of the most +renowned among them being Dr. Johnson, whose life of the author, +prefixed to an edition of the 'Christian Morals' in 1756, is a fine +specimen of that facile and effective hack-work of which Johnson +was master. In that characteristic way of his, half of patronage, +half of reproof, and wholly pedagogical, he summons his subject to +the bar of his dialectics, and according to his lights administers +justice. He admits that Browne has "great excellencies" and +"uncommon sentiments," and that his scholarship and science are +admirable, but strongly condemns his style: "It is vigorous, but +rugged; it is learned, but pedantic; it is deep, but obscure; it +strikes, but does not please; it commands, but does not allure; his +tropes are harsh and his combinations uncouth."</p> +<p>Behemoth prescribing rules of locomotion to the swan! By how +much would English letters have been the poorer if Browne had +learned his art of Johnson!</p> +<p>Notwithstanding such objurgations, some have supposed that the +style of Johnson, perhaps without conscious intent, was founded +upon that of Browne. A tone of oracular authority, an academic +Latinism sometimes disregarding the limitations of the unlearned +reader, an elaborate balancing of antitheses in the same +period,--these are qualities which the two writers have in common. +But the resemblance, such as it is, is skin-deep. Johnson is a +polemic by nature, and at his best cogent and triumphant in +argument. His thought is carefully kept level with the apprehension +of the ordinary reader, while arrayed in a verbal pomp simulating +the expression of something weighty and profound. Browne is +intuitive and ever averse to controversy, feeling, as he +exquisitely says, that "many have too rashly charged the troops of +error and remain as trophies unto the enemies of truth. A man may +be in as just possession of the truth as of a city, and yet be +forced to surrender." Calmly philosophic, he writes for kindred +minds, and his concepts satisfying his own intellect, he delivers +them with as little passion as an Æolian harp answering the +wind, and lingers not for applause or explanation. His being</p> +<blockquote>"Those thoughts that wander through +eternity,"</blockquote> +<p>he means that we too shall "have a glimpse of incomprehensibles, +and thoughts of things which thoughts but tenderly touch."</p> +<p>How grandly he rounds his pregnant paragraphs with phrases which +for stately and compulsive rhythm, sonorous harmony, and sweetly +solemn cadences, are almost matchless in English prose, and lack +only the mechanism of metre to give them the highest rank as +verse.</p> +<p>"Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes and pompous in the +grave, solemnizing nativities and deaths with equal lustre, nor +omitting ceremonies of bravery in the infancy of his nature;" "When +personations shall cease, and histrionism of happiness be over; +when reality shall rule, and all shall be as they shall be +forever:"--such passages as these, and the whole of the 'Fragment +on Mummies,' one can scarcely recite without falling into something +of that chant which the blank verse of Milton and Tennyson seems to +enforce.</p> +<p>That the 'Religio Medici' was the work of a gentleman before his +thirtieth year, not a recluse nor trained in a cloister, but active +in a calling which keeps closest touch with the passions and +frailties of humanity, seems to justify his assertion, "I have +shaken hands with delight [<i>sc.</i> by way of parting] in my warm +blood and canicular days." So uniformly lofty and dignified is its +tone, and so austere its morality, that the book might be taken for +the fruit of those later and sadder years that bring the +philosophic mind. Its frank confessions and calm analysis of motive +and action have been compared with Montaigne's: if Montaigne had +been graduated after a due education in Purgatory, or if his +pedigree had been remotely crossed with a St. Anthony and he had +lived to see the <i>fluctus decumanus</i> gathering in the tide of +Puritanism, the likeness would have been closer.</p> +<p>"The 'Religio Medici,'" says Coleridge, "is a fine portrait of a +handsome man in his best clothes." There is truth in the criticism, +and if there is no color of a sneer in it, it is entirely true. Who +does not feel, when following Browne into his study or his garden, +that here is a kind of cloistral retreat from the common places of +the outside world, that the handsome man is a true gentleman and a +noble friend, and that his best clothes are his every-day wear?</p> +<p>This aloofness of Browne's, which holds him apart "in the still +air of delightful studies," is no affectation; it is an innate +quality. He thinks his thoughts in his own way, and "the style is +the man" never more truly than with him. One of his family letters +mentions the execution of Charles I. as a "horrid murther," and +another speaks of Cromwell as a usurper; but nowhere in anything +intended for the public eye is there an indication that he lived in +the most tumultuous and heroic period of English history. Not a +word shows that Shakespeare was of the generation just preceding +his, nor that Milton and George Herbert and Henry Vaughan, numerous +as are the parallels in their thought and feeling and in his, were +his contemporaries. Constant and extensive as are his excursions +into ancient literature, it is rare for him to make any reference +to writers of his own time.</p> +<p>Yet with all his delight in antiquity and reverence for the +great names of former ages, he is keen in the quest for new +discoveries. His commonplace books abound in ingenious queries and +minute observations regarding physical facts, conceived in the very +spirit of our modern school:--"What is the use of dew-claws in +dogs?" He does not instantly answer, as a schoolboy in this +Darwinian day would, "To carry out an analogy;" but the mere asking +of the question sets him ahead of his age. See too his curious +inquiries into the left-footedness of parrots and left-handedness +of certain monkeys and squirrels. The epoch-making announcement of +his fellow-physician Harvey he quickly appreciates at its true +value: "his piece 'De Circul. Sang.,' which discovery I prefer to +that of Columbus." And here again a truly surprising suggestion of +the great results achieved a century and two centuries later by +Jenner and Pasteur--concerning canine madness, "whether it holdeth +not better at second than at first hand, so that if a dog bite a +horse, and that horse a man, the evil proves less considerable." He +is the first to observe and describe that curious product of the +decomposition of flesh known to modern chemists as adipocere.</p> +<p>He is full of eager anticipation of the future. "Join sense unto +reason," he cries, "and experiment unto speculation, and so give +life unto embryon truths and verities yet in their chaos.... What +libraries of new volumes after-times will behold, and in what a new +world of knowledge the eyes of our posterity may be happy, a few +ages may joyfully declare."</p> +<p>But acute and active as our author's perceptions were, they did +not prevent his sharing the then prevalent theory which assigned to +the devil, and to witches who were his ministers, an important part +in the economy of the world. This belief affords so easy a solution +of some problems otherwise puzzling, that this degenerate age may +look back with envy upon those who held it in serene and +comfortable possession.</p> +<p>It is to be regretted, however, that the eminent Lord Chief +Justice Hale in 1664, presiding at the trial for witchcraft of two +women, should have called Dr. Browne, apparently as <i>amicus +curiæ</i>, to give his view of the fits which were supposed +to be the work of the witches. He was clearly of the opinion that +the Devil had even more to do with that case than he has with most +cases of hysteria; and consequently the witches, it must be said, +fared no better in Sir Matthew Hale's court than many of their kind +in various parts of Christendom about the same time. But it would +be unreasonable for us to hold the ghost of Sir Thomas deeply +culpable because, while he showed in most matters an exceptionally +enlightened liberality of opinion and practice, in this one +particular he declined to deny the scientific dictum of previous +ages and the popular belief of his own time.</p> +<p>The mental attitude of reverent belief in its symbolic value, in +which this devout philosopher contemplated the material world, is +that of many of those who have since helped most to build the +structure of Natural Science. The rapturous exclamation of +Linnæus, "My God, I think thy thoughts after thee!" comes +like an antiphonal response by "the man of flowers" to these +passages in the 'Religio Medici':--"This visible world is but a +picture of the invisible, wherein, as in a portrait, things are not +truly, but in equivocal shapes, and as they counterfeit some real +substance in that invisible fabric." "Things are really true as +they correspond unto God's conception; and have so much verity as +they hold of conformity unto that intellect, in whose idea they had +their first determinations."</p> +<p class="sign"><img src="images/sign-185.jpg" width="60%" alt= +""></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BROWNE11"></a> +<h3>FROM THE 'RELIGIO MEDICI'</h3> +<br> +<p>I could never divide myself from any man upon the difference of +an opinion, or be angry with his judgment for not agreeing with me +in that from which within a few days I should dissent myself. I +have no genius to disputes in religion, and have often thought it +wisdom to decline them, especially upon a disadvantage, or when the +cause of truth might suffer in the weakness of my patronage. Where +we desire to be informed, 'tis good to contest with men above +ourselves; but to confirm and establish our opinions, 'tis best to +argue with judgments below our own, that the frequent spoils and +victories over their reasons may settle in ourselves an esteem and +confirmed opinion of our own. Every man is not a proper champion +for truth, nor fit to take up the gauntlet in the cause of verity: +many from the ignorance of these maxims, and an inconsiderate zeal +for truth, have too rashly charged the troops of error, and remain +as trophies unto the enemies of truth. A man may be in as just +possession of truth as of a city, and yet be forced to surrender; +'tis therefore far better to enjoy her with peace, than to hazard +her on a battle: if therefore there rise any doubts in my way, I do +forget them, or at least defer them, till my better settled +judgment and more manly reason be able to resolve them; for I +perceive every man's own reason is his best Oedipus, and will, upon +a reasonable truce, find a way to loose those bonds wherewith the +subtleties of error have enchained our more flexible and tender +judgments. In philosophy, where truth seems double-faced, there is +no man more paradoxical than myself: but in divinity I love to keep +the road; and though not in an implicit, yet an humble faith, +follow the great wheel of the Church, by which I move, not +reserving any proper poles or motion from the epicycle of my own +brain: by these means I leave no gap for heresy, schisms, or +errors.</p> +<p>As for those wingy mysteries in divinity, and airy subtleties in +religion, which have unhinged the brains of better heads, they +never stretched the <i>pia mater</i> of mine: methinks there be not +impossibilities enough in religion for an active faith; the deepest +mysteries ours contains have not only been illustrated, but +maintained, by syllogism and the rule of reason. I love to lose +myself in a mystery, to pursue my reason to an <i>O altitudo!</i> +'Tis my solitary recreation to pose my apprehension with those +involved enigmas and riddles of the Trinity, with Incarnation and +Resurrection. I can answer all the objections of Satan and my +rebellious reason with that odd resolution I learned of Tertullian, +"Certum est quia impossible est." I desire to exercise my faith in +the difficultest point; for to credit ordinary and visible objects +is not faith, but persuasion. Some believe the better for seeing +Christ's sepulchre; and when they have seen the Red Sea, doubt not +of the miracle. Now contrarily, I bless myself and am thankful that +I live not in the days of miracles, that I never saw Christ nor his +disciples; I would not have been one of those Israelites that +passed the Red Sea, nor one of Christ's patients on whom he wrought +his wonders: then had my faith been thrust upon me; nor should I +enjoy that greater blessing pronounced to all that believe and saw +not. 'Tis an easy and necessary belief, to credit what our eye and +sense hath examined: I believe he was dead and buried, and rose +again; and desire to see him in his glory, rather than to +contemplate him in his cenotaph or sepulchre. Nor is this much to +believe; as we have reason, we owe this faith unto history: they +only had the advantage of a bold and noble faith who lived before +his coming, who upon obscure prophecies and mystical types could +raise a belief and expect apparent impossibilities.</p> +<p>In my solitary and retired imagination,</p> +<blockquote>"Neque enim cum lectulus aut me<br> +Porticus excepit, desum mihi"--</blockquote> +<p>I remember I am not alone, and therefore forget not to +contemplate Him and his attributes who is ever with me, especially +those two mighty ones, His wisdom and eternity: with the one I +recreate, with the other I confound my understanding; for who can +speak of eternity without a solecism, or think thereof without an +ecstasy? Time we may comprehend: it is but five days older than +ourselves, and hath the same horoscope with the world; but to +retire so far back as to apprehend a beginning, to give such an +infinite start forward as to conceive an end in an essence that we +affirm hath neither the one nor the other, it puts my reason to St. +Paul's sanctuary: my philosophy dares not say the angels can do it; +God hath not made a creature that can comprehend him; it is a +privilege of his own nature: <i>I am that I am</i>, was his own +definition unto Moses; and it was a short one, to confound +mortality, that durst question God or ask him what he was. Indeed +he only is; all others have and shall be; but in eternity there is +no distinction of tenses; and therefore that terrible term +<i>predestination</i>, which hath troubled so many weak heads to +conceive, and the wisest to explain, is in respect to God no +prescious determination of our states to come, but a definitive +blast of his will already fulfilled, and at the instant that he +first decreed it; for to his eternity, which is indivisible and all +together, the last trump, is already sounded, the reprobates in the +flame and the blessed in Abraham's bosom. St. Peter speaks modestly +when he saith, a thousand years to God are but as one day; for to +speak like a philosopher, those continued instances of time which +flow into a thousand years make not to him one moment: what to us +is to come, to his eternity is present, his whole duration being +but one permanent point, without succession, parts, flux, or +division.</p> +<p>The world was made to be inhabited by beasts, but studied and +contemplated by man; 'tis the debt of our reason we owe unto God, +and the homage we pay for not being beasts; without this, the world +is still as though it had not been, or as it was before the sixth +day, when as yet there was not a creature that could conceive or +say there was a world. The wisdom of God receives small honor from +those vulgar heads that rudely stare about, and with a gross +rusticity admire his works: those highly magnify him whose +judicious inquiry into his acts, and deliberate research into his +creatures, return the duty of a devout and learned admiration.</p> +<p>"Natura nihil agit frustra," is the only indisputable axiom in +philosophy; there are no grotesques in nature; not anything framed +to fill up empty cantons and unnecessary spaces: in the most +imperfect creatures, and such as were not preserved in the ark, +but, having their seeds and principles in the womb of nature, are +everywhere where the power of the sun is--in these is the wisdom of +His hand discovered; out of this rank Solomon chose the object of +his admiration; indeed, what reason may not go to school to the +wisdom of bees, ants, and spiders? what wise hand teacheth them to +do what reason cannot teach us? Ruder heads stand amazed at those +prodigious pieces of nature--whales, elephants, dromedaries, and +camels; these, I confess, are the colossi and majestic pieces of +her hand: but in these narrow engines there is more curious +mathematics; and the civility of these little citizens more neatly +sets forth the wisdom of their Maker. Who admires not +Regio-Montanus his fly beyond his eagle, or wonders not more at the +operation of two souls in those little bodies, than but one in the +trunk of a cedar? I could never content my contemplation with those +general pieces of wonder, the flux and reflux of the sea, the +increase of the Nile, the conversion of the needle to the north; +and have studied to match and parallel those in the more obvious +and neglected pieces of nature, which without further travel I can +do in the cosmography of myself: we carry with us the wonders we +seek without us; there is all Africa and her prodigies in us; we +are that bold and adventurous piece of nature which he that studies +wisely learns in a compendium, what others labor at in a divided +piece and endless volume.</p> +<p>Thus there are two books from whence I collect my divinity: +besides that written one of God, another of his servant nature, +that universal and public manuscript that lies expansed unto the +eyes of all; those that never saw him in the one have discovered +him in the other. This was the Scripture and Theology of the +heathens: the natural motion of the sun made them more admire him +than its supernatural station did the children of Israel; the +ordinary effect of nature wrought more admiration in them than in +the other all his miracles: surely the heathens knew better how to +join and read these mystical letters than we Christians, who cast a +more careless eye on these common hieroglyphics and disdain to suck +divinity from the flowers of nature. Nor do I so forget God as to +adore the name of nature; which I define not, with the schools, to +be the principle of motion and rest, but that straight and regular +line, that settled and constant course the wisdom of God hath +ordained the actions of his creatures, according to their several +kinds. To make a revolution every day is the nature of the sun, +because of that necessary course which God hath ordained it, from +which it cannot swerve but by a faculty from that voice which first +did give it motion. Now this course of nature God seldom alters or +perverts, but, like an excellent artist, hath so contrived his work +that with the selfsame instrument, without a new creation, he may +effect his obscurest designs. Thus he sweeteneth the water with a +wood, preserveth the creatures in the ark, which the blast of his +mouth might have as easily created; for God is like a skillful +geometrician, who when more easily, and with one stroke of his +compass, he might describe or divide a right line, had yet rather +to do this in a circle or longer way, according to the constituted +and forelaid principles of his art: yet this rule of his he doth +sometimes pervert to acquaint the world with his prerogative, lest +the arrogancy of our reason should question his power and conclude +he could not. And thus I call the effects of nature the works of +God, whose hand and instrument she only is; and therefore to +ascribe his actions unto her is to devolve the honor of the +principal agent upon the instrument; which if with reason we may +do, then let our hammers rise up and boast they have built our +houses, and our pens receive the honor of our writing. I hold there +is a general beauty in the works of God, and therefore no deformity +in any kind of species whatsoever: I cannot tell by what logic we +call a toad, a bear, or an elephant ugly, they being created in +those outward shapes and figures which best express those actions +of their inward forms. And having passed that general visitation of +God, who saw that all that he had made was good, that is, +conformable to his will, which abhors deformity, and is the rule of +order and beauty: there is no deformity but in monstrosity, wherein +notwithstanding there is a kind of beauty, nature so ingeniously +contriving the irregular parts that they become sometimes more +remarkable than the principal fabric. To speak yet more narrowly, +there was never anything ugly or misshapen but the chaos; wherein, +notwithstanding, to speak strictly, there was no deformity, because +no form, nor was it yet impregnate by the voice of God; now nature +is not at variance with art, nor art with nature, they being both +servants of his providence: art is the perfection of nature: were +the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos; +nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things +are artificial; for nature is the art of God.</p> +<p>I have heard some with deep sighs lament the lost lines of +Cicero; others with as many groans deplore the combustion of the +library of Alexandria; for my own part, I think there be too many +in the world, and could with patience behold the urn and ashes of +the Vatican, could I, with a few others, recover the perished +leaves of Solomon. I would not omit a copy of Enoch's Pillars had +they many nearer authors than Josephus, or did not relish somewhat +of the fable. Some men have written more than others have spoken: +Pineda quotes more authors in one work than are necessary in a +whole world. Of those three great inventions in Germany, there are +two which are not without their incommodities. It is not a +melancholy <i>utinam</i> of my own, but the desires of better +heads, that there were a general synod; not to unite the +incompatible difference of religion, but for the benefit of +learning, to reduce it, as it lay at first, in a few and solid +authors; and to condemn to the fire those swarms and millions of +rhapsodies begotten only to distract and abuse the weaker judgments +of scholars, and to maintain the trade and mystery of +typographers.</p> +<p>Again, I believe that all that use sorceries, incantations, and +spells are not witches, or, as we term them, magicians. I conceive +there is a traditional magic not learned immediately from the +Devil, but at second hand from his scholars, who, having once the +secret betrayed, are able, and do empirically practice without his +advice, they both proceeding upon the principles of nature; where +actives aptly conjoined to disposed passives will under any master +produce their effects. Thus, I think at first a great part of +philosophy was witchcraft, which being afterward derived to one +another, proved but philosophy, and was indeed no more but the +honest effects of nature: what invented by us is philosophy, +learned from him is magic. We do surely owe the discovery of many +secrets to the discovery of good and bad angels. I could never pass +that sentence of Paracelsus without an asterisk or annotation: +"Ascendens astrum multa revelat quærentibus magnalia +naturæ, i.e., opera Dei." I do think that many mysteries +ascribed to our own inventions have been the courteous revelations +of spirits,--for those noble essences in heaven bear a friendly +regard unto their fellow natures on earth; and therefore believe +that those many prodigies and ominous prognostics which forerun the +ruins of States, princes, and private persons are the charitable +premonitions of good angels, which more careless inquiries term but +the effects of chance and nature.</p> +<p>Now, besides these particular and divided spirits there may be +(for aught I know) an universal and common spirit to the whole +world. It was the opinion of Plato, and it is yet of the Hermetical +philosophers: if there be a common nature that unites and ties the +scattered and divided individuals into one species, why may there +not be one that unites them all? However, I am sure there is a +common spirit that plays within us, yet makes no part of us: and +that is the Spirit of God, the fire and scintillation of that noble +and mighty essence which is the life and radical heat of spirits +and those essences that know not the virtue of the sun; a fire +quite contrary to the fire of hell: this is that gentle heat that +brooded on the waters, and in six days hatched the world; this is +that irradiation that dispels the mists of hell, the clouds of +horror, fear, sorrow, despair; and preserves the region of the mind +in serenity: whosoever feels not the warm gale and gentle +ventilation of this spirit (though I feel his pulse) I dare not say +he lives; for truly without this, to me there is no heat under the +tropic; nor any light, though I dwelt in the body of the sun.</p> +<p>I believe that the whole frame of a beast doth perish, and is +left in the same state after death as before it was materialled +unto life: that the souls of men know neither contrary nor +corruption; that they subsist beyond the body, and outlive death by +the privilege of their proper natures, and without a miracle; that +the souls of the faithful, as they leave earth, take possession of +heaven: that those apparitions and ghosts of departed persons are +not the wandering souls of men, but the unquiet walks of devils, +prompting and suggesting us into mischief, blood, and villainy; +instilling and stealing into our hearts that the blessed spirits +are not at rest in their graves, but wander solicitous of the +affairs of the world: but that those phantasms appear often, and do +frequent cemeteries, charnel-houses, and churches, it is because +those are the dormitories of the dead, where the Devil, like an +insolent champion, beholds with pride the spoils and trophies of +his victory in Adam.</p> +<p>This is that dismal conquest we all deplore, that makes us so +often cry, "Adam, quid fecisti?" I thank God I have not those +strait ligaments, or narrow obligations to the world, as to dote on +life, or be convulsed and tremble at the name of death: not that I +am insensible of the dread and horror thereof; or by raking into +the bowels of the deceased, continual sight of anatomies, +skeletons, or cadaverous reliques, like vespilloes or grave-makers, +I am become stupid or have forgot the apprehension of mortality; +but that marshaling all the horrors, and contemplating the +extremities thereof, I find not anything therein able to daunt the +courage of a man, much less a well-resolved Christian; and +therefore am not angry at the error of our first parents, or +unwilling to bear a part of this common fate, and like the best of +them to die--that is, to cease to breathe, to take a farewell of +the elements, to be a kind of nothing for a moment, to be within +one instant of a spirit. When I take a full view and circle of +myself without this reasonable moderator and equal piece of +justice, Death, I do conceive myself the miserablest person extant: +were there not another life that I hope for, all the vanities of +this world should not entreat a moment's breath from me; could the +Devil work my belief to imagine I could never die, I would not +outlive that very thought. I have so abject a conceit of this +common way of existence, this retaining to the sun and elements, I +cannot think this to be a man, or to live according to the dignity +of humanity. In expectation of a better, I can with patience +embrace this life, yet in my best meditations do often defy death: +I honor any man that contemns it, nor can I highly love any that is +afraid of it: this makes me naturally love a soldier, and honor +those tattered and contemptible regiments that will die at the +command of a sergeant. For a pagan there may be some motives to be +in love with life; but for a Christian to be amazed at death, I see +not how he can escape this dilemma--that he is too sensible of this +life, or hopeless of the life to come.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>I am naturally bashful; nor hath conversation, age, or travel +been able to effront or enharden me: yet I have one part of modesty +which I have seldom discovered in another, that is (to speak truly) +I am not so much afraid of death, as ashamed thereof: 'tis the very +disgrace and ignominy of our natures that in a moment can so +disfigure us that our nearest friends, wife, and children, stand +afraid and start at us. The birds and beasts of the field, that +before in a natural fear obeyed us, forgetting all allegiance, +begin to prey upon us. This very conceit hath in a tempest disposed +and left me willing to be swallowed up in the abyss of waters, +wherein I had perished unseen, unpitied, without wondering eyes, +tears of pity, lectures of mortality, and none had said, "Quantum +mutatus ab illo!" Not that I am ashamed of the anatomy of my parts, +or can accuse nature for playing the bungler in any part of me, or +my own vicious life for contracting any shameful disease upon me, +whereby I might not call myself as wholesome a morsel for the worms +as any.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>Men commonly set forth the torments of hell by fire and the +extremity of corporal afflictions, and describe hell in the same +method that Mahomet doth heaven. This indeed makes a noise, and +drums in popular ears: but if this be the terrible piece thereof, +it is not worthy to stand in diameter with heaven, whose happiness +consists in that part that is best able to comprehend it--that +immortal essence, that translated divinity and colony of God, the +soul. Surely, though we place hell under earth, the Devil's walk +and purlieu is about it; men speak too popularly who place it in +those flaming mountains which to grosser apprehensions represent +hell. The heart of man is the place the Devil dwells in: I feel +sometimes a hell within myself; Lucifer keeps his court in my +breast; Legion is revived in me. There are as many hells as +Anaxarchus conceited worlds: there was more than one hell in +Magdalen, when there were seven devils, for every devil is an hell +unto himself; he holds enough of torture in his own <i>ubi</i>, and +needs not the misery of circumference to afflict him; and thus a +distracted conscience here is a shadow or introduction unto hell +hereafter. Who can but pity the merciful intention of those hands +that do destroy themselves? the Devil, were it in his power, would +do the like; which being impossible, his miseries are endless, and +he suffers most in that attribute wherein he is impassible, his +immortality.</p> +<p>I thank God, and with joy I mention it, I was never afraid of +hell, nor never grew pale at the description of that place; I have +so fixed my contemplations on heaven, that I have almost forgot the +idea of hell, and am afraid rather to lose the joys of the one than +endure the misery of the other: to be deprived of them is a perfect +hell, and needs, methinks, no addition to complete our afflictions. +That terrible term hath never detained me from sin, nor do I owe +any good action to the name thereof. I fear God, yet am not afraid +of him; his mercies make me ashamed of my sins, before his +judgments afraid thereof; these are the forced and secondary method +of his wisdom, which he useth but as the last remedy, and upon +provocation: a course rather to deter the wicked than incite the +virtuous to his worship. I can hardly think there was ever any +scared into heaven; they go the fairest way to heaven that would +serve God without a hell; other mercenaries, that crouch unto him +in fear of hell, though they term themselves the servants, are +indeed but the slaves of the Almighty.</p> +<p>That which is the cause of my election I hold to be the cause of +my salvation, which was the mercy and <i>beneplacit</i> of God, +before I was, or the foundation of the world. "Before Abraham was, +I am," is the saying of Christ; yet is it true in some sense, if I +say it of myself; for I was not only before myself, but Adam--that +is, in the idea of God, and the decree of that synod held from all +eternity: and in this sense, I say, the world was before the +creation, and at an end before it had a beginning; and thus was I +dead before I was alive; though my grave be England, my dying place +was Paradise; and Eve miscarried of me before she conceived of +Cain.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>Now for that other virtue of charity, without which faith is a +mere notion and of no existence, I have ever endeavored to nourish +the merciful disposition and humane inclination I borrowed from my +parents, and regulate it to the written and prescribed laws of +charity: and if I hold the true anatomy of myself, I am delineated +and naturally framed to such a piece of virtue; for I am of a +constitution so general that it consorts and sympathizeth with all +things: I have no antipathy, or rather idiosyncrasy, in diet, +humor, air, anything. I wonder not at the French for their dishes +of frogs, snails, and toadstools; nor at the Jews for locusts and +grasshoppers; but being amongst them, make them my common viands, +and I find they agree with my stomach as well as theirs. I could +digest a salad gathered in a churchyard as well as in a garden. I +cannot start at the presence of a serpent, scorpion, lizard, or +salamander: at the sight of a toad or viper I find in me no desire +to take up a stone to destroy them. I feel not in myself those +common antipathies that I can discover in others; those national +repugnances do not touch me, nor do I behold with prejudice the +French, Italian, Spaniard, or Dutch: but where I find their actions +in balance with my countrymen's, I honor, love, and embrace them in +the same degree. I was born in the eighth climate, but seem for to +be framed and constellated unto all: I am no plant that will not +prosper out of a garden; all places, all airs, make unto me one +country; I am in England, everywhere, and under any meridian; I +have been shipwrecked, yet am not enemy with the sea or winds; I +can study, play or sleep in a tempest. In brief, I am averse from +nothing: my conscience would give me the lie if I should absolutely +detest or hate any essence but the Devil; or so at least abhor +anything but that we might come to composition. If there be any +among those common objects of hatred I do contemn and laugh at, it +is that great enemy of reason, virtue, and religion--the multitude: +that numerous piece of monstrosity which, taken asunder, seem men +and the reasonable creatures of God, but confused together, make +but one great beast and a monstrosity more prodigious than Hydra: +it is no breach of charity to call these fools; it is the style all +holy writers have afforded them, set down by Solomon in canonical +Scripture, and a point of our faith to believe so. Neither in the +name of multitude do I only include the base and minor sort of +people: there is a rabble even amongst the gentry, a sort of +plebeian heads, whose fancy moves with the same wheel as these; men +in the same level with mechanics, though their fortunes do somewhat +gild their infirmities, and their purses compound for their +follies.</p> +<p>I must give no alms to satisfy the hunger of my brother, but to +fulfill and accomplish the will and command of my God: I draw not +my purse for his sake that demands it, but His that enjoined it; I +believe no man upon the rhetoric of his miseries, nor to content +mine own commiserating disposition; for this is still but moral +charity, and an act that oweth more to passion than reason. He that +relieves another upon the bare suggestion and bowels of pity doth +not this so much for his sake as for his own; for by compassion we +make others' misery our own, and so, by relieving them, we relieve +ourselves also. It is as erroneous a conceit to redress other men's +misfortunes upon the common considerations of merciful natures, +that it may be one day our own case; for this is a sinister and +politic kind of charity, whereby we seem to bespeak the pities of +men in the like occasions. And truly I have observed that those +professed eleemosynaries, though in a crowd or multitude, do yet +direct and place their petitions on a few and selected persons: +there is surely a physiognomy which those experienced and master +mendicants observe, whereby they instantly discover a merciful +aspect, and will single out a face wherein they spy the signatures +and marks of mercy. For there are mystically in our faces certain +characters which carry in them the motto of our souls, wherein he +that cannot read ABC may read our natures. I hold moreover that +there is a phytognomy, or physiognomy, not only of men, but of +plants and vegetables; and in every one of them some outward +figures which hang as signs or bushes of their inward forms. The +finger of God hath left an inscription upon all his works, not +graphical or composed of letters, but of their several forms, +constitutions, parts and operations, which, aptly joined together, +do make one word that doth express their natures. By these letters +God calls the stars by their names; and by this alphabet Adam +assigned to every creature a name peculiar to its nature. Now there +are, besides these characters in our faces, certain mystical +figures in our hands, which I dare not call mere dashes, strokes +<i>à la volée</i>, or at random, because delineated +by a pencil that never works in vain; and hereof I take more +particular notice, because I carry that in mine own hand which I +could never read of or discover in another. Aristotle, I confess, +in his acute and singular book of physiognomy, hath made no mention +of chiromancy; yet I believe the Egyptians, who were nearer +addicted to those abstruse and mystical sciences, had a knowledge +therein, to which those vagabond and counterfeit Egyptians did +after pretend, and perhaps retained a few corrupted principles +which sometimes might verify their prognostics.</p> +<p>It is the common wonder of all men, how, among so many millions +of faces, there should be none alike. Now, contrary, I wonder as +much how there should be any: he that shall consider how many +thousand several words have been carelessly and without study +composed out of twenty-four letters; withal, how many hundred lines +there are to be drawn in the fabric of one man, shall easily find +that this variety is necessary; and it will be very hard that they +shall so concur as to make one portrait like another. Let a painter +carelessly limn out a million of faces, and you shall find them all +different; yea, let him have his copy before him, yet after all his +art there will remain a sensible distinction; for the pattern or +example of everything is the perfectest in that kind, whereof we +still come short, though we transcend or go beyond it, because +herein it is wide, and agrees not in all points unto its copy. Nor +doth the similitude of creatures disparage the variety of nature, +nor any way confound the works of God. For even in things alike +there is diversity; and those that do seem to accord do manifestly +disagree. And thus is man like God; for in the same things that we +resemble him we are utterly different from him. There was never +anything so like another as in all points to concur; there will +ever some reserved difference slip in, to prevent the identity, +without which two several things would not be alike, but the same, +which is impossible.</p> +<p>Naturally amorous of all that is beautiful, I can look a whole +day with delight upon a handsome picture, though it be but of an +horse. It is my temper, and I like it the better, to affect all +harmony; and sure there is music even in the beauty, and the silent +note which Cupid strikes, far sweeter than the sound of an +instrument: for there is music wherever there is harmony, order, +or, proportion: and thus far we may maintain <i>the music of the +spheres</i>; for those well-ordered motions and regular paces, +though they give no sound unto the ear, yet to the understanding +they strike a note most full of harmony. Whatsoever is harmonically +composed, delights in harmony, which makes me much distrust the +symmetry of those heads which declaim against all church music. For +myself, not only from my obedience, but my particular genius, I do +embrace it: for even that vulgar and tavern music, which makes one +man merry, another mad, strikes in me a deep fit of devotion and a +profound contemplation of the First Composer; there is something in +it of divinity more than the ear discovers: it is an hieroglyphical +and shadowed lesson of the whole world and creatures of God; such a +melody to the ear as the whole world, well understood, would afford +the understanding. In brief, it is a sensible fit of that harmony +which intellectually sounds in the ears of God. It unties the +ligaments of my frame, takes me to pieces, dilates me out of +myself, and by degrees, methinks, resolves me into heaven. I will +not say, with Plato, the soul is an harmony, but harmonical, and +hath its nearest sympathy unto music; thus some, whose temper of +body agrees and humors the constitution of their souls, are born +poets, though indeed all are naturally inclined unto rhythm.</p> +<p>There is surely a nearer apprehension of anything that delights +us in our dreams than in our waked senses: without this, I were +unhappy; for my awaked judgment discontents me, ever whispering +unto me that I am from my friend; but my friendly dreams in the +night requite me, and make me think I am within his arms. I thank +God for my happy dreams, as I do for my good rest, for there is a +satisfaction in them unto reasonable desires, and such as can be +content with a fit of happiness; and surely it is not a melancholy +conceit to think we are all asleep in this world, and that the +conceits of this life are as mere dreams to those of the next; as +the phantasms of the night to the conceits of the day. There is an +equal delusion in both, and the one doth but seem to be the emblem +or picture of the other; we are somewhat more than ourselves in our +sleeps, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of +the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason; +and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps. +At my nativity my ascendant was the watery sign of Scorpius; I was +born in the planetary hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece of +that leaden planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor disposed for +the mirth and galliardize of company; yet in one dream I can +compose a whole comedy, behold the action, and apprehend the jests, +and laugh myself awake at the conceits thereof. Were my memory as +faithful as my reason is then fruitful, I would never study but in +my dreams, and this time also would I choose for my devotions; but +our grosser memories have then so little hold of our abstracted +understandings that they forget the story, and can only relate to +our awaked souls a confused and broken tale of that that hath +passed. Aristotle, who hath written a singular tract of sleep, hath +not, methinks, thoroughly defined it; nor yet Galen, though he seem +to have corrected it: for those noctambuloes and night-walkers, +though in their sleep do yet enjoy the action of their senses; we +must therefore say that there is something in us that is not in the +jurisdiction of Morpheus; and that those abstracted and ecstatic +souls do walk about in their own corps, as spirits with the bodies +they assume, wherein they seem to hear, see, and feel, though +indeed the organs are destitute of sense, and their natures of +those faculties that should inform them. Thus it is observed that +men sometimes, upon the hour of their departure, do speak and +reason above themselves. For then the soul, beginning to be freed +from the ligaments of the body, begins to reason like herself, and +to discourse in a strain above mortality.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE12"></a> +<h3>FROM 'CHRISTIAN MORALS'</h3> +<br> +<p>When thou lookest upon the imperfections of others, allow one +eye for what is laudable in them, and the balance they have from +some excellency, which may render them considerable. While we look +with fear or hatred upon the teeth of the viper, we may behold his +eye with love. In venomous natures something may be amiable: +poisons afford anti-poisons: nothing is totally or altogether +uselessly bad. Notable virtues are sometimes dashed with notorious +vices, and in some vicious tempers have been found illustrious acts +of virtue, which makes such observable worth in some actions of +King Demetrius, Antonius, and Ahab, as are not to be found in the +same kind in Aristides, Numa, or David. Constancy, generosity, +clemency, and liberality have been highly conspicuous in some +persons not marked out in other concerns for example or imitation. +But since goodness is exemplary in all, if others have not our +virtues, let us not be wanting in theirs; nor, scorning them for +their vices whereof we are free, be condemned by their virtues +wherein we are deficient. There is dross, alloy, and embasement in +all human tempers; and he flieth without wings, who thinks to find +ophir or pure metal in any. For perfection is not, like light, +centred in any one body; but, like the dispersed seminalities of +vegetables at the creation, scattered through the whole mass of the +earth, no place producing all, and almost all some. So that 'tis +well if a perfect man can be made out of many men, and to the +perfect eye of God, even out of mankind. Time, which perfects some +things, imperfects also others. Could we intimately apprehend the +ideated man, and as he stood in the intellect of God upon the first +exertion by creation, we might more narrowly comprehend our present +degeneration, and how widely we are fallen from the pure exemplar +and idea of our nature: for after this corruptive elongation, from +a primitive and pure creation we are almost lost in degeneration; +and Adam hath not only fallen from his Creator, but we ourselves +from Adam, our Tycho and primary generator.</p> +<p>If generous honesty, valor, and plain dealing be the cognizance +of thy family or characteristic of thy country, hold fast such +inclinations sucked in with thy first breath, and which lay in the +cradle with thee. Fall not into transforming degenerations, which +under the old name create a new nation. Be not an alien in thine +own nation; bring not Orontes into Tiber; learn the virtues, not +the vices, of thy foreign neighbors, and make thy imitation by +discretion, not contagion. Feel something of thyself in the noble +acts of thy ancestors, and find in thine own genius that of thy +predecessors. Rest not under the expired merits of others; shine by +those of thine own. Flame not, like the central fire which +enlighteneth no eyes, which no man seeth, and most men think there +is no such thing to be seen. Add one ray unto the common lustre; +add not only to the number, but the note of thy generation; and +prove not a cloud, but an asterisk in thy region.</p> +<p>Since thou hast an alarum in thy breast, which tells thee thou +hast a living spirit in thee above two thousand times in an hour, +dull not away thy days in slothful supinity and the tediousness of +doing nothing. To strenuous minds there is an inquietude in +overquietness and no laboriousness in labor; and to tread a mile +after the slow pace of a snail, or the heavy measures of the lazy +of Brazilia, were a most tiring penance, and worse than a race of +some furlongs at the Olympics. The rapid courses of the heavenly +bodies are rather imitable by our thoughts than our corporeal +motions; yet the solemn motions of our lives amount unto a greater +measure than is commonly apprehended. Some few men have surrounded +the globe of the earth; yet many, in the set locomotions and +movements of their days, have measured the circuit of it, and +twenty thousand miles have been exceeded by them. Move +circumspectly, not meticulously, and rather carefully solicitous +than anxiously solicitudinous. Think not there is a lion in the +way, nor walk with leaden sandals in the paths of goodness; but in +all virtuous motions let prudence determine thy measures. Strive +not to run, like Hercules, a furlong in a breath: festination may +prove precipitation; deliberating delay may be wise cunctation, and +slowness no slothfulness.</p> +<p>Despise not the obliquities of younger ways, nor despair of +better things whereof there is yet no prospect. Who would imagine +that Diogenes, who in his younger days was a falsifier of money, +should, in the after course of his life, be so great a contemner of +metal? Some negroes, who believe the resurrection, think that they +shall rise white. Even in this life regeneration may imitate +resurrection; our black and vicious tinctures may wear off, and +goodness clothe us with candor. Good admonitions knock not always +in vain. There will be signal examples of God's mercy, and the +angels must not want their charitable rejoices for the conversion +of lost sinners. Figures of most angles do nearest approach unto +circles, which have no angles at all. Some may be near unto +goodness who are conceived far from it; and many things happen not +likely to ensue from any promises of antecedencies. Culpable +beginnings have found commendable conclusions, and infamous courses +pious retractations. Detestable sinners have proved exemplary +converts on earth, and may be glorious in the apartment of Mary +Magdalen in heaven. Men are not the same through all divisions of +their ages: time, experience, self-reflections, and God's mercies, +make in some well-tempered minds a kind of translation before +death, and men to differ from themselves as well as from other +persons. Hereof the old world afforded many examples to the infamy +of latter ages, wherein men too often live by the rule of their +inclinations; so that, without any astral prediction, the first day +gives the last: men are commonly as they were; or rather, as bad +dispositions run into worser habits, the evening doth not crown, +but sourly conclude, the day.</p> +<p>If the Almighty will not spare us according to his merciful +capitulation at Sodom; if his goodness please not to pass over a +great deal of bad for a small pittance of good, or to look upon us +in the lump, there is slender hope for mercy, or sound presumption +of fulfilling half his will, either in persons or nations: they who +excel in some virtues being so often defective in others; few men +driving at the extent and amplitude of goodness, but computing +themselves by their best parts, and others by their worst, are +content to rest in those virtues which others commonly want. Which +makes this speckled face of honesty in the world; and which was the +imperfection of the old philosophers and great pretenders unto +virtue; who, well declining the gaping vices of intemperance, +incontinency, violence, and oppression, were yet blindly peccant in +iniquities of closer faces; were envious, malicious, contemners, +scoffers, censurers, and stuffed with vizard vices, no less +depraving the ethereal particle and diviner portion of man. For +envy, malice, hatred, are the qualities of Satan, close and dark +like himself; and where such brands smoke, the soul cannot be +white. Vice may be had at all prices; expensive and costly +iniquities, which make the noise, cannot be every man's sins; but +the soul may be foully inquinated at a very low rate, and a man may +be cheaply vicious to the perdition of himself.</p> +<p>Having been long tossed in the ocean of the world, he will by +that time feel the in-draught of another, unto which this seems but +preparatory and without it of no high value. He will experimentally +find the emptiness of all things, and the nothing of what is past; +and wisely grounding upon true Christian expectations, finding so +much past, will wholly fix upon what is to come. He will long for +perpetuity, and live as though he made haste to be happy. The last +may prove the prime part of his life, and those his best days which +he lived nearest heaven.</p> +<p>Live happy in the Elysium of a virtuously composed mind, and let +intellectual contents exceed the delights wherein mere pleasurists +place their paradise. Bear not too slack reins upon pleasure, nor +let complexion or contagion betray thee unto the exorbitancy of +delight. Make pleasure thy recreation or intermissive relaxation, +not thy Diana, life, and profession. Voluptuousness is as +insatiable as covetousness. Tranquillity is better than jollity, +and to appease pain than to invent pleasure. Our hard entrance into +the world, our miserable going out of it, our sicknesses, +disturbances, and sad rencounters in it, do clamorously tell us we +came not into the world to run a race of delight, but to perform +the sober acts and serious purposes of man; which to omit were +foully to miscarry in the advantage of humanity, to play away an +uniterable life, and to have lived in vain. Forget not the capital +end, and frustrate not the opportunity of once living. Dream not of +any kind of metempsychosis or transanimation, but into thine own +body, and that after a long time; and then also unto wail or bliss, +according to thy first and fundamental life. Upon a curricle in +this world depends a long course of the next, and upon a narrow +scene here an endless expansion hereafter. In vain some think to +have an end of their beings with their lives. Things cannot get out +of their natures, or be, or not be, in despite of their +constitutions. Rational existences in heaven perish not at all, and +but partially on earth; that which is thus once, will in some way +be always; the first living human soul is still alive, and all Adam +hath found no period.</p> +<p>Since the stars of heaven do differ in glory; since it hath +pleased the Almighty hand to honor the north pole with lights above +the south; since there are some stars so bright that they can +hardly be looked upon, some so dim that they can scarcely be seen, +and vast numbers not to be seen at all even by artificial eyes; +read thou the earth in heaven and things below from above. Look +contentedly upon the scattered difference of things, and expect not +equality in lustre, dignity, or perfection, in regions or persons +below; where numerous numbers must be content to stand like +lacteous or nebulous stars, little taken notice of, or dim in their +generations. All which may be contentedly allowable in the affairs +and ends of this world, and in suspension unto what will be in the +order of things hereafter, and the new system of mankind which will +be in the world to come; when the last may be the first, and the +first the last; when Lazarus may sit above Cæsar, and the +just, obscure on earth, shall shine like the sun in heaven; when +personations shall cease, and histrionism of happiness be over; +when reality shall rule, and all shall be as they shall be +forever.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE13"></a> +<h3>FROM 'HYDRIOTAPHIA, OR URN-BURIAL'</h3> +<br> +<p>In the Jewish Hypogæum and subterranean cell at Rome was +little observable beside the variety of lamps and frequent draughts +of the holy candlestick. In authentic draughts of Antony and +Jerome, we meet with thigh bones and death's-heads; but the +cemeterial cells of ancient Christians and martyrs were filled with +draughts of Scripture stories; not declining the flourishes of +cypress, palms, and olive, and the mystical figures of peacocks, +doves, and cocks; but literately affecting the portraits of Enoch, +Lazarus, Jonas, and the vision of Ezekiel, as hopeful draughts and +hinting imagery of the resurrection--which is the life of the grave +and sweetens our habitations in the land of moles and pismires.</p> +<p>The particulars of future beings must needs be dark unto ancient +theories, which Christian philosophy yet determines but in a cloud +of opinions. A dialogue between two infants in the womb concerning +the state of this world, might handsomely illustrate our ignorance +of the next, whereof methinks we yet discourse in Plato's den, and +are but embryon philosophers.</p> +<p>Pythagoras escapes, in the fabulous hell of Dante, among that +swarm of philosophers, wherein, whilst we meet with Plato and +Socrates, Cato is to be found in no lower place than Purgatory. +Among all the set, Epicurus is most considerable, whom men make +honest without an Elysium, who contemned life without encouragement +of immortality, and making nothing after death, yet made nothing of +the king of terrors.</p> +<p>Were the happiness of the next world as closely apprehended as +the felicities of this, it were a martyrdom to live; and unto such +as consider none hereafter, it must be more than death to die, +which makes us amazed at those audacities that durst be nothing and +return into their chaos again. Certainly, such spirits as could +contemn death, when they expected no better being after, would have +scorned to live had they known any. And therefore we applaud not +the judgments of Machiavel that Christianity makes men cowards, or +that with the confidence of but half dying, the despised virtues of +patience and humility have abased the spirits of men, which pagan +principles exalted; but rather regulated the wildness of +audacities, in the attempts, grounds, and eternal sequels of death, +wherein men of the boldest spirits are often prodigiously +temerarious. Nor can we extenuate the valor of ancient martyrs, who +contemned death in the uncomfortable scene of their lives, and in +their decrepit martyrdoms did probably lose not many months of +their days, or parted with life when it was scarce worth the +living; for (beside that long time past holds no consideration unto +a slender time to come) they had no small disadvantage from the +constitution of old age, which naturally makes men fearful, and +complexionally superannuated from the bold and courageous thoughts +of youth and fervent years. But the contempt of death from corporal +animosity promoteth not our felicity. They may sit in the orchestra +and noblest seats of heaven who have held up shaking hands in the +fire, and humanly contended for glory.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Epicurus lies deep in Dante's hell, wherein we meet +with tombs inclosing souls which denied their immortalities. But +whether the virtuous heathen, who lived better than he spake, or, +erring in the principles of himself, yet lived above philosophers +of more specious maxims, lie so deep as he is placed; at least so +low as not to rise against Christians who, believing or knowing +that truth, have lastingly denied it in their practice and +conversation--were a query too sad to insist on.</p> +<p>But all or most apprehensions rested in opinions of some future +being, which, ignorantly or coldly believed, begat those perverted +conceptions, ceremonies, sayings, which Christians pity or laugh +at. Happy are they which live not in that disadvantage of time, +when men could say little for futurity but from reason; whereby the +noblest minds fell often upon doubtful deaths and melancholy +dissolutions. With those hopes Socrates warmed his doubtful spirits +against that cold potion; and Cato, before he durst give the fatal +stroke, spent part of the night in reading the immortality of +Plato, thereby confirming his wavering hand unto the animosity of +that attempt.</p> +<p>It is the heaviest stone that melancholy can throw at a man, to +tell him he is at the end of his nature; or that there is no +farther state to come, unto which this seems progressional, and +otherwise made in vain. Without this accomplishment, the natural +expectation and desire of such a state were but a fallacy in +nature. Unsatisfied considerators would quarrel at the justice of +their constitutions, and rest content that Adam had fallen lower; +whereby, by knowing no other original, and deeper ignorance of +themselves, they might have enjoyed the happiness of inferior +creatures, who in tranquillity possess their constitutions, as +having not the apprehension to deplore their own natures; and being +framed below the circumference of these hopes, or cognition of +better being, the wisdom of God hath necessitated their +contentment. But the superior ingredient and obscured part of +ourselves, whereto all present felicities afford no resting +contentment, will be able at last to tell us we are more than our +present selves, and evacuate such hopes in the fruition of their +own accomplishments....</p> +<p>But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and +deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of +perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the pyramids? +Erostratus lives that burnt the Temple of Diana; he is almost lost +that built it. Time hath spared the epitaph of Adrian's horse, +confounded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by +the advantage of our good names, since bad have equal durations; +and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamemnon. Who knows +whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more +remarkable persons forgot than any that stand remembered in the +known account of time? Without the favor of the everlasting +register, the first man had been as unknown as the last, and +Methuselah's long life had been his only chronicle.</p> +<p>Oblivion is not to be hired. The greater part must be content to +be as though they had not been; to be found in the register of God, +not in the record of man. Twenty-seven names make up the first +story, and the recorded names ever since contain not one living +century. The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. +The night of time far surpasseth the day; and who knows when was +the equinox? Every hour adds unto that current arithmetic, which +scarce stands one moment. And since death must be the Lucina of +life, and even pagans could doubt whether thus to live were to die; +since our longest sun sets at right declensions, and makes but +winter arches, and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down +in darkness, and have our light in ashes<a name= +"FNanchor4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4">[4]</a>; since the brother of +death daily haunts us with dying mementos, and time, that grows old +itself, bids us hope no long duration, diuturnity is a dream and +folly of expectation.</p> +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor4">[4]</a> +According to the custom of the Jews, who placed a lighted wax +candle in a pot of ashes by the corpse.</blockquote> +<p>Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion +shares with memory a great part even of our living beings. We +slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of +affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no +extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves. To weep into +stones are fables. Afflictions induce callosities; miseries are +slippery, or fall like snow upon us, which notwithstanding is no +unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to come, and forgetful +of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest +the mixture of our few and evil days, and our delivered senses not +relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows are not kept raw +by the edge of repetitions. A great part of antiquity contented +their hopes of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls; a +good way to continue their memories, while, having the advantage of +plural successions, they could not but act something remarkable in +such variety of beings, and enjoying the fame of their passed +selves, making accumulation of glory unto their last durations. +Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable night of nothing, +were content to recede into the common being, and make one particle +of the public soul of all things, which was no more than to return +into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptian ingenuity +was more unsatisfied, contriving their bodies in sweet +consistencies to attend the return of their souls. But all was +vanity, feeding the wind and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which +Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is +become merchandise, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for +balsams....</p> +<p>There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality. Whatever +hath no beginning may be confident of no end, which is the peculiar +of that necessary essence that cannot destroy itself, and the +highest strain of omnipotency to be so powerfully constituted, as +not to suffer even from the power of itself. All others have a +dependent being, and within the reach of destruction. But the +sufficiency of Christian immortality frustrates all earthly glory, +and the quality of either state after death makes a folly of +posthumous memory. God, who can only destroy our souls, and hath +assured our resurrection, either of our bodies or names hath +directly promised no duration. Wherein there is so much of chance, +that the boldest expectants have found unhappy frustration; and to +hold long subsistence seems but a scape in oblivion. But man is a +noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave, +solemnizing nativities and deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting +ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of his nature....</p> +<p>Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us. +A small fire sufficeth for life; great flames seemed too little +after death, while men vainly affected pyres, and to burn like +Sardanapalus. But the wisdom of funeral laws found the folly of +prodigal blazes, and reduced undoing fires into the rule of sober +obsequies, wherein few could be so mean as not to provide wood, +pitch, a mourner, and an urn....</p> +<p>While some have studied monuments, others have studiously +declined them; and some have been so vainly boisterous, that they +durst not acknowledge their graves; wherein Alaricus seems more +subtle, who had a river turned to hide his bones at the bottom. +Even Sylla, who thought himself safe in his urn, could not prevent +revenging tongues, and stones thrown at his monument. Happy are +they whom privacy makes innocent, who deal so with men in this +world that they are not afraid to meet them in the next; who when +they die make no commotion among the dead, and are not touched with +that poetical taunt of Isaiah.</p> +<p>Pyramids, arches, obelisks, were but the irregularities of +vainglory and wild enormities of ancient magnanimity. But the most +magnanimous resolution rests in the Christian religion, which +trampleth upon pride and sits on the neck of ambition, humbly +pursuing that infallible perpetuity unto which all others must +diminish their diameters, and be poorly seen in angles of +contingency.</p> +<p>Pious spirits, who passed their days in raptures of futurity, +made little more of this world than the world that was before it, +while they lay obscure in the chaos of preordination and night of +their forebeings. And if any have been so happy as truly to +understand Christian annihilation, ecstasis, exolution, +liquefaction, transformation, the kiss of the spouse, gustation of +God, and ingression into the divine shadow, they have already had a +handsome anticipation of heaven; the glory of the world is surely +over, and the earth in ashes unto them.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE14"></a> +<h3>FROM 'A FRAGMENT ON MUMMIES'</h3> +<br> +<p>Wise Egypt, prodigal of her embalmments, wrapped up her princes +and great commanders in aromatical folds, and, studiously +extracting from corruptible bodies their corruption, ambitiously +looked forward to immortality; from which vainglory we have become +acquainted with many remnants of the old world, who could discourse +unto us of the great things of yore, and tell us strange tales of +the sons of Mizraim and ancient braveries of Egypt. Wonderful +indeed are the preserves of time, which openeth unto us mummies +from crypts and pyramids, and mammoth bones from caverns and +excavations; whereof man hath found the best preservation, +appearing unto us in some sort fleshly, while beasts must be fain +of an osseous continuance.</p> +<p>In what original this practice of the Egyptians had root, divers +authors dispute; while some place the origin hereof in the desire +to prevent the separation of the soul by keeping the body +untabified, and alluring the spiritual part to remain by sweet and +precious odors. But all this was but fond inconsideration. The +soul, having broken its ..., is not stayed by bands and cerecloths, +nor to be recalled by Sabaean odors, but fleeth to the place of +invisibles, the <i>ubi</i> of spirits, and needeth a surer than +Hermes's seal to imprison it to its medicated trunk, which yet +subsists anomalously in its indestructible case, and, like a widow +looking for her husband, anxiously awaits its return....</p> +<p>That mummy is medicinal, the Arabian Doctor Haly delivereth, and +divers confirms; but of the particular uses thereof, there is much +discrepancy of opinion. While Hofmannus prescribes the same to +epileptics, Johan de Muralto commends the use thereof to gouty +persons; Bacon likewise extols it as a stiptic, and Junkenius +considers it of efficacy to resolve coagulated blood. Meanwhile, we +hardly applaud Francis the First of France, who always carried +mummies with him as a panacea against all disorders; and were the +efficacy thereof more clearly made out, scarce conceive the use +thereof allowable in physic, exceeding the barbarities of Cambyses, +and turning old heroes unto unworthy potions. Shall Egypt lend out +her ancients unto chirurgeons and apothecaries, and Cheops and +Psammitticus be weighed unto us for drugs? Shall we eat of Chamnes +and Amosis in electuaries and pills, and be cured by cannibal +mixtures? Surely, such diet is dismal vampirism, and exceeds in +horror the black banquet of Domitian, not to be paralleled except +in those Arabian feasts, wherein Ghoules feed horribly.</p> +<p>But the common opinion of the virtues of mummy bred great +consumption thereof, and princes and great men contended for this +strange panacea, wherein Jews dealt largely, manufacturing mummies +from dead carcasses and giving them the names of kings, while +specifics were compounded from crosses and gibbet leavings. There +wanted not a set of Arabians who counterfeited mummies so +accurately that it needed great skill to distinguish the false from +the true. Queasy stomachs would hardly fancy the doubtful potion, +wherein one might so easily swallow a cloud for his Juno, and +defraud the fowls of the air while in conceit enjoying the +conserves of Canopus....</p> +<p>For those dark caves and mummy repositories are Satan's abodes, +wherein he speculates and rejoices on human vainglory, and keeps +those kings and conquerors, whom alive he bewitched, whole for that +great day when he will claim his own, and marshal the kings of +Nilus and Thebes in sad procession unto the pit.</p> +<p>Death, that fatal necessity which so many would overlook or +blinkingly survey, the old Egyptians held continually before their +eyes. Their embalmed ancestors they carried about at their +banquets, as holding them still a part of their families, and not +thrusting them from their places at feasts. They wanted not +likewise a sad preacher at their tables to admonish them daily of +death,--surely an unnecessary discourse while they banqueted in +sepulchres. Whether this were not making too much of death, as +tending to assuefaction, some reason there is to doubt; but certain +it is that such practices would hardly be embraced by our modern +gourmands, who like not to look on faces of <i>mortua</i>, or be +elbowed by mummies.</p> +<p>Yet in those huge structures and pyramidal immensities, of the +builders whereof so little is known, they seemed not so much to +raise sepulchres or temples to death as to contemn and disdain it, +astonishing heaven with their audacities, and looking forward with +delight to their interment in those eternal piles. Of their living +habitations they made little account, conceiving of them but as +<i>hospitia</i>, or inns, while they adorned the sepulchres of the +dead, and, planting thereon lasting bases, defied the crumbling +touches of time and the misty vaporousness of oblivion. Yet all +were but Babel vanities. Time sadly overcometh all things, and is +now dominant, and sitteth upon a sphinx, and looketh unto Memphis +and old Thebes, while his sister Oblivion reclineth semisomnous on +a pyramid, gloriously triumphing, making puzzles of Titanian +erections, and turning old glories into dreams. History sinketh +beneath her cloud. The traveler, as he paceth amazedly through +those deserts, asketh of her, Who builded them? and she mumbleth +something, but what it is he heareth not.</p> +<p>Egypt itself is now become the land of obliviousness, and +doteth. Her ancient civility is gone, and her glory hath vanished +as a phantasma. Her youthful days are over, and her face hath +become wrinkled and tetric. She poreth not upon the heavens; +astronomy is dead unto her, and knowledge maketh other cycles. +Canopus is afar off, Memnon resoundeth not to the sun, and Nilus +heareth strange voices. Her monuments are but hieroglyphically +sempiternal. Osiris and Anubis, her averruncous deities, have +departed, while Orus yet remains dimly shadowing the principle of +vicissitude and the effluxion of things, but receiveth little +oblation.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE15"></a> +<h3>FROM 'A LETTER TO A FRIEND'</h3> +<br> +<p>He was willing to quit the world alone and altogether, leaving +no earnest behind him for corruption or after-grave, having small +content in that common satisfaction to survive or live in another, +but amply satisfied that his disease should die with himself, nor +revive in a posterity to puzzle physic, and make sad mementos of +their parent hereditary....</p> +<p>In this deliberate and creeping progress unto the grave, he was +somewhat too young and of too noble a mind to fall upon that stupid +symptom, observable in divers persons near their journey's end, and +which may be reckoned among the mortal symptoms of their last +disease; that is, to become more narrow-minded, miserable, and +tenacious, unready to part with anything when they are ready to +part with all, and afraid to want when they have no time to spend; +meanwhile physicians, who know that many are mad but in a single +depraved imagination, and one prevalent decipiency, and that beside +and out of such single deliriums a man may meet with sober actions +and good sense in Bedlam, cannot but smile to see the heirs and +concerned relations gratulating themselves on the sober departure +of their friends; and though they behold such mad covetous +passages, content to think they die in good understanding, and in +their sober senses.</p> +<p>Avarice, which is not only infidelity but idolatry, either from +covetous progeny or questuary education, had no root in his breast, +who made good works the expression of his faith, and was big with +desires unto public and lasting charities; and surely, where good +wishes and charitable intentions exceed abilities, theorical +beneficency may be more than a dream. They build not castles in the +air who would build churches on earth; and though they leave no +such structures here, may lay good foundations in heaven. In brief, +his life and death were such that I could not blame them who wished +the like, and almost to have been himself: almost, I say; for +though we may wish the prosperous appurtenances of others, or to be +another in his happy accidents, yet so intrinsical is every man +unto himself that some doubt may be made whether any would exchange +his being, or substantially become another man.</p> +<p>He had wisely seen the world at home and abroad, and thereby +observed under what variety men are deluded in the pursuit of that +which is not here to be found. And although he had no opinion of +reputed felicities below, and apprehended men widely out in the +estimate of such happiness, yet his sober contempt of the world +wrought no Democratism or Cynicism, no laughing or snarling at it, +as well understanding there are not felicities in this world to +satisfy a serious mind; and therefore, to soften the stream of our +lives, we are fain to take in the reputed contentions of this +world, to unite with the crowd in their beatitudes, and to make +ourselves happy by consortion, opinion, or co-existimation: for +strictly to separate from received and customary felicities, and to +confine unto the rigor of realities, were to contract the +consolation of our beings unto too uncomfortable +circumscriptions.</p> +<p>Not to be content with life is the unsatisfactory state of those +who destroy themselves; who, being afraid to live, run blindly upon +their own death, which no man fears by experience: and the Stoics +had a notable doctrine to take away the fear thereof; that is, in +such extremities, to desire that which is not to be avoided, and +wish what might be feared; and so made evils voluntary and to suit +with their own desires, which took off the terror of them.</p> +<p>But the ancient martyrs were not encouraged by such fallacies, +who, though they feared not death, were afraid to be their own +executioners; and therefore thought it more wisdom to crucify their +lusts than their bodies, to circumcise than stab their hearts, and +to mortify than kill themselves.</p> +<p>His willingness to leave this world about that age when most men +think they may best enjoy it, though paradoxical unto worldly ears, +was not strange unto mine, who have so often observed that many, +though old, oft stick fast unto the world, and seem to be drawn +like Cacus's oxen, backward with great struggling and reluctancy +unto the grave. The long habit of living makes mere men more hardly +to part with life, and all to be nothing, but what is to come. To +live at the rate of the old world, when some could scarce remember +themselves young, may afford no better digested death than a more +moderate period. Many would have thought it an happiness to have +had their lot of life in some notable conjunctures of ages past; +but the uncertainty of future times hath tempted few to make a part +in ages to come. And surely, he that hath taken the true altitude +of things, and rightly calculated the degenerate state of this age, +is not like to envy those that shall live in the next, much less +three or four hundred years hence, when no man can comfortably +imagine what face this world will carry; and therefore, since every +age makes a step unto the end of all things, and the Scripture +affords so hard a character of the last times, quiet minds will be +content with their generations, and rather bless ages past than be +ambitious of those to come.</p> +<p>Though age had set no seal upon his face, yet a dim eye might +clearly discover fifty in his actions; and therefore, since wisdom +is the gray hair, and an unspotted life old age, although his years +came short, he might have been said to have held up with longer +livers, and to have been Solomon's old man. And surely if we deduct +all those days of our life which we might wish unlived, and which +abate the comfort of those we now live, if we reckon up only those +days which God hath accepted of our lives, a life of good years +will hardly be a span long; the son in this sense may outlive the +father, and none be climacterically old. He that early arriveth +unto the parts and prudence of age is happily old without the +uncomfortable attendants of it; and 'tis superfluous to live unto +gray hairs, when in a precocious temper we anticipate the virtues +of them. In brief, he cannot be accounted young who outliveth the +old man. He that hath early arrived unto the measure of a perfect +stature in Christ, hath already fulfilled the prime and longest +intention of his being; and one day lived after the perfect rule of +piety is to be preferred before sinning immortality.</p> +<p>Although he attained not unto the years of his predecessors, yet +he wanted not those preserving virtues which confirm the thread of +weaker constitutions. <i>Cautelous</i> chastity and <i>crafty</i> +sobriety were far from him; those jewels were <i>paragon</i>, +without flaw, hair, ice, or cloud in him: which affords me a hint +to proceed in these good wishes and few mementos unto you.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE16"></a> +<h3>SOME RELATIONS WHOSE TRUTH WE FEAR</h3> +<center>From 'Pseudoxia Epidemica'</center> +<br> +<p>Many other accounts like these we meet sometimes in history, +scandalous unto Christianity, and even unto humanity; whose +verities not only, but whose relations, honest minds do deprecate. +For of sins heteroclital, and such as want either name or +precedent, there is ofttimes a sin even in their histories. We +desire no records of such enormities; sins should be accounted new, +that so they may be esteemed monstrous. They amit of monstrosity as +they fall from their rarity; for men count it venial to err with +their forefathers, and foolishly conceive they divide a sin in its +society. The pens of men may sufficiently expatiate without these +singularities of villainy; for as they increase the hatred of vice +in some, so do they enlarge the theory of wickedness in all. And +this is one thing that may make latter ages worse than were the +former; for the vicious examples of ages past poison the curiosity +of these present, affording a hint of sin unto seducible spirits, +and soliciting those unto the imitation of them, whose heads were +never so perversely principled as to invent them. In this kind we +commend the wisdom and goodness of Galen, who would not leave unto +the world too subtle a theory of poisons; unarming thereby the +malice of venomous spirits, whose ignorance must be contented with +sublimate and arsenic. For surely there are subtler venerations, +such as will invisibly destroy, and like the basilisks of heaven. +In things of this nature silence commendeth history: 'tis the +veniable part of things lost; wherein there must never rise a +Pancirollus, nor remain any register but that of hell.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="WILLIAM_BROWNE"></a> +<h2>WILLIAM BROWNE</h2> +<h3>(1591-1643)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-a.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>mong the English poets fatuous for their imaginative +interpretation of nature, high rank must be given to William +Browne, who belongs in the list headed by Spenser, and including +Thomas Lodge, Michael Drayton, Nicholas Breton, George Wither, and +Phineas Fletcher. Although he shows skill and charm of style in +various kinds of verse, his name rests chiefly upon his largest +work, 'Britannia's Pastorals.' This is much wider in scope than the +title suggests, if one follows the definition given by Pope in his +'Discourse on Pastoral Poetry.' He says:--"A Pastoral is an +imitation of the action of a shepherd or one considered under that +character. The form of this imitation is dramatic, or narrated, or +mixed of both; the fable simple, the manners not too polite nor too +rustic; the thoughts are plain, yet admit a little quickness and +passion.... If we would copy Nature, it may be useful to take this +Idea along with us: that Pastoral is an image of what they call the +Golden Age. So that we are not to describe our shepherds as +shepherds at this day really are, but as they may be conceived then +to have been when the best of men followed the employment.... We +must therefore use some illusion to render a Pastoral delightful, +and this consists in exposing the best side only of a shepherd's +life, and in concealing its miseries."</p> +<p>In his 'Shepherd's Pipe,' a series of 'Eclogues' Browne follows +this plan; but 'Britannia's Pastorals' contains rambling stories of +Hamadryads and Oreads; figures which are too shadowy to seem real, +yet stand in exquisite woodland landscapes. When the story passes +to the yellow sands and "froth-girt rocks," washed by the crisped +and curling waves from "Neptune's silver, ever-shaking breast," or +when it touches the mysteries of the ocean world, over which +"Thetis drives her silver throne," the poet's fancy is as delicate +as when he revels in the earthy smell of the woods, where the +leaves, golden and green, hide from sight the feathered choir; +where glow the hips of scarlet berries; where is heard the dropping +of nuts; and where the active bright-eyed squirrels leap from tree +to tree.</p> +<p>The loves, hardships, and adventures of Marina, Celadyne, +Redmond, Fida, Philocel, Aletheia, Metanoia, and Amintas do not +hold the reader from delight in descriptions of the blackbird and +dove calling from the dewy branches; crystal streams lisping +through banks purple with violets, rosy with eglantine, or sweet +with wild thyme; thickets where the rabbits hide; sequestered nooks +on which the elms and alders throw long shadows; circles of green +grass made by dancing elves; rounded hills shut in by oaks, pines, +birches, and laurel, where shepherds pipe on oaten straws, or +shag-haired satyrs frolic and sleep; and meadows, whose carpets of +cowslip and mint are freshened daily by nymphs pouring out gentle +streams from crystal urns. Every now and then, huntsmen in green +dash through his sombre woods with their hounds in full cry; +anglers are seated by still pools, shepherds dance around the +May-pole, and shepherdesses gather flowers for garlands. Gloomy +caves appear, surrounded by hawthorn and holly that "outdares cold +winter's ire," and sheltering old hermits, skilled in simples and +the secret power of herbs. Sometimes the poet describes a choir +where the tiny wren sings the treble, Robin Redbreast the mean, the +thrush the tenor, and the nightingale the counter-tenor, while +droning bees fill in the bass; and shows us fairy haunts and +customs with a delicacy only equaled by Drayton and Herrick.</p> +<p>Several lyric songs of high order are scattered through the +'Pastorals,' and the famous 'Palinode on Man' is imbedded in the +Third Book as follows:--</p> +<blockquote>"I truly know<br> +How men are born and whither they shall go;<br> +I know that like to silkworms of one year,<br> +Or like a kind and wronged lover's tear,<br> +Or on the pathless waves a rudder's dint,<br> +Or like the little sparkles of a flint,<br> +Or like to thin round cakes with cost perfum'd,<br> +Or fireworks only made to be consum'd:<br> +I know that such is man, and all that trust<br> +In that weak piece of animated dust.<br> +The silkworm droops, the lover's tears soon shed,<br> +The ship's way quickly lost, the sparkle dead;<br> +The cake burns out in haste, the firework's done,<br> +And man as soon as these as quickly gone."</blockquote> +<p>Little is known of Browne's life. He was a native of Tavistock, +Devonshire; born, it is thought, in 1591, the son of Thomas Browne, +who is supposed by Prince in his 'Worthies of Devon' to have +belonged to a knightly family. According to Wood, who says "he had +a great mind in a little body," he was sent to Exeter College, +Oxford, "about the beginning of the reign of James I." Leaving +Oxford without a degree, he was admitted in 1612 to the Inner +Temple, London, and a little later he is discovered at Oxford, +engaged as private tutor to Robert Dormer, afterward Earl of +Carnarvon. In 1624 he received his degree of Master of Arts from +Oxford. He appears to have settled in Dorking, and after 1640 +nothing more is heard of him. Wood thinks he died in 1645, but +there is an entry in the Tavistock register, dated March 27th, +1643, and reading "William Browne was buried" on that day. That he +was devoted to the streams, dales, and downs of his native +Devonshire is shown in the Pastorals, where he sings:--</p> +<blockquote>"Hail, thou my native soil! thou blessèd +plot<br> +Whose equal all the world affordeth not!<br> +Show me who can, so many crystal rills,<br> +Such sweet-cloth'd valleys or aspiring hills;<br> +Such wood-ground, pastures, quarries, wealthy mines;<br> +Such rocks in whom the diamond fairly shines."</blockquote> +<p>And in another place he says:--</p> +<blockquote>"And Tavy in my rhymes<br> +Challenge a due; let it thy glory be<br> +That famous Drake and I were born by thee."</blockquote> +<p>The First Book of 'Britannia's Pastorals' was written before its +author was twenty, and was published in 1631. The Second Book +appeared in 1616, and both were reprinted in 1625. The Third Book +was not published during Browne's life. The 'Shepherd's Pipe' was +published in 1614, and 'The Inner Temple Masque,' written on the +story of Ulysses and Circe, for representation in 1614, was first +published in Thomas Davies's edition of Browne's works (3 vols., +1772). Two critical editions of value have been brought out in +recent years: one by W. Carew Hazlitt (London, 1868-69); and the +other by Gordon Goodwin and A.H. Bullen (1894).</p> +<p>"In the third song of the Second Book," says Mr. Bullen in his +preface,--</p> +<blockquote>"There is a description of a delightful grove, perfumed +with 'odoriferous buds and herbs of price,' where fruits hang in +gallant clusters from the trees, and birds tune their notes to the +music of running water; so fair a pleasaunce<br> +<br> +<blockquote> 'that you are fain<br> + Where you last walked to turn and +walk again.'</blockquote> +<br> +A generous reader might apply that description to Browne's poetry; +he might urge that the breezes which blew down these leafy alleys +and over those trim parterres were not more grateful than the +fragrance exhaled from the 'Pastorals'; that the brooks and birds +babble and twitter in the printed page not less blithely than in +that western Paradise. What so pleasant as to read of May-games, +true-love knots, and shepherds piping in the shade? of pixies and +fairy-circles? of rustic bridals and junketings? of angling, +hunting the squirrel, nut-gathering? Of such subjects William +Browne treats, singing like the shepherd in the 'Arcadia,' as +though he would never grow old. He was a happy poet. It was his +good fortune to grow up among wholesome surroundings whose gracious +influences sank into his spirit. He loved the hills and dales round +Tavistock, and lovingly described them in his verse. Frequently he +indulges in descriptions of sunrise and sunset; they leave no vivid +impression, but charm the reader by their quiet beauty. It cannot +be denied that his fondness for simple, homely images sometimes led +him into sheer fatuity; and candid admirers must also admit that, +despite his study of simplicity, he could not refrain from hunting +(as the manner was) after far-fetched outrageous +conceits."</blockquote> +<p>Browne is a poet's poet. Drayton, Wither, Herbert, and John +Davies of Hereford, wrote his praises. Mrs. Browning includes him +in her 'Vision of Poets,' where she says:--</p> +<blockquote>"Drayton and Browne,--with smiles they drew<br> +From outward Nature, still kept new<br> +From their own inward nature true."</blockquote> +<p>Milton studied him carefully, and just as his influence is +perceived in the work of Keats, so is it found in 'Comus' and in +'Lycidas.' Browne acknowledges Spenser and Sidney as his masters, +and his work shows that he loved Chaucer and Shakespeare.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE21"></a> +<blockquote> <b>CIRCE'S CHARM</b><br> +<br> + Song from the 'Inner Temple +Masque'<br> +<br> +<br> + Son of Erebus and night,<br> + Hie away; and aim thy flight<br> + Where consort none other fowl<br> + Than the bat and sullen owl;<br> + Where upon thy limber grass,<br> + Poppy and mandragoras,<br> + With like simples not a few,<br> + Hang forever drops of dew;<br> + Where flows Lethe without coil<br> + Softly like a stream of oil.<br> + Hie thee hither, gentle sleep:<br> + With this Greek no longer keep.<br> + Thrice I charge thee by my wand,<br> + Thrice with moly from my hand<br> + Do I touch Ulysses's eyes,<br> + And with the jaspis: then arise,<br> + Sagest +Greek!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="illus-2514.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/illus-2514.jpg"><img src= +"images/illus-2514.jpg" width="80%" alt=""></a><br> +<b><i>Circe</i>.</b><br> +Photogravure from a Painting by E Burne-Jones.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE22"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE HUNTED +SQUIRREL</b><br> +<br> + From 'Britannia's Pastorals'<br> +<br> +<br> + Then as a nimble squirrel from the +wood<br> + Ranging the hedges for his filbert +food<br> + Sits pertly on a bough, his brown +nuts cracking,<br> + And from the shell the sweet white +kernel taking;<br> + Till with their crooks and bags a +sort of boys<br> + To share with him come with so great +a noise<br> + That he is forced to leave a nut nigh +broke,<br> + And for his life leap to a neighbor +oak,<br> + Thence to a beach, thence to a row of +ashes;<br> + Whilst through the quagmires and red +water plashes<br> + The boys run dabbling through thick +and thin;<br> + One tears his hose, another breaks +his shin;<br> + This, torn and tattered, hath with +much ado<br> + Got by the briars; and that hath lost +his shoe;<br> + This drops his band; that headlong +falls for haste;<br> + Another cries behind for being +last:<br> + With sticks and stones and many a +sounding holloa<br> + The little fool with no small sport +they follow,<br> + Whilst he from tree to tree, from +spray to spray<br> + Gets to the woods and hides him in +his dray.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE23"></a> +<blockquote> <b>AS CAREFUL MERCHANTS +DO EXPECTING STAND</b><br> +<br> + From 'Britannia's Pastorals'<br> +<br> +<br> + As careful merchants do expecting +stand,<br> + After long time and merry +gales of wind,<br> + Upon the place where their brave +ships must land,<br> + So wait I for the vessel +of my mind.<br> +<br> + Upon a great adventure is it +bound,<br> + Whose safe return will +valued be at more<br> + Than all the wealthy prizes which +have crowned<br> + The golden wishes of an +age before.<br> +<br> + Out of the East jewels of worth she +brings;<br> + The unvalued diamond of +her sparkling eye<br> + Wants in the treasures of all +Europe's kings;<br> + And were it mine, they +nor their crowns should buy.<br> +<br> + The sapphires ringèd on her +panting breast<br> + Run as rich veins of ore +about the mold,<br> + And are in sickness with a pale +possessed;<br> + So true for them I should +disvalue gold.<br> +<br> + The melting rubies on her cherry +lip<br> + Are of such power to +hold, that as one day<br> + Cupid flew thirsty by, he stooped to +sip:<br> + And, fastened there, +could never get away.<br> +<br> + The sweets of Candy are no sweets to +me<br> + Where hers I taste: nor +the perfumes of price,<br> + Robbed from the happy shrubs of +Araby,<br> + As her sweet breath so +powerful to entice.<br> +<br> + O hasten then! and if thou be not +gone<br> + Unto that wicked traffic +through the main,<br> + My powerful sigh shall quickly drive +thee on,<br> + And then begin to draw +thee back again.<br> +<br> + If, in the mean, rude waves have it +opprest,<br> + It shall suffice, I ventured at the +best.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE24"></a> +<blockquote> <b>SONG OF THE +SIRENS</b><br> +<br> + From 'The Inner Temple Masque'<br> +<br> +<br> + Steer hither, steer your +wingèd pines,<br> + All beaten mariners!<br> + Here lie love's undiscovered +mines,<br> + A prey to passengers:<br> + Perfumes far sweeter than the +best<br> + Which make the Phoenix's urn and +nest.<br> + Fear not your ships,<br> + Nor any to oppose you save our +lips,<br> + But come on shore,<br> + Where no joy dies till love hath +gotten more.<br> +<br> + For swelling waves our panting +breasts,<br> + Where never storms +arise,<br> + Exchange, and be awhile our +guests:<br> + For stars, gaze on our +eyes.<br> + The compass love shall hourly +sing,<br> + And as he goes about the ring,<br> + We will not miss<br> + To tell each point he nameth with a +kiss.<br> + Then come on shore,<br> + Where no joy dies till love hath +gotten more.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE25"></a> +<blockquote> <b>AN EPISTLE ON +PARTING</b><br> +<br> + From 'Epistles'<br> +<br> +<br> + Dear soul, the time is come, and we +must part;<br> + Yet, ere I go, in these lines read my +heart:<br> + A heart so just, so loving, and so +true,<br> + So full of sorrow and so full of +you,<br> + That all I speak or write or pray or +mean,--<br> + And, which is all I can, all that I +dream,--<br> + Is not without a sigh, a thought of +you,<br> + And as your beauties are, so are they +true.<br> + Seven summers now are fully spent and +gone,<br> + Since first I loved, loved you, and +you alone;<br> + And should mine eyes as many hundreds +see,<br> + Yet none but you should claim a right +in me;<br> + A right so placed that time shall +never hear<br> + Of one so vowed, or any loved so +dear.<br> + When I am gone, if ever prayers moved +you,<br> + Relate to none that I so well have +loved you:<br> + For all that know your beauty and +desert,<br> + Would swear he never loved that knew +to part.<br> + Why part we then? That spring, which +but this day<br> + Met some sweet river, in his bed can +play,<br> + And with a dimpled cheek smile at +their bliss,<br> + Who never know what separation +is.<br> + The amorous vine with wanton +interlaces<br> + Clips still the rough elm in her kind +embraces:<br> + Doves with their doves sit billing in +the groves,<br> + And woo the lesser birds to sing +their loves:<br> + Whilst hapless we in griefful absence +sit,<br> + Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen +it.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNE26"></a> +<blockquote> <b>SONNETS TO +CÆLIA</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Fairest, when by the rules of +palmistry,<br> + You took my hand to try +if you could guess,<br> + By lines therein, if any wight there +be<br> + Ordained to make me know +some happiness:<br> + I wished that those charácters +could explain,<br> + Whom I will never wrong +with hope to win;<br> + Or that by them a copy might be +ta'en,<br> + By you alone what +thoughts I have within.<br> + But since the hand of nature did not +set<br> + (As providently loath to +have it known)<br> + The means to find that hidden +alphabet,<br> + Mine eyes shall be the +interpreters alone:<br> + By them conceive my thoughts, and +tell me, fair,<br> + If now you see her that doth love +me, there.<br> +<br> + Were't not for you, here should my +pen have rest,<br> + And take a long leave of +sweet poesy;<br> + Britannia's swains, and rivers far by +west,<br> + Should hear no more my +oaten melody.<br> + Yet shall the song I sung of them +awhile<br> + Unperfect lie, and make +no further known<br> + The happy loves of this our pleasant +Isle,<br> + Till I have left some +record of mine own.<br> + You are the subject now, and, writing +you,<br> + I well may versify, not +poetize:<br> + Here needs no fiction; for the graces +true<br> + And virtues clip not with +base flatteries.<br> + Here should I write what you deserve +of praise;<br> + Others might wear, but I should win, +the bays.<br> +<br> + Fairest, when I am gone, as now the +glass<br> + Of Time is marked how +long I have to stay,<br> + Let me entreat you, ere from hence I +pass,<br> + Perhaps from you for ever +more away,--<br> + Think that no common love hath fired +my breast,<br> + No base desire, but +virtue truly known,<br> + Which I may love, and wish to have +possessed,<br> + Were you the highest as +fairest of any one.<br> + 'Tis not your lovely eye enforcing +flames,<br> + Nor beauteous red beneath +a snowy skin,<br> + That so much binds me yours, or makes +your fame's,<br> + As the pure light and +beauty shrined within:<br> + Yet outward parts I must affect of +duty,<br> + As for the smell we like the rose's +beauty.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BROWNELL"></a> +<h2>HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL</h2> +<h3>(1820-1872)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-t.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>his poet, prominent among those who gained their chief +inspiration from the stirring events of the Civil War, was born in +Providence, Rhode Island, February 6th, 1820, and died in East +Hartford, Connecticut, October 31st, 1872. He was graduated at +Trinity College, Hartford, studied law, and was admitted to the +bar; but instead of the legal profession adopted that of a teacher, +and made his home in Hartford, which was the residence of his +uncle, the Bishop of Connecticut. Although Mr. Brownell soon became +known as a writer of verse, both grave and humorous, it was not +till the coming on of the Civil War that his muse found truest and +noblest expression. With a poet's sensitiveness he foresaw the +coming storm, and predicted it in verse that has the ring of an +ancient prophet; and when the crash came he sang of the great deeds +of warriors in the old heroic strain. Many of these poems, like +'Annus Memorabilis' and 'Coming,' were born of the great passion of +patriotism which took possession of him, and were regarded only as +the visions of a heated imagination. But when the storm burst it +was seen that he had the true vision. As the dreadful drama +unrolled, Brownell rose to greater issues, and became the war-poet +<i>par excellence</i>, the vigorous chronicler of great +actions.</p> +<p>He was fond of the sea, and ardently longed for the opportunity +to witness, if not to participate in, a sea-fight. His desire was +gratified in a singular way. He had printed in a Hartford paper a +very felicitous versification of Farragut's 'General Orders' in the +fight at the mouth of the Mississippi. This attracted Farragut's +attention, and he took steps to learn the name of the author. When +it was given, Commodore Farragut (he was not then Admiral) offered +Mr. Brownell the position of master's-mate on board the Hartford, +and attached the poet to him in the character of a private +secretary. Thus he was present at the fight of Mobile Bay. After +the war he accompanied the Admiral in his cruise in European +waters.</p> +<p>Although Brownell was best known to the country by his +descriptive poems, 'The River Fight' and 'The Bay Fight,' which +appear in his volume of collected works, 'War Lyrics,' his title to +be considered a true poet does not rest upon these only. He was +unequal in his performance and occasionally was betrayed by a +grotesque humor into disregard of dignity and finish; but he had +both the vision and the lyric grace of the builder of lasting +verse.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNELL01"></a> +<blockquote> <b>ANNUS +MEMORABILIS</b><br> +<br> + (CONGRESS, 1860-61)<br> +<br> +<br> + Stand strong and calm as Fate! not a +breath of scorn or hate--<br> + Of taunt for the base, or +of menace for the strong--<br> + Since our fortunes must be sealed on +that old and famous Field<br> + Where the Right is set in +battle with the Wrong.<br> + 'Tis coming, with the loom of Khamsin +or Simoom,<br> + The tempest that shall +try if we are of God or no--<br> + Its roar is in the sky,--and they +there be which cry,<br> + "Let us cower, and the +storm may over-blow."<br> + Now, nay! stand firm and fast! (that +was a spiteful blast!)<br> + This is not a war of men, +but of Angels Good and Ill--<br> + 'Tis hell that storms at heaven--'tis +the black and deadly Seven,<br> + Sworn 'gainst the Shining +Ones to work their damnèd will!<br> + How the Ether glooms and burns, as +the tide of combat turns,<br> + And the smoke and dust +above it whirl and float!<br> + It eddies and it streams--and, +certes, oft it seems<br> + As the Sins had the +Seraphs fairly by the throat.<br> + But we all have read (in that Legend +grand and dread),<br> + How Michael and his host +met the Serpent and his crew--<br> + Naught has reached us of the +Fight--but if I have dreamed aright,<br> + 'Twas a loud one and a +long, as ever thundered through!<br> + Right stiffly, past a doubt, the +Dragon fought it out,<br> + And his Angels, each and +all, did for Tophet their devoir--<br> + There was creak of iron wings, and +whirl of scorpion stings,<br> + Hiss of bifid tongues, +and the Pit in full uproar!<br> + But, naught thereof enscrolled, in +one brief line 'tis told<br> + (Calm as dew the +Apocalyptic Pen),<br> + That on the Infinite Shore their +place was found no more.<br> + God send the like on this +our earth! Amen.<br> +<br> + Houghton, Mifflin and Company, +Boston.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BROWNELL02"></a> +<blockquote> <b>WORDS FOR THE +'HALLELUJAH CHORUS'</b><br> +<br> + Old John Brown lies a-moldering in +the grave,<br> + Old John Brown lies slumbering in his +grave--<br> + But John Brown's soul is marching +with the brave,<br> + His +soul is marching on.<br> +<br> + Glory, +glory, hallelujah!<br> + Glory, +glory, hallelujah!<br> + Glory, +glory, hallelujah!<br> + His +soul is marching on.<br> +<br> + He has gone to be a soldier in the +Army of the Lord;<br> + He is sworn as a private in the ranks +of the Lord,--<br> + He shall stand at Armageddon with his +brave old sword,<br> + When +Heaven is marching on.<br> +<br> + He shall file in front where the +lines of battle form,<br> + He shall face to front when the +squares of battle form--<br> + Time with the column, and charge in +the storm,<br> + Where +men are marching on.<br> +<br> + Ah, foul Tyrants! do ye hear him +where he comes?<br> + Ah, black traitors! do ye know him as +he comes,<br> + In thunder of the cannon and roll of +the drums,<br> + As +we go marching on?<br> +<br> + Men may die, and molder in the +dust--<br> + Men may die, and arise again from +dust,<br> + Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of +the Just,<br> + When +Heaven is marching on.<br> +<br> + Glory, +glory, hallelujah!<br> + Glory, +glory, hallelujah!<br> + Glory, +glory, hallelujah!<br> + His +soul is marching on.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNELL03"></a> +<blockquote> <b>COMING</b><br> +<br> + (APRIL, 1861)<br> +<br> +<br> + World, are thou 'ware of a storm?<br> + Hark to the +ominous sound;<br> + How the far-off gales their battle +form,<br> + And the great +sea-swells feel ground!<br> +<br> + It comes, the Typhoon of Death--<br> + Nearer and +nearer it comes!<br> + The horizon thunder of +cannon-breath<br> + And the roar +of angry drums!<br> +<br> + Hurtle, Terror sublime!<br> + Swoop o'er +the Land to-day--<br> + So the mist of wrong and crime,<br> + The breath of our Evil Time<br> + Be swept, as +by fire, away!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNELL04"></a> +<blockquote> <b>PSYCHAURA</b><br> +<br> + The wind of an autumn midnight<br> + Is moaning around my +door--<br> + The curtains wave at the window,<br> + The carpet lifts on the +floor.<br> +<br> + There are sounds like startled +footfalls<br> + In the distant chambers +now,<br> + And the touching of airy ringers<br> + Is busy on hand and +brow.<br> +<br> + 'Tis thus, in the Soul's dark +dwelling--<br> + By the moody host +unsought--<br> + Through the chambers of memory +wander<br> + The invisible airs of +thought.<br> +<br> + For it bloweth where it listeth,<br> + With a murmur loud or +low;<br> + Whence it cometh--whither it +goeth--<br> + None tell us, and none +may know.<br> +<br> + Now wearying round the portals<br> + Of the vacant, desolate +mind--<br> + As the doors of a ruined mansion,<br> + That creak in the cold +night wind.<br> +<br> + And anon an awful memory<br> + Sweeps over it fierce and +high--<br> + Like the roar of a mountain +forest<br> + When the midnight gale +goes by.<br> +<br> + Then its voice subsides in +wailing,<br> + And, ere the dawning of +day,<br> + Murmuring fainter and fainter,<br> + In the distance dies +away.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNELL05"></a> +<blockquote> <b>SUSPIRIA +NOCTIS</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Reading, and reading--little is the +gain<br> + Long dwelling with the +minds of dead men leaves.<br> + List rather to the melancholy +rain,<br> + Drop--dropping +from the eaves.<br> +<br> + Still the old tale--how hardly worth +the telling!<br> + Hark to the wind!--again +that mournful sound,<br> + That all night long, around this +lonely dwelling,<br> + Moans +like a dying hound.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="ELIZABETH_BROWNING"></a> +<h2>ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING</h2> +<h3>(1809-1861)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-i.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>t is interesting to step back sixty years into the lives of Miss +Mitford and her "dear young friend Miss Barrett," when the +<i>-esses</i> of "authoresses" and "poetesses" and "editresses" and +"hermitesses" make the pages sibilant; when 'Books of Beauty,' and +'Keepsakes,' and the extraordinary methods of "Finden's Tableaux" +make us wonder that literature survived; when Mr. Kenyon, taking +Miss Mitford "to the giraffes and the Diorama," called for "Miss +Barrett, a hermitess in Gloucester Place, who reads Greek as I do +French, who has published some translations from Æschylus, +and some most striking poems,"--"Our sweet Miss Barrett! to think +of virtue and genius is to think of her." Of her own life Mrs. +Browning writes:--"As to stories, my story amounts to the +knife-grinder's, with nothing at all for a catastrophe. A bird in a +cage would have as good a story; most of my events and nearly all +my intense pleasure have passed in my thoughts."</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/browning_e.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Mrs. Browning</b></p> +<p>She was born at Burn Hall, Durham, on March 6th, 1809, and +passed a happy childhood and youth in her father's country house at +Hope End, Herefordshire. She was remarkably precocious, reading +Homer in the original at eight years of age. She said that in those +days "the Greeks were her demigods. She dreamed more of Agamemnon +than of Moses, her black pony." "I wrote verses very early, at +eight years old and earlier. But what is less common, the early +fancy turned into a will, and remained with me." At seventeen years +of age she published the 'Essay on Mind,' and translated the +'Prometheus' of Æschylus. Some years later the family removed +to London, and here Elizabeth, on account of her continued delicate +health, was kept in her room for months at a time. The shock +following on the death of her brother, who was drowned before her +eyes in Torquay, whither she had gone for rest, completely +shattered her physically. Now her life of seclusion in her London +home began. For years she lay upon a couch in a large, comfortably +darkened room, seeing only the immediate members of her family and +a few privileged friends, and spending her days in writing and +study, "reading," Miss Mitford says, "almost every book worth +reading in almost every language." Here Robert Browning met her. +They were married in 1846, against the will of her father. Going +abroad immediately, they finally settled in Florence at the Casa +Guidi, made famous by her poem bearing the same name. Their home +became the centre of attraction to visitors in Florence, and many +of the finest minds in the literary and artistic world were among +their friends. Hawthorne, who visited them, describes Mrs. Browning +as "a pale, small person, scarcely embodied at all, at any rate +only substantial enough to put forth her slender fingers to be +grasped, and to speak with a shrill yet sweet tenuity of voice. It +is wonderful to see how small she is, how pale her cheek, how +bright and dark her eyes. There is not such another figure in the +world, and her black ringlets cluster down in her neck and make her +face look whiter." She died in Florence on the 30th of June, 1861, +and the citizens of Florence placed a tablet to her memory on the +walls of Casa Guidi.</p> +<p>The life and personality of Elizabeth Barrett Browning seem to +explain her poetry. It is a life "without a catastrophe," except +perhaps to her devoted father. And it is to this father's devotion +that some of Mrs. Browning's poetical sins are due; for by him she +was so pampered and shielded from every outside touch, that all the +woes common to humanity grew for her into awful tragedies. Her life +was abnormal and unreal,--an unreality that passed more or less +into everything she did. Indeed, her resuscitation after meeting +Robert Browning would mount into a miracle, unless it were realized +that nothing in her former life had been quite as woful as it +seemed. That Mrs. Browning was "a woman of real genius," even +Edward Fitzgerald allowed; and in speaking of Shelley, Walter +Savage Landor said, "With the exception of Burns, he [Shelley] and +Keats were inspired with a stronger spirit of poetry than any other +poet since Milton. I sometimes fancy that Elizabeth Barrett +Browning comes next." This is very high praise from very high +authority, but none too high for Mrs. Browning, for her best work +has the true lyric ring, that spontaneity of thought and expression +which comes when the singer forgets himself in his song and becomes +tuneful under the stress of the moment's inspiration. All of Mrs. +Browning's work is buoyed up by her luxurious and overflowing +imagination. With all its imperfections of technique, its lapses of +taste and faults of expression, it always remains poetry, throbbing +with passion and emotion and rich in color and sound. She wrote +because she must. Her own assertions notwithstanding, one cannot +think of Mrs. Browning as sitting down in cold blood to compose a +poem according to fixed rules of art. This is the secret of her +shortcomings, as it is also the source of her strength, and in her +best work raises her high above those who, with more technical +skill, have less of the true poet's divine fire and overflowing +imagination.</p> +<p>So in the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese,' written at a time when +her woman's nature was thrilled to its very depths by the love of +her "most gracious singer of high poems," and put forth as +translations from another writer and tongue--in these her +imperfections drop away, and she soars to marvelous heights of +song. Such a lyric outburst as this, which reveals with magnificent +frankness the innermost secrets of an ardently loving woman's +heart, is unequaled in literature. Here the woman-poet is strong +and sane; here she is free from obscurity and mannerism, and from +grotesque rhymes. She has stepped out from her life of visions and +of morbid woes into a life of wholesome reality and of "sweet +reasonableness." Their literary excellence is due also to the fact +that in the sonnet Mrs. Browning was held to a rigid form, and was +obliged to curb her imagination and restrain her tendency to +diffuseness of expression. Mr. Saintsbury goes so far as to say +that the sonnet beginning--</p> +<blockquote>"If thou wilt love me, let it be for naught<br> +Except for love's sake only--"</blockquote> +<p>does not fall far short of Shakespeare.</p> +<p>'Aurora Leigh' gives rise to the old question, Is it advisable +to turn a three-volume novel into verse? Yet Landor wrote about +it:--"I am reading a poem full of thought and fascinating with +fancy--Mrs. Browning's (Aurora Leigh.) In many places there is the +wild imagination of Shakespeare.... I am half drunk with it. Never +did I think I should have a good draught of poetry again." Ruskin +somewhere considered it the greatest poem of the nineteenth +century, "with enough imagination to set up a dozen lesser poets"; +and Stedman calls it "a representative and original creation: +representative in a versatile, kaleidoscopic presentment of modern +life and issues; original, because the most idiosyncratic of its +author's poems. An audacious speculative freedom pervades it, which +smacks of the New World rather than the Old.... 'Aurora Leigh' is a +mirror of contemporary life, while its learned and beautiful +illustrations make it almost a handbook of literature and the +arts.... Although a most uneven production, full of ups and downs, +of capricious or prosaic episodes, it nevertheless contains poetry +as fine as its author has given us elsewhere, and enough spare +inspiration to set up a dozen smaller poets. The flexible verse is +noticeably her own, and often handled with as much spirit as +freedom." Mrs. Browning herself declared it the most mature of her +works, "and the one into which my highest convictions upon life and +art have entered." Consider this:--</p> +<blockquote>"For 'tis not in mere death that men die most:<br> +And after our first girding of the loins<br> +In youth's fine linen and fair broidery,<br> +To run up-hill and meet the rising sun,<br> +We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,<br> +While others gird us with the violent bands<br> +Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,<br> +Reversing our straight nature, lifting up<br> +Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts,<br> +Head downwards on the cross-sticks of the world.<br> +Yet He can pluck us from that shameful cross.<br> +God, set our feet low and our foreheads high,<br> +And teach us how a man was made to walk!"</blockquote> +<p>Or this:--</p> +<blockquote>"I've waked and slept through many nights and days<br> +Since then--but still that day will catch my breath<br> +Like a nightmare. There are fatal days, indeed,<br> +In which the fibrous years have taken root<br> +So deeply, that they quiver to their tops<br> +Whene'er you stir the dust of such a day."</blockquote> +<p>Again:--</p> +<blockquote>"Passion is<br> +But something suffered after all--<br> +. . . . . While Art<br> +<br> +Sets action on the top of suffering."</blockquote> +<p>And this:--</p> +<blockquote>"Nothing is small!<br> +No lily-muffled hum of summer-bee<br> +But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;<br> +No pebble at your foot but proves a sphere:<br> +. . . . . Earth's crammed with Heaven,<br> +And every common bush afire with God;<br> +But only he who sees, takes off his shoes."</blockquote> +<p>Among Mrs. Browning's smaller poems, 'Crowned and Buried' is, +notwithstanding serious defects of technique, one of the most +virile things she has written; indeed, some of her finest lines are +to be found in it. In 'The Cry of the Children' and in 'Cowper's +Grave' the pathos is most true and deep. 'Lord Walter's Wife' is an +even more courageous vindication of the feminine essence than +'Aurora Leigh'; and her 'Vision of Poets' is said to "vie in beauty +with Tennyson's own." The fine thought and haunting beauty of 'A +Musical Instrument,' with its matchless climax, need not be dwelt +on.</p> +<p>During her fifteen years' residence in Florence she threw +herself with great enthusiasm into Italian affairs, and wrote some +political poems of varying merit, whose interest necessarily faded +away when the occasion passed. But among those poems inspired by +the struggle for freedom, 'Casa Guidi Windows' comes close to the +'Sonnets from the Portuguese' and 'Aurora Leigh,' and holds an +enduring place for its high poetry, its musical, sonorous verse, +and the sustained intellectual vigor of composition. Her volume of +'Last Poems' contains, among much inferior matter, some of her +finest and most touching work, as 'A Musical Instrument,' 'The +Forced Recruit,' and 'Mother and Poet,' Peter Bayne says of her in +his 'Great Englishwomen':--"In melodiousness and splendor of poetic +gift Mrs. Browning stands ... first among women. She may not have +the knowledge of life, the insight into character, the +comprehensiveness of some, but we must all agree that a poet's far +more essential qualities are hers: usefulness, fervor, a noble +aspiration, and above all a tender, far-reaching nature, loving and +beloved, and touching the hearts of her readers with some virtue +from its depths. She seemed even in her life something of a spirit; +and her view of life's sorrow and shame, of its hearty and eternal +hope, is something like that which one might imagine a spirit's to +be." Whether political, or sociological, or mystical, or +sentimental, or impossible, there is about all that Mrs. Browning +has written an enduring charm of picturesqueness, of romance, and +of a pure enthusiasm for art. "Art for Art," she cries,</p> +<blockquote>"And good for God, himself the essential Good!<br> +We'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect,<br> +Although our woman-hands should shake and fail."</blockquote> +<p>This was her achievement--her hands did not fail!</p> +<p>Her husband's words will furnish, perhaps, the best conclusion +to this slight study:--"You are wrong," he said, "quite wrong--she +has genius; I am only a painstaking fellow. Can't you imagine a +clever sort of angel who plots and plans, and tries to build up +something,--he wants to make you see it as he sees it, shows you +one point of view, carries you off to another, hammering into your +head the thing he wants you to understand; and whilst this bother +is going on, God Almighty turns you off a little star--that's the +difference between us. The true creative power is hers, not +mine."</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING01E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>A MUSICAL +INSTRUMENT</b><br> +<br> + WHAT was he doing, the great god +Pan,<br> + Down in the reeds by the river?<br> + Spreading +ruin and scattering ban,<br> + Splashing and paddling with hoofs of +a goat,<br> + And breaking the golden lilies +afloat<br> + With the +dragon-fly on the river.<br> +<br> + He tore out a reed, the great god +Pan,<br> + From the +deep, cool bed of the river.<br> + The limpid water turbidly ran,<br> + And the broken lilies a-dying +lay,<br> + And the dragon-fly had fled away,<br> + Ere he +brought it out of the river.<br> +<br> + High on the shore sat the great god +Pan,<br> + While +turbidly flowed the river,<br> + And hacked and hewed as a great god +can,<br> + With his hard bleak steel at the +patient reed,<br> + Till there was not a sign of the leaf +indeed<br> + To prove it +fresh from the river.<br> +<br> + He cut it short, did the great god +Pan,<br> + (How tall it +stood in the river!)<br> + Then drew the pith, like the heart of +a man,<br> + Steadily from the outside ring,<br> + And notched the poor, dry, empty +thing<br> + In holes as +he sat by the river.<br> +<br> + "This is the way," laughed the great +god Pan,<br> + (Laughed +while he sat by the river,)<br> + "The only way, since gods began<br> + To make sweet music, they could +succeed."<br> + Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in +the reed,<br> + He blew in +power by the river.<br> +<br> + Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan,<br> + Piercing +sweet by the river!<br> + Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!<br> + The sun on the hill forgot to +die,<br> + And the lilies revived, and the +dragon-fly<br> + Came back to +dream on the river.<br> +<br> + Yet half a beast is the great god +Pan,<br> + To laugh as +he sits by the river,<br> + Making a poet out of a man:<br> + The true gods sigh for the cost and +the pain,--<br> + For the reed which grows nevermore +again<br> + As a reed +with the reeds in the river.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING02E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>MY HEART AND I</b><br> +<br> + Enough! we're tired, my heart and +I.<br> + We sit beside the +headstone thus,<br> + And wish that name were +carved for us.<br> + The moss reprints more tenderly<br> + The hard types of the +mason's knife,<br> + As heaven's sweet life +renews earth's life<br> + With which we're tired, my heart and +I.<br> +<br> + You see we're tired, my heart and +I.<br> + We dealt with books, we +trusted men,<br> + And in our own blood +drenched the pen,<br> + As if such colors could not fly.<br> + We walked too straight +for fortune's end,<br> + We loved too true to +keep a friend:<br> + At last we're tired, my heart and +I.<br> +<br> + How tired we feel, my heart and +I!<br> + We seem of no use in the +world;<br> + Our fancies hang gray +and uncurled<br> + About men's eyes indifferently;<br> + Our voice, which +thrilled you so, will let<br> + You sleep; our tears are +only wet:<br> + What do we here, my heart and I?<br> +<br> + So tired, so tired, my heart and +I!<br> + It was not thus in that +old time<br> + When Ralph sat with me +'neath the lime<br> + To watch the sunset from the sky.<br> + "Dear love, you're +looking tired," he said;<br> + I, smiling at him, shook +my head:<br> + 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and +I.<br> +<br> + So tired, so tired, my heart and +I!<br> + Though now none takes me +on his arm<br> + To fold me close and +kiss me warm<br> + Till each quick breath end in a +sigh<br> + Of happy languor. Now, +alone,<br> + We lean upon this +graveyard stone,<br> + Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and +I.<br> +<br> + Tired out we are, my heart and I.<br> + Suppose the world +brought diadems<br> + To tempt us, crusted +with loose gems<br> + Of powers and pleasures? Let it +try.<br> + We scarcely care to look +at even<br> + A pretty child, or God's +blue heaven,<br> + We feel so tired, my heart and I.<br> +<br> + Yet who complains? My heart and +I?<br> + In this abundant earth, +no doubt,<br> + Is little room for +things worn out:<br> + Disdain them, break them, throw them +by!<br> + And if, before the days +grew rough,<br> + We <i>once</i> were +loved, used,--well enough<br> + I think we've fared, my heart and +I.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING03E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>FROM 'CATARINA TO +CAMOENS'</b><br> +<br> + [Dying in his absence abroad, and +referring to the poem in which he<br> + recorded the sweetness of her +eyes.]<br> +<br> + On the door you will not enter<br> + I have gazed +too long: adieu!<br> + Hope withdraws her +"peradventure";<br> + Death is near me,--and not +<i>you!</i><br> + Come, O +lover,<br> + Close and +cover<br> + These poor eyes you called, I +ween,<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"<br> +<br> + When I heard you sing that burden<br> + In my vernal days and +bowers,<br> + Other praises disregarding,<br> + I but hearkened that of +yours,<br> + Only +saying<br> + In +heart-playing,<br> + "Blessed eyes mine eyes have +been,<br> + If the sweetest HIS have seen!"<br> +<br> + But all changes. At this vesper<br> + Cold the sun shines down +the door.<br> + If you stood there, would you +whisper,<br> + "Love, I love you," as +before,--<br> + Death +pervading<br> + Now and +shading<br> + Eyes you sang of, that yestreen,<br> + As the sweetest ever seen?<br> +<br> + Yes, I think, were you beside +them,<br> + Near the bed I die +upon,<br> + Though their beauty you denied +them,<br> + As you stood there +looking down,<br> + You would +truly<br> + Call them +duly,<br> + For the love's sake found +therein,<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."<br> +<br> + And if <i>you</i> looked down upon +them,<br> + And if <i>they</i> looked +up to <i>you</i>,<br> + All the light which has foregone +them<br> + Would be gathered back +anew;<br> + They would +truly<br> + Be as +duly<br> + Love-transformed to beauty's +sheen,<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."<br> +<br> + But, ah me! you only see me,<br> + In your thoughts of +loving man,<br> + Smiling soft, perhaps, and +dreamy,<br> + Through the wavings of my +fan;<br> + And +unweeting<br> + Go +repeating<br> + In your revery serene,<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."<br> +<br> + O my poet, O my prophet!<br> + When you praised their +sweetness so,<br> + Did you think, in singing of it,<br> + That it might be near to +go?<br> + Had you +fancies<br> + From their +glances,<br> + That the grave would quickly +screen<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen"?<br> +<br> + No reply. The fountain's warble<br> + In the courtyard sounds +alone.<br> + As the water to the marble<br> + So my heart falls with a +moan<br> + From +love-sighing<br> + To this +dying.<br> + Death forerunneth Love to win<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."<br> +<br> + <i>Will</i> you come? When I'm +departed<br> + Where all sweetnesses are +hid,<br> + Where thy voice, my +tender-hearted,<br> + Will not lift up either +lid,<br> + Cry, O +lover,<br> + Love is +over!<br> + Cry, beneath the cypress green,<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"<br> +<br> + When the Angelus is ringing,<br> + Near the convent will you +walk,<br> + And recall the choral singing<br> + Which brought angels down +our talk?<br> + Spirit-shriven<br> + + I viewed +heaven,<br> + Till you smiled--"Is earth +unclean,<br> + Sweetest eyes were ever seen?"<br> +<br> + When beneath the palace-lattice<br> + You ride slow as you have +done,<br> + And you see a face there that is<br> + Not the old familiar +one,<br> + Will you +oftly<br> + Murmur +softly,<br> + "Here ye watched me morn and +e'en,<br> + Sweetest eyes were ever seen"?<br> +<br> + When the palace-ladies, sitting<br> + Round your gittern, shall +have said,<br> + "Poets, sing those verses written<br> + For the lady who is dead,"<br> + Will you +tremble,<br> + Yet +dissemble,<br> + Or sing hoarse, with tears +between,<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen"?<br> +<br> + "Sweetest eyes!" How sweet in +flowings<br> + The repeated cadence +is!<br> + Though you sang a hundred poems,<br> + Still the best one would +be this.<br> + I can hear +it<br> + 'Twixt my +spirit<br> + And the earth-noise intervene,--<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"<br> +<br> + But--but <i>now</i>--yet +unremovèd<br> + Up to heaven they glisten +fast;<br> + You may cast away, beloved,<br> + In your future all my +past:<br> + Such old +phrases<br> + May be +praises<br> + For some fairer bosom-queen--<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"<br> +<br> + Eyes of mine, what are ye doing?<br> + Faithless, faithless, +praised amiss<br> + If a tear be, on your showing,<br> + Dropped for any hope of +HIS!<br> + Death has +boldness<br> + Besides +coldness,<br> + If unworthy tears demean<br> + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."<br> +<br> + I will look out to his future;<br> + I will bless it till it +shine.<br> + Should he ever be a suitor<br> + Unto sweeter eyes than +mine,<br> + Sunshine gild +them,<br> + Angels shield +them,<br> + Whatsoever eyes terrene<br> + <i>Be</i> the sweetest HIS have +seen.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING04E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE SLEEP</b><br> +<br> + "He giveth his beloved sleep."--Ps. +cxxvii. 2<br> +<br> + OF ALL the thoughts of God that +are<br> + Borne inward into souls +afar<br> + Along the Psalmist's +music deep,<br> + Now tell me if that any is,<br> + For gift or grace, surpassing +this--<br> + "He giveth his beloved sleep."<br> +<br> + What would we give to our +beloved?<br> + The hero's heart to be unmoved.<br> + The poet's star-tuned +harp to sweep,<br> + The patriot's voice to teach and +rouse,<br> + The monarch's crown to light the +brows?--<br> + He giveth his +belovèd sleep.<br> +<br> + What do we give to our beloved?<br> + A little faith all undisproved,<br> + A little dust to +overweep,<br> + And bitter memories to make<br> + The whole earth blasted for our +sake.<br> + He giveth his beloved +sleep.<br> +<br> + "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes +say,<br> + Who have no tune to charm away<br> + Sad dreams that through +the eyelids creep;<br> + But never doleful dream again<br> + Shall break the happy slumber +when<br> + He giveth his +belovèd sleep.<br> +<br> + O earth, so full of dreary +noises!<br> + O men with wailing in your +voices!<br> + O delvèd gold the +wailers heap!<br> + O strife, O curse, that o'er it +fall!<br> + God strikes a silence through you +all,<br> + And giveth his beloved +sleep.<br> +<br> + His dews drop mutely on the hill,<br> + His cloud above it saileth still,<br> + Though on its slope men +sow and reap;<br> + More softly than the dew is shed,<br> + Or cloud is floated overhead,<br> + He giveth his +belovèd sleep.<br> +<br> + Ay, men may wonder while they +scan<br> + A living, thinking, feeling man<br> + Confirmed in such a rest +to keep;<br> + But angels say,--and through the +word<br> + I think their happy smile is +<i>heard</i>,--<br> + "He giveth his +belovèd sleep."<br> +<br> + For me, my heart that erst did go<br> + Most like a tired child at a +show,<br> + That sees through tears +the mummers leap,<br> + Would now its wearied vision +close,<br> + Would childlike on His love +repose<br> + Who giveth his +belovèd sleep.<br> +<br> + And friends, dear friends, when it +shall be<br> + That this low breath is gone from +me,<br> + And round my bier ye come +to weep,<br> + Let one most loving of you all<br> + Say, "Not a tear must o'er her +fall!<br> + He giveth his +belovèd sleep."</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING05E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE CRY OF THE +CHILDREN</b><br> +<br> +<blockquote> I</blockquote> + Do ye hear the children weeping, O my +brothers,<br> + Ere the +sorrow comes with years?<br> + They are leaning their young heads +against their mothers,<br> + And +<i>that</i> cannot stop their tears.<br> + The young lambs are bleating in the +meadows;<br> + The young birds are +chirping in the nest;<br> + The young fawns are playing with the +shadows;<br> + The young flowers are +blowing toward the west:<br> + But the young, young children, O my +brothers!<br> + They are +weeping bitterly.<br> + They are weeping in the playtime of +the others,<br> + In the +country of the free.<br> +<br> +<blockquote> II</blockquote> + Do you question the young children in +their sorrow,<br> + Why their +tears are falling so?<br> + The old man may weep for his +To-morrow<br> + Which is lost +in Long-Ago;<br> + The old tree is leafless in the +forest;<br> + The old year is ending in +the frost;<br> + The old wound, if stricken, is the +sorest;<br> + The old hope is hardest +to be lost:<br> + But the young, young children, O my +brothers!<br> + Do you ask +them why they stand<br> + Weeping sore before the bosoms of +their mothers,<br> + In our happy +Fatherland?<br> +<br> +<blockquote> III</blockquote> + They look up with their pale and +sunken faces;<br> + And their +looks are sad to see,<br> + For the man's hoary anguish draws and +presses<br> + Down the +cheeks of infancy.<br> + "Your old earth," they say, "is very +dreary;<br> + Our young feet," they +say, "are very weak;<br> + Few paces have we taken, yet are +weary;<br> + Our grave-rest is very +far to seek.<br> + Ask the aged why they weep, and not +the children;<br> + For the +outside earth is cold,<br> + And we young ones stand without in +our bewildering,<br> + And the +graves are for the old."<br> +<br> +<blockquote> IV</blockquote> + "True," say the children, "it may +happen<br> + That we die +before our time:<br> + Little Alice died last year; her +grave is shapen<br> + Like a +snowball in the rime.<br> + We looked into the pit prepared to +take her:<br> + Was no room for any work +in the close clay,<br> + From the sleep wherein she lieth none +will wake her,<br> + Crying, 'Get up, little +Alice! it is day.'<br> + If you listen by that grave, in sun +and shower,<br> + With your ear down, +little Alice never cries.<br> + Could we see her face, be sure we +should not know her,<br> + For the smile has time +for growing in her eyes;<br> + And merry go her moments, lulled and +stilled in<br> + The shroud by the +kirk-chime.<br> + It is good when it happens," say the +children,<br> + "That we die +before our time."<br> +<br> +<blockquote> V</blockquote> + Alas, alas, the children! They are +seeking<br> + Death in +life, as best to have.<br> + They are binding up their hearts away +from breaking<br> + With a +cerement from the grave.<br> + Go out, children, from the mine and +from the city;<br> + Sing out, children, as +the little thrushes do;<br> + Pluck your handfuls of the +meadow-cowslips pretty;<br> + Laugh aloud, to feel your +fingers let them through.<br> + But they answer, "Are your cowslips +of the meadows<br> + Like our +weeds anear the mine?<br> + Leave us quiet in the dark of the +coal-shadows,<br> + From your +pleasures fair and fine.<br> +<br> +<blockquote> VI</blockquote> + "For oh!" say the children, "we are +weary,<br> + And we cannot +run or leap;<br> + If we cared for any meadows, it were +merely<br> + To drop down +in them, and sleep.<br> + Our knees tremble sorely in the +stooping;<br> + We fall upon our faces, +trying to go;<br> + And, underneath our heavy eyelids +drooping,<br> + The reddest flower would +look as pale as snow;<br> + For all day we drag our burden +tiring,<br> + Through the +coal-dark, underground;<br> + Or all day we drive the wheels of +iron<br> + In the +factories, round and round.<br> +<br> +<blockquote> VII</blockquote> + "For all-day the wheels are droning, +turning;<br> + Their wind +comes in our faces,<br> + Till our hearts turn, our heads with +pulses burning,<br> + And the walls +turn in their places.<br> + Turns the sky in the high window +blank and reeling,<br> + Turns the long light that +drops adown the wall,<br> + Turn the black flies that crawl along +the ceiling,--<br> + All are turning, all the +day, and we with all.<br> + And all day the iron wheels are +droning,<br> + And sometimes +we could pray,<br> + 'O ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad +moaning),<br> + 'Stop! be +silent for to-day!'"<br> +<br> +<blockquote> VIII</blockquote> + Ay. be silent! Let them hear each +other breathing<br> + For a moment, +mouth to mouth;<br> + Let them touch each other's hands, in +a fresh wreathing<br> + Of their +tender human youth;<br> + Let them feel that this cold metallic +motion<br> + Is not all the life God +fashions or reveals;<br> + Let them prove their living souls +against the notion<br> + That they live in you, or +tinder you, O wheels!<br> + Still all day the iron wheels go +onward,<br> + Grinding life +down from its mark;<br> + And the children's souls, which God +is calling sunward,<br> + Spin on +blindly in the dark.<br> +<br> +<blockquote> IX</blockquote> + Now tell the poor young children, O +my brothers,<br> + To look up to +Him, and pray;<br> + So the blessèd One who +blesseth all the others<br> + Will bless +them another day.<br> + They answer, "Who is God, that he +should hear us<br> + While the rushing of the +iron wheels is stirred?<br> + When we sob aloud, the human +creatures near us<br> + Pass by, hearing not, or +answer not a word;<br> + And <i>we</i> hear not (for the +wheels in their resounding)<br> + Strangers +speaking at the door.<br> + Is it likely God, with angels singing +round him,<br> + Hears our +weeping any more?<br> +<br> +<blockquote> X</blockquote> + "Two words, indeed, of praying we +remember;<br> + And at +midnight's hour of harm,<br> + 'Our Father,' looking upward in the +chamber,<br> + We say softly +for a charm.<br> + We know no other words except 'Our +Father';<br> + And we think that, in +some pause of angels' song,<br> + God may pluck them with the silence +sweet to gather,<br> + And hold both within his +right hand, which is strong.<br> + 'Our Father!' If he heard us, he +would surely<br> + (For they +call him good and mild)<br> + Answer, smiling down the steep world +very purely,<br> + 'Come and +rest with me, my child.'<br> +<br> +<blockquote> XI</blockquote> + "But no!" say the children, weeping +faster,<br> + "He is +speechless as a stone;<br> + And they tell us, of his image is the +master<br> + Who commands +us to work on.<br> + Go to!" say the children,--"up in +heaven,<br> + Dark, wheel-like, turning +clouds are all we find.<br> + Do not mock us: Grief has made us +unbelieving:<br> + We look up for God; but +tears have made us blind."<br> + Do you hear the children weeping and +disproving,<br> + O my +brothers, what ye preach?<br> + For God's possible is taught by his +world's loving--<br> + And the +children doubt of each.<br> +<br> +<blockquote> XII</blockquote> + And well may the children weep before +you!<br> + They are +weary ere they run;<br> + They have never seen the sunshine, +nor the glory<br> + Which is +brighter than the sun.<br> + They know the grief of man, without +its wisdom;<br> + They sink in man's +despair, without its calm;<br> + Are slaves, without the liberty in +Christdom;<br> + Are martyrs, by the pang +without the palm;<br> + Are worn as if with age, yet +unretrievingly<br> + The harvest of its +memories cannot reap;<br> + Are orphans of the earthly love and +heavenly--<br> + Let them +weep! let them weep!<br> +<br> +<blockquote> XIII</blockquote> + They look up with their pale and +sunken faces,<br> + And their +look is dread to see.<br> + For they mind you of their angels in +high places,<br> + With eyes +turned on Deity.<br> + "How long," they say, "how long, O +cruel nation,<br> + Will you stand, to move +the world on a child's heart,--<br> + Stifle down with a mailed heel its +palpitation,<br> + And tread onward to your +throne amid the mart?<br> + Our blood splashes upward, O +gold-heaper,<br> + And your +purple shows your path;<br> + But the child's sob in the silence +curses deeper<br> + Than the +strong man in his wrath!"</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING06E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>MOTHER AND +POET</b><br> +<br> + [On Laura Savio of Turin, a poetess +and patriot, whose sons were killed<br> + at Ancona and Gaeta.]<br> +<br> + DEAD! One of them shot by the sea in +the east,<br> + And one of them shot in +the west by the sea.<br> + Dead! both my boys! When you sit at +the feast,<br> + And are wanting a great +song for Italy free,<br> + Let none look +at <i>me</i>!<br> +<br> + Yet I was a poetess only last +year,<br> + And good at my art, for a +woman, men said:<br> + But <i>this</i> woman, <i>this</i>, +who is agonized here,--<br> + The east sea and west sea +rhyme on in her head<br> + Forever +instead.<br> +<br> + What art can a woman be good at? Oh, +vain!<br> + What art <i>is</i> she +good at, but hurting her breast<br> + With the milk-teeth of babes, and a +smile at the pain?<br> + Ah, boys, how you hurt! +you were strong as you prest,<br> + And I proud +by that test.<br> +<br> + What art's for a woman? To hold on +her knees<br> + Both darlings! to feel +all their arms round her throat<br> + Cling, strangle a little! to sew by +degrees,<br> + And 'broider the +long-clothes and neat little coat;<br> + To dream and +to dote.<br> +<br> + To teach them.... It stings there! +<i>I</i> made them indeed<br> + Speak plain the word +<i>country. I</i> taught them, no doubt,<br> + That a country's a thing men should +die for at need.<br> + I prated of liberty, +rights, and about<br> + The tyrant +cast out.<br> +<br> + And when their eyes flashed ... O my +beautiful eyes! ...<br> + I exulted; nay, let them +go forth at the wheels<br> + Of the guns, and denied not. But then +the surprise<br> + When one sits quite +alone! Then one weeps, then one kneels.<br> + God, how the +house feels!<br> +<br> + At first, happy news came, in gay +letters moiled<br> + With my kisses, of +camp-life and glory, and how<br> + They both loved me; and soon, coming +home to be spoiled,<br> + In return would fan off +every fly from my brow<br> + With their +green laurel-bough.<br> +<br> + There was triumph at Turin: "Ancona +was free!"<br> + And some one came out of +the cheers in the street,<br> + With a face pale as stone, to say +something to me.<br> + My Guido was dead! I fell +down at his feet,<br> + While they +cheered in the street.<br> +<br> + I bore it; friends soothed me; my +grief looked sublime<br> + As the ransom of Italy. +One boy remained<br> + To be leant on and walked with, +recalling the time<br> + When the first grew +immortal, while both of us strained<br> + To the height +<i>he</i> had gained.<br> +<br> + And letters still came; shorter, +sadder, more strong,<br> + Writ now but in one +hand:--"I was not to faint,--<br> + One loved me for two; would be with +me ere long:<br> + And <i>Viva l'Italia</i> +he died for, our saint,<br> + Who forbids +our complaint."<br> +<br> + My Nanni would add, "he was safe, and +aware<br> + Of a presence that turned +off the balls,--was imprest<br> + It was Guido himself, who knew what I +could bear,<br> + And how 'twas impossible, +quite dispossest,<br> + To live on +for the rest."<br> +<br> + On which, without pause, up the +telegraph-line<br> + Swept smoothly the next +news from Gaeta,--"<i>Shot.<br> + Tell his mother</i>." Ah, ah! "his," +"their" mother, not "mine":<br> + No voice says, "<i>My</i> +mother," again to me. What!<br> + You think +Guido forgot?<br> +<br> + Are souls straight so happy, that, +dizzy with heaven,<br> + They drop earth's +affections, conceive not of woe?<br> + I think not! Themselves were too +lately forgiven<br> + Through that Love and +that Sorrow which reconciled so<br> + The Above and +Below.<br> +<br> + O Christ of the seven wounds, who +look'dst through the dark<br> + To the face of thy +mother! Consider, I pray,<br> + How we common mothers stand desolate, +mark,--<br> + Whose sons, not being +Christs, die with eyes turned away,<br> + And no last +word to say!<br> +<br> + Both boys dead? but that's out of +nature. We all<br> + Have been patriots, yet +each house must always keep one.<br> + 'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to +a wall;<br> + And when Italy's made, +for what end is it done,<br> + If we have +not a son?<br> +<br> + Ah, ah, ah! when Gaeta's taken, what +then?<br> + When the fair wicked +queen sits no more at her sport<br> + Of the fire-balls of death crashing +souls out of men;<br> + When the guns of Cavalli +with final retort<br> + Have cut the +game short;<br> +<br> + When Venice and Rome keep their new +jubilee;<br> + When your flag takes all +heaven for its white, green, and red:<br> + When <i>you</i> have your country +from mountain to sea,<br> + When King Victor has +Italy's crown on his head,<br> + (And I have +my dead)--<br> +<br> + What then? Do not mock me. Ah, ring +your bells low<br> + And burn your lights +faintly! <i>My</i> country is <i>there</i>.<br> + Above the star pricked by the last +peak of snow:<br> + My Italy's THERE, with my +brave civic pair,<br> + To +disfranchise despair!<br> +<br> + Forgive me. Some women bear children +in strength,<br> + And bite back the cry of +their pain in self-scorn;<br> + But the birth-pangs of nations will +wring us at length<br> + Into wail such as this, +and we sit on forlorn<br> + When the +man-child is born.<br> +<br> + Dead! One of them shot by the sea in +the east,<br> + And one of them shot in +the west by the sea.<br> + Both! both my boys! If in keeping the +feast<br> + You want a great song for +your Italy free,<br> + Let none look +at <i>me</i>!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING07E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>A COURT LADY</b><br> +<br> + Her hair was tawny with gold; her +eyes with purple were dark;<br> + Her cheeks' pale opal burnt with a +red and restless spark.<br> +<br> + Never was lady of Milan nobler in +name and in race;<br> + Never was lady of Italy fairer to see +in the face.<br> +<br> + Never was lady on earth more true as +woman and wife,<br> + Larger in judgment and instinct, +prouder in manners and life.<br> +<br> + She stood in the early morning, and +said to her maidens, "Bring<br> + That silken robe made ready to wear +at the court of the King.<br> +<br> + "Bring me the clasps of diamond, +lucid, clear of the mote;<br> + Clasp me the large at the waist, and +clasp me the small at the throat.<br> +<br> + "Diamonds to fasten the hair, and +diamonds to fasten the sleeves,<br> + Laces to drop from their rays, like a +powder of snow from the eaves."<br> +<br> + Gorgeous she entered the sunlight, +which gathered her up in a flame,<br> + While, straight in her open carriage, +she to the hospital came.<br> +<br> + In she went at the door, and gazing +from end to end,--<br> + "Many and low are the pallets; but +each is the place of a friend."<br> +<br> + Up she passed through the wards, and +stood at a young man's bed;<br> + Bloody the band on his brow, and +livid the droop of his head.<br> +<br> + "Art thou a Lombard, my brother? +Happy art thou!" she cried,<br> + And smiled like Italy on him: he +dreamed in her face--and died.<br> +<br> + Pale with his passing soul, she went +on still to a second:<br> + He was a grave hard man, whose years +by dungeons were reckoned.<br> +<br> + Wounds in his body were sore, wounds +in his life were sorer.<br> + "Art thou a Romagnole?" Her eyes +drove lightnings before her.<br> +<br> + "Austrian and priest had joined to +double and tighten the cord<br> + Able to bind thee, O strong one, free +by the stroke of a sword.<br> +<br> + "Now be grave for the rest of us, +using the life overcast<br> + To ripen our wine of the present (too +new) in glooms of the past."<br> +<br> + Down she stepped to a pallet where +lay a face like a girl's,<br> + Young, and pathetic with dying,--a +deep black hole in the curls.<br> +<br> + "Art thou from Tuscany, brother? and +seest thou, dreaming in pain,<br> + Thy mother stand in the piazza, +searching the list of the slain?"<br> +<br> +Kind as a mother herself, she touched his cheeks with her +hands:<br> + "Blessed is she who has borne thee, +although she should weep as<br> + +she stands."<br> +<br> + On she passed to a Frenchman, his arm +carried off by a ball:<br> + Kneeling: "O more than my brother! +how shall I thank thee for all?<br> +<br> + "Each of the heroes around us has +fought for his land and line;<br> + But thou hast fought for a stranger, +in hate of a wrong not thine.<br> +<br> + "Happy are all free peoples, too +strong to be dispossest,<br> + But blessed are those among nations +who dare to be strong for the<br> + rest."<br> +<br> + Ever she passed on her way, and came +to a couch where pined<br> + One with a face from Venetia, white +with a hope out of mind.<br> +<br> + Long she stood and gazed, and twice +she tried at the name;<br> + But two great crystal tears were all +that faltered and came.<br> +<br> + Only a tear for Venice? She turned as +in passion and loss,<br> + And stooped to his forehead and +kissed it, as if she were kissing<br> + the cross.<br> +<br> + Faint with that strain of heart, she +moved on then to another,<br> + Stern and strong in his death: "And +dost thou suffer, my brother?"<br> +<br> + Holding his hands in hers: "Out of +the Piedmont lion<br> + Cometh the sweetness of freedom! +sweetest to live or to die on."<br> +<br> + Holding his cold rough hands: "Well, +oh well have ye done<br> + In noble, noble Piedmont, who would +not be noble alone."<br> +<br> + Back he fell while she spoke. She +rose to her feet with a spring.<br> + "That was a Piedmontese! and this is +the court of the King!"</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING08E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE PROSPECT</b><br> +<br> + Methinks we do as fretful children +do,<br> + Leaning their faces on +the window-pane<br> + To sigh the glass dim +with their own breath's stain,<br> + And shut the sky and landscape from +their view;<br> + And thus, alas! since God the maker +drew<br> + A mystic separation +'twixt those twain,--<br> + The life beyond us and +our souls in pain,--<br> + We miss the prospect which we are +called unto<br> + By grief we are fools to use. Be +still and strong,<br> + O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing +breath,<br> + And keep thy soul's large +window pure from wrong;<br> + That so, as life's appointment +issueth,<br> + Thy vision may be clear +to watch along<br> + The sunset consummation-lights of +death.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING09E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>DE PROFUNDIS</b><br> +<br> + The face which, duly as the sun,<br> + Rose up for me with life begun,<br> + To mark all bright hours of the +day<br> + With daily love, is dimmed away--<br> + And yet my days go on, go +on.<br> +<br> + The tongue which, like a stream, +could run<br> + Smooth music from the roughest +stone,<br> + And every morning with "Good day"<br> + Make each day good, is hushed +away--<br> + And yet my days go on, go +on.<br> +<br> + The heart which, like a staff, was +one<br> + For mine to lean and rest upon,<br> + The strongest on the longest day,<br> + With steadfast love is caught +away--<br> + And yet my days go on, go +on.<br> +<br> + The world goes whispering to its +own,<br> + "This anguish pierces to the +bone."<br> + And tender friends go sighing +round,<br> + "What love can ever cure this +wound?"<br> + My days go on, my days go +on.<br> +<br> + The past rolls forward on the sun<br> + And makes all night. O dreams +begun,<br> + Not to be ended! Ended bliss!<br> + And life, that will not end in +this!<br> + My days go on, my days go +on.<br> +<br> + Breath freezes on my lips to +moan:<br> + As one alone, once not alone,<br> + I sit and knock at Nature's door,<br> + Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very +poor,<br> + Whose desolated days go +on.<br> +<br> + I knock and cry--Undone, undone!<br> + Is there no help, no +comfort--none?<br> + No gleaning in the wide +wheat-plains<br> + Where others drive their loaded +wains?<br> + My vacant days go on, go +on.<br> +<br> + This Nature, though the snows be +down,<br> + Thinks kindly of the bird of +June.<br> + The little red hip on the tree<br> + Is ripe for such. What is for me,<br> + Whose days so winterly go +on?<br> +<br> + No bird am I to sing in June,<br> + And dare not ask an equal boon.<br> + Good nests and berries red are +Nature's<br> + To give away to better +creatures--<br> + And yet my days go on, go +on.<br> +<br> + <i>I</i> ask less kindness to be +done--<br> + Only to loose these pilgrim-shoon<br> + (Too early worn and grimed) with +sweet<br> + Cool deathly touch to these tired +feet,<br> + Till days go out which +now go on.<br> +<br> + Only to lift the turf unmown<br> + From off the earth where it has +grown,<br> + Some cubit-space, and say, +"Behold,<br> + Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that +fold,<br> + Forgetting how the days +go on."<br> +<br> + A Voice reproves me thereupon,<br> + More sweet than Nature's, when the +drone<br> + Of bees is sweetest, and more +deep,<br> + Than when the rivers overleap<br> + The shuddering pines, and +thunder on.<br> +<br> + God's Voice, not Nature's--night and +noon<br> + He sits upon the great white +throne,<br> + And listens for the creature's +praise.<br> + What babble we of days and days?<br> + The Dayspring he, whose +days go on!<br> +<br> + He reigns above, he reigns alone:<br> + Systems burn out and leave his +throne:<br> + Fair mists of seraphs melt and +fall<br> + Around him, changeless amid all--<br> + Ancient of days, whose +days go on!<br> +<br> + He reigns below, he reigns +alone--<br> + And having life in love forgone<br> + Beneath the crown of sovran +thorns,<br> + He reigns the jealous God. Who +mourns<br> + Or rules with HIM, while +days go on?<br> +<br> + By anguish which made pale the +sun,<br> + I hear him charge his saints that +none<br> + Among the creatures anywhere<br> + Blaspheme against him with +despair,<br> + However darkly days go +on.<br> +<br> + Take from my head the thorn-wreath +brown:<br> + No mortal grief deserves that +crown.<br> + O supreme Love, chief misery,<br> + The sharp regalia are for +<i>Thee</i>,<br> + Whose days eternally go +on!<br> +<br> + For us, ... whatever's undergone,<br> + Thou knowest, willest what is +done.<br> + Grief may be joy misunderstood:<br> + Only the Good discerns the good.<br> + I trust Thee while my +days go on.<br> +<br> + Whatever's lost, it first was +won!<br> + We will not struggle nor impugn.<br> + Perhaps the cup was broken here<br> + That Heaven's new wine might show +more clear.<br> + I praise Thee while my +days go on.<br> +<br> + I praise Thee while my days go +on;<br> + I love Thee while my days go on!<br> + Through dark and dearth, through fire +and frost,<br> + With emptied arms and treasure +lost,<br> + I thank Thee while my +days go on!<br> +<br> + And, having in thy life-depth +thrown<br> + Being and suffering (which are +one),<br> + As a child drops some pebble +small<br> + Down some deep well, and hears it +fall<br> + Smiling--so I! THY DAYS +GO ON!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING10E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE CRY OF THE +HUMAN</b><br> +<br> + "There is no God," the foolish +saith,<br> + But none, "There is no +sorrow;"<br> + And nature oft the cry of faith<br> + In bitter need will +borrow:<br> + Eyes which the preacher could not +school<br> + By wayside graves are +raised;<br> + And lips say, "God be pitiful,"<br> + Who ne'er said, "God be +praised."<br> + Be +pitiful, O God.<br> +<br> + The tempest stretches from the +steep<br> + The shadow of its +coming;<br> + The beasts grow tame, and near us +creep,<br> + As help were in the +human:<br> + Yet while the cloud-wheels roll and +grind,<br> + We spirits tremble +under!<br> + The hills have echoes; but we +find<br> + No answer for the +thunder.<br> + Be +pitiful, O God!<br> +<br> + The battle hurtles on the +plains--<br> + Earth feels new scythes +upon her:<br> + We reap our brothers for the +wains,<br> + And call the +harvest--honor.<br> + Draw face to face, front line to +line,<br> + One image all +inherit:<br> + Then kill, curse on, by that same +sign,<br> + Clay, clay,--and spirit, +spirit.<br> + Be +pitiful, O God!<br> +<br> + We meet together at the feast--<br> + To private mirth betake +us--<br> + We stare down in the winecup, +lest<br> + Some vacant chair should +shake us!<br> + We name delight, and pledge it +round--<br> + "It shall be ours +to-morrow!"<br> + God's seraphs! do your voices +sound<br> + As sad in naming +sorrow?<br> + Be +pitiful, O God!<br> +<br> + We sit together, with the skies,<br> + The steadfast skies, +above us;<br> + We look into each other's eyes,<br> + "And how long will you +love us?"<br> + The eyes grow dim with prophecy,<br> + The voices, low and +breathless--<br> + "Till death us part!"--O words, to +be<br> + Our <i>best</i> for love +the deathless!<br> + Be +pitiful, dear God!<br> +<br> + We tremble by the harmless bed<br> + Of one loved and +departed--<br> + Our tears drop on the lips that +said<br> + Last night, "Be +stronger-hearted!"<br> + O God,--to clasp those fingers +close,<br> + And yet to feel so +lonely!--<br> + To see a light upon such brows,<br> + Which is the daylight +only!<br> + Be +pitiful, O God!<br> +<br> + The happy children come to us,<br> + And look up in our +faces;<br> + They ask us--Was it thus, and +thus,<br> + When we were in their +places?<br> + We cannot speak--we see anew<br> + The hills we used to live +in,<br> + And feel our mother's smile press +through<br> + The kisses she is +giving.<br> + Be +pitiful, O God!<br> +<br> + We pray together at the kirk,<br> + For mercy, mercy, +solely--<br> + Hands weary with the evil work,<br> + We lift them to the +Holy!<br> + The corpse is calm below our +knee--<br> + Its spirit bright before +Thee--<br> + Between them, worse than either, +we<br> + Without the rest of +glory!<br> + Be +pitiful, O God!<br> +<br> + And soon all vision waxeth dull--<br> + Men whisper, "He is +dying;"<br> + We cry no more, "Be pitiful!"--<br> + We have no strength for +crying:<br> + No strength, no need! Then, Soul of +mine,<br> + Look up and triumph +rather--<br> + Lo! in the depth of God's Divine,<br> + The Son adjures the +Father--<br> + BE +PITIFUL, O GOD!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING11E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S +NEST</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Little Ellie sits +alone<br> + 'Mid the beeches of a meadow,<br> + By a stream-side on the +grass;<br> + And the trees are +showering down<br> + Doubles of their leaves in +shadow,<br> + On her shining hair and +face.<br> +<br> + She has thrown her +bonnet by;<br> + And her feet she has been dipping<br> + In the shallow water's +flow--<br> + Now she holds them +nakedly<br> + In her hands, all sleek and +dripping,<br> + While she rocketh to and +fro.<br> +<br> + Little Ellie sits +alone,<br> + And the smile she softly uses<br> + Fills the silence like a +speech;<br> + While she thinks what +shall be done,<br> + And the sweetest pleasure +chooses,<br> + For her future within +reach.<br> +<br> + Little Ellie in her +smile<br> + Chooseth--"I will have a lover,<br> + Riding on a steed of +steeds!<br> + He shall love me without +guile;<br> + And to <i>him</i> I will discover<br> + That swan's nest among +the reeds.<br> +<br> + "And the steed shall be +red-roan.<br> + And the lover shall be noble,<br> + With an eye that takes +the breath.<br> + And the lute he plays +upon<br> + Shall strike ladies into trouble,<br> + As his sword strikes men +to death.<br> +<br> + "And the steed it shall +be shod<br> + All in silver, housed in +<i>azure</i>,<br> + And the mane shall swim +the wind:<br> + And the hoofs along the +sod<br> + Shall flash onward and keep +measure,<br> + Till the shepherds look +behind.<br> +<br> + "But my lover will not +prize<br> + All the glory that he rides in,<br> + When he gazes in my +face.<br> + He will say, 'O Love, +thine eyes<br> + Build the shrine my soul abides +in;<br> + And I kneel here for thy +grace.'<br> +<br> + "Then, ay, then--he +shall kneel low,<br> + With the red-roan steed anear +him,<br> + Which shall seem to +understand--<br> + Till I answer, 'Rise and +go!<br> + For the world must love and fear +him<br> + Whom I gift with heart +and hand.'<br> +<br> + "Then he will arise so +pale,<br> + I shall feel my own lips tremble<br> + With a <i>yes</i> I must +not say--<br> + Nathless maiden-brave, +'Fare well,'<br> + I will utter, and dissemble--<br> + 'Light to-morrow with +to-day.'<br> +<br> + "Then he'll ride among +the hills<br> + To the wide world past the river,<br> + There to put away all +wrong:<br> + To make straight +distorted wills,<br> + And to empty the broad quiver<br> + Which the wicked bear +along.<br> +<br> + "Three times shall a +young foot-page<br> + Swim the stream and climb the +mountain<br> + And kneel down beside my +feet--<br> + 'Lo! my master sends +this gage,<br> + Lady, for thy pity's counting!<br> + What wilt thou exchange +for it?'<br> +<br> + "And the first time I +will send<br> + A white rosebud for a guerdon,<br> + And the second time, a +glove:<br> + But the third time--I +may bend<br> + From my pride, and +answer--'Pardon--<br> + If he come to take my +love.'<br> +<br> + "Then the young +foot-page will run--<br> + Then my lover will ride faster,<br> + Till he kneeleth at my +knee:<br> + 'I am a duke's eldest +son!<br> + Thousand serfs do call me +master,--<br> + But, O Love, I love but +<i>thee!</i><br> +<br> + "He will kiss me on the +mouth<br> + Then; and lead me as a lover<br> + Through the crowds that +praise his deeds;<br> + And when soul-tied by one +troth,<br> + Unto <i>him</i> I will discover<br> + That swan's nest among +the reeds."<br> +<br> + Little Ellie, with her +smile<br> + Not yet ended, rose up gayly,<br> + Tied the bonnet, donned +the shoe--<br> + And went homeward, round +a mile,<br> + Just to see, as she did daily,<br> + What more eggs were with +the <i>two</i>.<br> +<br> + Pushing through the +elm-tree copse<br> + Winding by the stream, +light-hearted,<br> + Where the osier pathway +leads--<br> + Past the boughs she +stoops--and stops!<br> + Lo! the wild swan had deserted--<br> + And a rat had gnawed the +reeds.<br> +<br> + Ellie went home sad and +slow:<br> + If she found the lover ever,<br> + With his red-roan steed +of steeds,<br> + Sooth I know not! but I +know<br> + She could never show him--never,<br> + That swan's nest among +the reeds!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING12E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE BEST THING IN THE +WORLD</b><br> +<br> + WHAT'S the best thing in the +world?<br> + June-rose by May-dew +impearled;<br> + Sweet south-wind, that +means no rain;<br> + Truth, not cruel to a friend;<br> + Pleasure, not in haste to end;<br> + Beauty, not self-decked and +curled<br> + Till its pride is over-plain;<br> + Light, that never makes you wink;<br> + Memory, that gives no pain;<br> + Love, when <i>so</i> you're loved +again.<br> + What's the best thing in the +world?--<br> + Something out of it, I +think.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING13E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>SONNETS FROM THE +PORTUGUESE</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Unlike are we, unlike, O princely +Heart!<br> + Unlike our uses and our +destinies.<br> + Our ministering two +angels look surprise<br> + On one another as they strike +athwart<br> + Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink +thee, art<br> + A guest for queens to +social pageantries,<br> + With gages from a hundred +brighter eyes<br> + Than tears even can make mine, to +play thy part<br> + Of chief musician. What +hast <i>thou</i> to do<br> + With looking from the lattice-lights +at me,<br> + A poor, tired, wandering +singer, singing through<br> + The dark, and leaning up a cypress +tree?<br> + The chrism is on thine +head; on mine the dew:<br> + And Death must dig the level where +these agree.<br> +<br> + Thou hast thy calling to some +palace-floor,<br> + Most gracious singer of +high poems, where<br> + The dancers will break +footing, from the care<br> + Of watching up thy pregnant lips for +more.<br> + And dost thou lift this house's +latch, too poor<br> + For hand of thine? and +canst thou think, and bear<br> + To let thy music drop +here unaware<br> + In folds of golden fulness at my +door?<br> + Look up, and see the +casement broken in,<br> + The bats and owlets builders in the +roof!<br> + My cricket chirps against +thy mandolin.<br> + Hush, call no echo up in further +proof<br> + Of desolation! there's a +voice within<br> + That weeps--as thou must sing--alone, +aloof.<br> +<br> + What can I give thee back, O +liberal<br> + And princely giver, who +hast brought the gold<br> + And purple of thine +heart, unstained, untold,<br> + And laid them on the outside of the +wall<br> + For such as I to take or leave +withal,<br> + In unexpected largesse? +Am I cold,<br> + Ungrateful, that for +these most manifold<br> + High gifts, I render nothing back at +all?<br> + Not so; not cold, but +very poor instead.<br> + Ask God, who knows. For frequent +tears have run<br> + The colors from my life, +and left so dead<br> + And pale a stuff, it were not fitly +done<br> + To give the same as +pillow to thy head.<br> + Go farther! let it serve to trample +on.<br> +<br> + If thou must love me, let it be for +naught<br> + Except for love's sake +only. Do not say<br> + "I love her for her +smile, her look, her way<br> + Of speaking gently, for a trick of +thought<br> + That falls in well with mine, and +certes brought<br> + A sense of pleasant ease +on such a day:"<br> + For these things in +themselves, beloved, may<br> + Be changed, or change for thee; and +love so wrought<br> + May be unwrought so. +Neither love me for<br> + Thine own dear pity's wiping my +cheeks dry:<br> + A creature might forget +to weep, who bore<br> + Thy comfort long, and lose thy love +thereby.<br> + But love me for love's +sake, that evermore<br> + Thou mayst love on through love's +eternity.<br> +<br> + First time he kissed me, he but only +kissed<br> + The fingers of this hand +wherewith I write;<br> + And ever since it grew +more clean and white,<br> + Slow to world-greetings, quick with +its "Oh list!"<br> + When the angels speak. A ring of +amethyst<br> + I could not wear here +plainer to my sight<br> + Than that first kiss. +The second passed in height<br> + The first, and sought the forehead, +and half missed,<br> + Half falling on the +hair. Oh, beyond meed!<br> + That was the chrism of love, which +love's own crown<br> + With sanctifying +sweetness did precede.<br> + The third upon my lips was folded +down<br> + In perfect purple state; +since when, indeed,<br> + I have been proud, and said "My love, +my own!"<br> +<br> + I LIVED with visions for my +company,<br> + Instead of men and +women, years ago,<br> + And found them gentle +mates, nor thought to know<br> + A sweeter music than they played to +me.<br> + But soon their trailing purple was +not free<br> + Of this world's dust, +their lutes did silent grow,<br> + And I myself grew faint +and blind below<br> + Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst +come--to be,<br> + Beloved, what they +seemed. Their shining fronts,<br> + Their songs, their splendors (better, +yet the same,<br> + As river-water hallowed +into fonts),<br> + Met in thee, and from out thee +overcame<br> + My soul with +satisfaction of all wants,<br> + Because God's gifts put man's best +dreams to shame.<br> +<br> + BELOVED, my beloved, when I think<br> + That thou wast in the +world a year ago,<br> + What time I sat alone +here in the snow,<br> + And saw no footprint, heard the +silence sink<br> + No moment at thy voice, but, link by +link,<br> + Went counting all my +chains as if that so<br> + They never could fall +off at any blow<br> + Struck by thy possible hand--why, +thus I drink<br> + Of life's great cup of +wonder! Wonderful,<br> + Never to feel thee thrill the day or +night<br> + With personal act or +speech, nor ever cull<br> + Some prescience of thee with the +blossoms white<br> + Thou sawest growing! +Atheists are as dull,<br> + Who cannot guess God's presence out +of sight.<br> +<br> + BECAUSE thou hast the power and +own'st the grace<br> + To look through and +behind this mask of me,<br> + (Against which years +have beat thus blanchingly<br> + With their rains!) and behold my +soul's true face,<br> + The dim and weary witness of life's +race;<br> + Because thou hast the +faith and love to see,<br> + Through that same soul's +distracting lethargy,<br> + The patient angel waiting for his +place<br> + In the new heavens; +because nor sin nor woe,<br> + Nor God's infliction, nor death's +neighborhood,<br> + Nor all which others +viewing, turn to go,<br> + Nor all which makes me tired of all, +self-viewed,--<br> + Nothing repels +thee.--Dearest, teach me so<br> + To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, +good!<br> +<br> + I THANK all who have loved me in +their hearts,<br> + With thanks and love +from mine. Deep thanks to all<br> + Who paused a little near +the prison-wall,<br> + To hear my music in its louder +parts,<br> + Ere they went onward, each one to the +mart's<br> + Or temple's occupation, +beyond call.<br> + But thou, who in my +voice's sink and fall,<br> + When the sob took it, thy divinest +Art's<br> + Own instrument didst +drop down at thy foot,<br> + To hearken what I said between my +tears,<br> + Instruct me how to thank +thee!--Oh, to shoot<br> + My soul's full meaning into future +years,<br> + That <i>they</i> should +lend it utterance, and salute<br> + Love that endures! with Life that +disappears!<br> +<br> + How do I love thee? Let me count the +ways.<br> + I love thee to the depth +and breadth and height<br> + My soul can reach, when +feeling out of sight<br> + For the ends of Being and Ideal +Grace.<br> + I love thee to the level of every +day's<br> + Most quiet need, by sun +and candle-light.<br> + I love thee freely, as +men strive for Right;<br> + I love thee purely, as they turn from +Praise;<br> + I love thee with the +passion put to use<br> + In my old griefs, and with my +childhood's faith;<br> + I love thee with a love I +seemed to lose<br> + With my lost saints,--I love thee +with the breath,<br> + Smiles, tears, of all my +life!--and if God choose,<br> + I shall but love thee better after +death.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING14E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>A FALSE STEP</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart.<br> + Pass! there's a world +full of men;<br> + And women as fair as thou art<br> + Must do such things now and then.<br> +<br> + Thou only hast stepped unaware,--<br> + Malice, not one can +impute;<br> + And why should a heart have been +there<br> + In the way of a fair +woman's foot?<br> +<br> + It was not a stone that could +trip,<br> + Nor was it a thorn that +could rend:<br> + Put up thy proud underlip!<br> + 'Twas merely the heart of +a friend.<br> +<br> + And yet peradventure one day<br> + Thou, sitting alone at +the glass,<br> + Remarking the bloom gone away,<br> + Where the smile in its +dimplement was,<br> +<br> + And seeking around thee in vain<br> + From hundreds who +flattered before,<br> + Such a word as,--"Oh, not in the +main<br> + Do I hold thee less +precious,--but more!"<br> +<br> + Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy +part:--<br> + "Of all I have known or +can know,<br> + I wish I had only that Heart<br> + I trod upon, ages +ago!"</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING15E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF +GOD</b><br> +<br> + They say that God lives very +high!<br> + But if you look above the +pines<br> + You cannot see our God. And why?<br> +<br> + And if you dig down in the mines<br> + You never see him in the +gold,<br> + Though, from him, all that's glory +shines.<br> +<br> + God is so good, he wears a fold<br> + Of heaven and earth +across his face--<br> + Like secrets kept, for love, +untold.<br> +<br> + But still I feel that his embrace<br> + Slides down by thrills, +through all things made,<br> + Through sight and sound of every +place:<br> +<br> + As if my tender mother laid<br> + On my shut lids her +kisses' pressure,<br> + Half-waking me at night; and said<br> + "Who kissed you through +the dark, dear guesser?"</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING16E"></a> +<blockquote> <b>CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY +REASON</b><br> +<br> + I think we are too ready with +complaint<br> + In this fair world of +God's. Had we no hope<br> + Indeed beyond the zenith +and the slope<br> + Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be +faint<br> + To muse upon eternity's +constraint<br> + Round our aspirant souls. +But since the scope<br> + Must widen early, is it +well to droop<br> + For a few days consumed in loss and +taint?<br> + O pusillanimous Heart, be +comforted,--<br> + And like a cheerful +traveler, take the road,<br> + Singing beside the hedge. What if the +bread<br> + Be bitter in thine inn, +and thou unshod<br> + To meet the flints?--At least it may +be said,<br> + "Because the way is +<i>short</i>, I thank thee, God!"</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="ROBERT_BROWNING"></a> +<h2>ROBERT BROWNING</h2> +<h3>(1812-1889)</h3> +<center>BY E.L. BURLINGAME</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-r.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>obert Browning was born at Camberwell on May 7th, 1812, the son +and grandson of men who held clerkships in the Bank of England--the +one for more than forty and the other for full fifty years. His +surroundings were apparently typical of English moderate +prosperity, and neither they, nor his good but undistinguished +family traditions, furnish any basis for the theorizing of +biographers, except indeed in a single point. His grandmother was a +West Indian Creole, and though only of the first generation to be +born away from England, seems, from the restless and adventurous +life led by her brother, to have belonged to a family of the +opposite type from her husband's. Whether this crossing of the +imaginative, Westward-Ho strain of the English blood with the +home-keeping type has to do with the production of such intensely +vitalized temperaments as Robert Browning's, is the only question +suggested by his ancestry. It is noticeable that his father wished +to go to a university, then to become an artist--- both ambitions +repressed by the grandfather; and that he took up his bank +official's career unwillingly. He seems to have been anything but a +man of routine; to have had keen and wide interests outside of his +work; to have been a great reader and book collector, even an +exceptional scholar in certain directions; and to have kept till +old age a remarkable vivacity, with unbroken health--altogether a +personality thoroughly sympathetic with that of his son, to whom +this may well have been the final touch of a prosperity calculated +to shake all traditional ideas of a poet's youth.</p> +<p>Browning's education was exceptional, for an English boy's. He +left school at fourteen, and after that was taught by tutors at +home, except that at eighteen he took a Greek course at the London +University. His training seems to have been unusually thorough for +these conditions, though largely self-directed; it may be supposed +that his father kept a sympathetic and intelligent guidance, wisely +not too obvious. But in the main it is clear that from a very early +age, Browning had deliberately and distinctly in view the idea of +making literature the pursuit of his life, and that he troubled +himself seriously with nothing that did not help to that end; while +into everything that did he seems to have thrown himself with +precocious intensity. Individual anecdotes of his precocity are +told by his biographers; but they are flat beside the general fact +of the depth and character of his studies, and superfluous of the +man who had written 'Pauline' at twenty-one and 'Paracelsus' at +twenty-two. At eighteen he knew himself as a poet, and encountered +no opposition in his chosen career from his father, whose "kindness +we must seek," as Mrs. Sutherland Orr says, "not only in this +first, almost inevitable assent to his son's becoming a writer, but +in the subsequent unfailing readiness to support him in his +literary career. 'Paracelsus,' 'Sordello,' and the whole of 'Bells +and Pomegranates' were published at his father's expense, and, +incredible as it appears, brought him no return." An aunt, Mrs. +Silverthorne, paid the costs of the earlier 'Pauline.'</p> +<p>From this time of his earliest published work ('Pauline' was +issued without his name in 1833) that part of the story of his life +known to the public, in spite of two or three more or less +elaborate biographies, is mainly the history of his writings and +the record of his different residences, supplemented by less than +the usual number of personal anecdotes, to which neither +circumstance nor temperament contributed material. He had nothing +of the attitude of the recluse, like Tennyson; but while healthily +social and a man of the world about him, he was not one of whom +people tell "reminiscences" of consequence, and he was in no sense +a public personality. Little of his correspondence has appeared in +print; and it seems probable that he will be fortunate, to an even +greater degree than Thackeray, in living in his works and escaping +the "ripping up" of the personal chronicler.</p> +<p>He traveled occasionally in the next few years, and in 1838 and +again in 1844 visited Italy. In that year, or early in 1845, he +became engaged to Miss Elizabeth Barrett, their acquaintance +beginning through a friend,--her cousin,--and through letters from +Browning expressing admiration for her poems. Miss Barrett had then +been for some years an invalid from an accident, and an enforced +recluse; but in September 1846 they were married without the +knowledge of her father, and almost immediately afterward (she +leaving her sick room to join him) went to Paris and then to Italy, +where they lived first in Genoa and afterward in Florence, which +with occasional absences was their home for fourteen years. Mrs. +Browning died there, at Casa Guidi, in June 1861. Browning left +Florence some time afterward, and in spite of his later visits to +Italy, never returned there. He lived again in London in the +winter, but most of his summers were spent in France, and +especially in Brittany. About 1878 he formed the habit of going to +Venice for the autumn, which continued with rare exceptions to the +end of his life. There in 1888 his son, recently married, had made +his home; and there on the 12th of December, 1889, Robert Browning +died. He was buried in Westminster Abbey on the last day of the +year.</p> +<br> +<a name="browning_r.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/browning_r.jpg"><img src= +"images/browning_r.jpg" width="45%" alt=""></a></p> +<p>'Pauline, a Fragment of a Confession,' Browning's first +published poem, was a psychological self-analysis, perfectly +characteristic of the time of life at which he wrote it,--very +young, full of excesses of mood, of real exultation, and somewhat +less real depression--the "confession" of a poet of twenty-one, +intensely interested in the ever-new discovery of his own nature, +its possibilities, and its relations. It rings very true, and has +no decadent touch in it:--</p> +<blockquote>"I am made up of an intensest life<br> +... a principle of restlessness<br> +Which would be all, have, see, know, taste, feel, +all--"</blockquote> +<p>this is the note that stays in the reader's mind. But the poem +is psychologically rather than poetically noteworthy--except as all +beginnings are so; and Browning's statement in a note in his +collected poems that he "acknowledged and retained it with extreme +repugnance," shows how fully he recognized this.</p> +<p>In 'Paracelsus,' his next long poem, published some two years +later, the strength of his later work is first definitely felt. +Taking for theme the life of the sixteenth-century physician, +astrologer, alchemist, conjuror,--compound of Faust and Cagliostro, +mixture of truth-seeker, charlatan, and dreamer,--Browning makes of +it the history of the soul of a feverish aspirant after the +finality of intellectual power, the knowledge which should be for +man the key to the universe; the tragedy of its failure, and the +greater tragedy of its discovery of the barrenness of the effort, +and the omission from its scheme of life of an element without +which power was impotent.</p> +<blockquote>"Yet, constituted thus and thus endowed,<br> +I failed; I gazed on power till I grew blind.<br> +Power--I could not take my eyes from that;<br> +That only I thought should be preserved, increased.<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> +<br> +I learned my own deep error: love's undoing<br> +Taught me the worth of love in man's estate,<br> +And what proportion love should hold with power<br> +In his right constitution; love preceding<br> +Power, and with much power always much more love."</blockquote> +<p>'Paracelsus' is the work of a man still far from maturity; but +it is Browning's first use of a type of poem in which his powers +were to find one of their chief manifestations--a psychological +history, told with so slight an aid from "an external machinery of +incidents" (to use his own phrase), or from conventional dramatic +arrangement, as to constitute a form virtually new.</p> +<p>This was to be notably the method of 'Sordello,' which appeared +in 1840. In a note written twenty-three years later to his friend +Milsand, and prefixed as a dedication to 'Sordello' in his +collected works, he defined the form and its reason most +exactly:--"The historical decoration was purposely of no more +importance than a background requires, and my stress lay on the +incidents in the development of a soul; little else is worth +study." This poem, with its "historical decoration" or "background" +from the Guelf and Ghibelline struggles in Italy, carries out this +design in a fashion that defies description or characterization. +With its inexhaustible wealth of psychological suggestion, its +interwoven discussion of the most complex problems of life and +thought, its metaphysical speculation, it may well give pause to +the reader who makes his first approach to Browning through it, and +send him back,--if he begins, as is likely, with the feeling of one +challenged to an intellectual task,--baffled by the intricacy of +its ways and without a comprehension of what it contains or leads +to. Mr. Augustine Birrell says of it:--</p> +<blockquote>"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<br> +<br> +<blockquote>'He singled out<br> +Sordello compassed murkily about<br> +With ravage of six long sad hundred years.'</blockquote> +<br> +"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."</blockquote> +<p>With 'Sordello,' however, ended for many years--until he may +perhaps be said to have taken it up in a greatly disciplined and +more powerful form in 'The Ring and the Book' and others--this type +and this length of the psychological poem for Browning; and now +began that part of his work which is his best gift to English +literature.</p> +<p>Four years before the publication of 'Sordello' he had written +one play, 'Strafford,' of which the name sufficiently indicates the +subject, which had been put upon the stage with some success by +Macready;--the forerunner of a noble series of poems in dramatic +form, most conveniently mentioned here together, though not always +in chronological order. They were 'The Blot on the 'Scutcheon,' +perhaps the finest of those actually fitted for the stage; +'Colombe's Birthday'; 'King Victor and King Charles'; 'The Return +of the Druses'; 'Luria'; 'A Soul's Tragedy'; 'In a Balcony'; +and,--though less on the conventional lines of a play than the +others,--perhaps the finest dramatic poem of them all, 'Pippa +Passes,' which, among the earlier (it was published in 1841), is +also among the finest of all Browning's works, and touches the very +highest level of his powers.</p> +<p>Interspersed with these during the fifteen years between 1840 +and 1855, and following them during the next five, appeared the +greater number of the single shorter poems which make his most +generally recognized, his highest, and his unquestionably permanent +title to rank among the first of English poets. Manifestly, it is +impossible and needless to recall any number of these here by even +the briefest description; and merely to enumerate the chief among +them would be to repeat a familiar catalogue, except as they +illustrate the points of a later general consideration.</p> +<p>Finally, to complete the list of Browning's works, reference is +necessary to the group of books of his later years: the two +self-called narrative poems, 'The Ring and the Book,' with its vast +length, and 'Red Cotton Nightcap Country,' its fellow in method if +not in extent. Mr. Birrell (it is worth while to quote him again, +as one who has not merged the appreciator in the adulator) calls +'The Ring and the Book' "a huge novel in 20,000 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." But he adds later:--"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."</p> +<p>This is the key of the matter: the reader who has learned, +through his greater work, to follow with interest the very analytic +exercises, and as it were <i>tours de force</i> of Browning's mind, +will prize 'The Ring and the Book' and 'Red Cotton Nightcap +Country'; even he will prize but little the two 'Adventures of +Balaustion,' 'Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau,' 'The Inn Album,' and +one or two others of the latest works in the same <i>genre</i>. But +he can well do without them, and still have the inexhaustible +left.</p> +<p>The attitude of a large part of his own generation toward +Browning's poetry will probably be hardly understood by the future, +and is not easy to comprehend even now for those who have the whole +body of his work before them. It is intelligible enough that the +"crude preliminary sketch" 'Pauline' should have given only the +bare hint of a poet to the few dozen people who saw that it was out +of the common; that 'Paracelsus' should have carried the +information,--though then, beyond a doubt, to only a small circle; +and especially that 'Sordello,' a clear call to a few, should have +sounded to even an intelligent many like an exercise in intricacy, +and to the world at large like something to which it is useless to +listen. Or, to look at the other end of his career, it is not +extraordinary that the work of his last period--'The Ring and the +Book,' 'Red Cotton Nightcap Country,'--those wonderful minute +studies of human motive, made with the highly specialized skill of +the psychical surgeon and with the confidence of another Balzac in +the reader's following power--should always remain more or less +esoteric literature. But when it is remembered that between these +lie the most vivid and intensely dramatic series of short poems in +English,--those grouped in the unfortunately diverse editions of +his works under the rubrics 'Men and Women,' 'Dramatic Lyrics,' +'Dramatic Romances,' 'Dramatis Personæ,' and the rest, as +well as larger masterpieces of the broad appeal of 'Pippa Passes,' +'A Blot on the 'Scutcheon,' or 'In a Balcony,'--it is hard to +understand, and will be still harder fifty years hence, why +Browning has not become the familiar and inspiring poet of a vastly +larger body of readers. Undoubtedly a large number of intelligent +persons still suspect a note of affectation in the man who declares +his full and intense enjoyment--not only his admiration--of +Browning; a suspicion showing not only the persistence of the +Sordello-born tradition of "obscurity," but the harm worked by +those commentators who approach him as a problem. Not all +commentators share this reproach; but as Browning makes Bishop +Blougram say:--</p> +<blockquote>"Even your prime men who appraise their kind<br> +Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel,<br> +See more in a truth than the truth's simple self--<br> +Confuse themselves--"</blockquote> +<p>and beyond question such persons are largely responsible for the +fact that for some time to come, every one who speaks of Browning +to a general audience will feel that he has some cant to clear +away. If he can make them read this body of intensely human, +essentially simple and direct dramatic and lyrical work, he will +help to bring about the time when the once popular attitude will +seem as unjustifiable as to judge Goethe only by the second part of +'Faust.'</p> +<p>The first great characteristic of Browning's poetry is +undoubtedly the essential, elemental quality of its humanity--a +trait in which it is surpassed by no other English poetry but that +of Shakespeare. It can be subtile to a degree almost fantastic (as +can Shakespeare's to an extent that familiarity makes us forget); +but this is in method. The stuff of it--the texture of the fabric +which the swift and intricate shuttle is weaving--is always +something in which the human being is vitally, not merely +aesthetically interested. It deals with no shadows, and indeed with +few abstractions, except those that form a part of vital +problems--a statement which may provoke the scoffer, but will be +found to be true.</p> +<p>A second characteristic, which, if not a necessary result of +this first, would at least be impossible without it, is the extent +to which Browning's poetry produces its effect by suggestion rather +than by elaboration; by stimulating thought, emotion, and the +aesthetic sense, instead of seeking to satisfy any one of +these--especially instead of contenting itself with only soothing +the last. The comparison of his poetry with--for +instance--Tennyson's, in this respect, is instructive; if it is +possibly unjust to both.</p> +<p>And a third trait in Browning--to make an end of a dangerously +categorical attempt to characterize him--follows logically from +this second; its extreme compactness and concentration. Browning +sometimes dwells long--even dallies--over an idea, as does +Shakespeare; turns it, shows its every facet; and even then it is +noticeable, as with the greater master, that every individual +phrase with which he does so is practically exhaustive of the +suggestiveness of that particular aspect. But commonly he crowds +idea upon idea even in his lyrics, and--strangely enough--without +losing the lyric quality; each thought pressed down to its very +essence, and each with that germinal power that makes the reading +of him one of the most stimulating things to be had from +literature. His figures especially are apt and telling in the very +minimum of words; they say it all, like the unsurpassable +Shakespearean example of "the dyer's hand"; and the more you think +of them, the more you see that not a word could be added or taken +away.</p> +<p>It may be said that this quality of compactness is common to all +genius, and of the very essence of all true poetry; but Browning +manifested it in a way of his own, such as to suggest that he +believed in the subordination of all other qualities to it; even of +melody, for instance, as may be said by his critics and admitted in +many cases by even his strongest admirers. But all things are not +given to one, even among the giants; and Browning's force with its +measure of melody (which is often great) has its place among +others' melody with its measure of force. Open at random: here are +two lines in 'A Toccata of Galuppi's,' not deficient in melody by +any means:--</p> +<blockquote>"Dear dead women--with such hair, too: what's become of +all the gold<br> +Used to hang and brush their bosoms?--I feel chilly and grown +old."</blockquote> +<p>This is not Villon's 'Ballad of Dead Ladies,' nor even +Tennyson's 'Dream of Fair Women'; but a master can still say a good +deal in two lines.</p> +<p>What is called the "roughness" of Browning's verse is at all +events never the roughness that comes from mismanagement or +disregard of the form chosen. He has an unerring ear for time and +quantity; and his subordination to the laws of his metre is +extraordinary in its minuteness. Of ringing lines there are many; +of broadly sonorous or softly melodious ones but few; and +especially (if one chooses to go into details of technic) he seems +curiously without that use of the broad vowels which underlies the +melody of so many great passages of English poetry. Except in the +one remarkable instance of 'How we Carried the Good News from Ghent +to Aix,' there is little onomatopoeia, and almost no note of the +flute; no "moan of doves in immemorial elms" or "lucent sirops +tinct with cinnamon." On the other hand, in his management of +metres like that of 'Love Among the Ruins,' for instance, he shows +a different side; the pure lyrics in 'Pippa Passes' and elsewhere +sing themselves; and there are memorable cadences in some of the +more meditative poems, like 'By the Fireside.'</p> +<p>The vividness and vigor and truth of Browning's embodiments of +character come, it is needless to say, from the same power that has +created all great dramatic work,--the capacity for incarnating not +a quality or an ideal, but the mixture and balance of qualities +that make up the real human being. There is not a walking phantom +among them, or a lay-figure to hang sentiment on. A writer in the +New Review said recently that of all the poets he remembered, only +Shakespeare and Browning never drew a prig. It is this complete +absence of the false note that gives to certain of Browning's poems +the finality which is felt in all consummate works of art, great +and small; the sense that they convey, if not the last word, at +least the last necessary word, on their subject. 'Andrea del Sarto' +is in its way the whole problem of the artist-ideal, the weak will +and the inner failure, in all times and guises; and at the other +end of the gamut, nobody will ever need again to set forth Bishop +Blougram's attitude, or even that of Mr. Sludge the Medium. Of the +informing, almost exuberant vitality of all the lyric and dramatic +poems, it is needless to speak; that fairly leaps to meet the +reader at every page of them, and a quality of it is their +essential optimism.</p> +<blockquote>"What is he buzzing in my ears?<br> + Now that I come to die.<br> +Do I view the world as a vale of tears?<br> + Ah, reverend sir, not I!"</blockquote> +<p>The world was never a vale of tears to Robert Browning, man or +poet; but a world of men and women, with plenty of red corpuscles +in their blood.</p> +<p class="sign"><img src="images/sign-275.jpg" width="60%" alt= +""></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING01R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>ANDREA DEL +SARTO</b><br> +<br> + CALLED "THE FAULTLESS PAINTER"<br> +<br> + But do not let us quarrel any +more;<br> + No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for +once:<br> + Sit down and all shall happen as you +wish.<br> + You turn your face, but does it bring +your heart?<br> + I'll work then for your friend's +friend, never fear,<br> + Treat his own subject after his own +way?<br> + Fix his own time, accept too his own +price,<br> + And shut the money into this small +hand<br> + When next it takes mine. Will it? +tenderly?<br> + Oh, I'll content him,--but to-morrow, +Love!<br> + I often am much wearier than you +think,--<br> + This evening more than usual: and it +seems<br> + As if--forgive now--should you let me +sit<br> + Here by the window, with your hand in +mine,<br> + And look a. half-hour forth on +Fiesole,<br> + Both of one mind, as married people +use,<br> + Quietly, quietly the evening +through,<br> + I might get up to-morrow to my +work<br> + Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us +try.<br> + To-morrow, how you shall be glad for +this!<br> + Your soft hand is a woman of +itself,<br> + And mine, the man's bared breast she +curls inside.<br> + Don't count the time lost, neither: +you must serve<br> + For each of the five pictures we +require;<br> + It saves a model. So! keep looking +so--My<br> + serpentining beauty, rounds on +rounds!--How<br> + could you ever prick those perfect +ears,<br> + Even to put the pearl there! oh, so +sweet--My<br> + face, my moon, my everybody's +moon,<br> + Which everybody looks on and calls +his,<br> + And I suppose is looked on by in +turn,<br> + While she looks--no one's: very dear, +no less.<br> + You smile? why, there's my picture +ready made;<br> + There's what we painters call our +harmony!<br> + A common grayness silvers +everything,--<br> + All in a twilight, you and I +alike--<br> + You at the point of your first pride +in me<br> + (That's gone, you know)--but I at +every point,<br> + My youth, my hope, my art being all +toned down<br> + To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole.<br> + There's the bell clinking from the +chapel-top;<br> + That length of convent-wall across +the way<br> + Holds the trees safer, huddled more +inside;<br> + The last monk leaves the garden; days +decrease,<br> + And autumn grows, autumn in +everything.<br> + Eh? the whole seems to fall into a +shape,<br> + As if I saw alike my work and +self<br> + And all that I was born to be and +do,<br> + A twilight piece. Love, we are in +God's hand.<br> + How strange now looks the life he +makes us lead;<br> + So free we seem, so fettered fast we +are!<br> + I feel he laid the fetter: let it +lie!<br> + This chamber, for example--turn your +head--<br> + All that's behind us! You don't +understand<br> + Nor care to understand about my +art,<br> + But you can hear at least when people +speak:<br> + And that cartoon, the second from the +door--<br> + It is the thing, Love! so such things +should be;<br> + Behold Madonna!--I am bold to +say,<br> + I can do with my pencil what I +know,<br> + What I see, what at bottom of my +heart<br> + I wish for, if I ever wish so +deep--<br> + Do easily, too--when I say +perfectly,<br> + I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are +judge,<br> + Who listened to the Legate's talk +last week;<br> + And just as much they used to say in +France,<br> + At any rate 'tis easy, all of it!<br> + No sketches first, no studies, that's +long past:<br> + I do what many dream of, all their +lives--<br> + Dream? strive to do, and agonize to +do,<br> + And fail in doing. I could count +twenty such<br> + On twice your fingers, and not leave +this town,<br> + Who strive--you don't know how the +others strive<br> + To paint a little thing like that you +smeared<br> + Carelessly passing with your robes +afloat,--<br> + Yet do much less, so much less, Some +One says,<br> + (I know his name, no matter)--so much +less!<br> + Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am +judged.<br> + There burns a truer light of God in +them,<br> + In their vexed, beating, stuffed, and +stopped-up brain,<br> + Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on +to prompt<br> + This low-pulsed forthright +craftsman's hand of mine.<br> + Their works drop groundward, but +themselves, I know,<br> + Reach many a time a heaven that's +shut to me,<br> + Enter and take their place there sure +enough,<br> + Though they come back and cannot tell +the world.<br> + My works are nearer heaven, but I sit +here.<br> + The sudden blood of these men! at a +word--<br> + Praise them, it boils; or blame them, +it boils too.<br> + I, painting from myself and to +thyself,<br> + Know what I do, am unmoved by men's +blame<br> + Or their praise either. Somebody +remarks<br> + Morello's outline there is wrongly +traced,<br> + His hue mistaken: what of that? or +else,<br> + Rightly traced and well ordered: what +of that?<br> + Speak as they please, what does the +mountain care?<br> + Ah, but a man's reach should exceed +his grasp,<br> + Or what's a heaven for? All is +silver-gray,<br> + Placid and perfect with my art: the +worse!<br> + I know both what I want and what +might gain;<br> + And yet how profitless to know, to +sigh<br> + "Had I been two, another and +myself,<br> + Our head would have o'erlooked the +world" No doubt.<br> + Yonder's a work now, of that famous +youth<br> + The Urbinate who died five years +ago.<br> + ('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it +me.)<br> + Well, I can fancy how he did it +all,<br> + Pouring his soul, with kings and +popes to see,<br> + Reaching, that heaven might so +replenish him,<br> + Above and through his art--for it +gives way:<br> + That arm is wrongly put--and there +again--<br> + A fault to pardon in the drawing's +lines,<br> + Its body, so to speak; its soul is +right;<br> + He meant right--that, a child may +understand.<br> + Still, what an arm! and I could alter +it:<br> + But all the play, the insight, and +the stretch--<br> + Out of me, out of me! And wherefore +out?<br> + Had you enjoined them on me, given me +soul,<br> + We might have risen to Rafael, I and +you.<br> + Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, +I think--<br> + More than I merit, yes, by many +times.<br> + But had you--oh, with the same +perfect brow,<br> + And perfect eyes, and more than +perfect mouth<br> + And the low voice my soul hears, as a +bird<br> + The fowler's pipe, and follows to the +snare--<br> + Had you, with these, these same, but +brought a mind!<br> + Some women do so. Had the mouth there +urged<br> + "God and the glory! never care for +gain.<br> + The present by the future, what is +that?<br> + Live for fame, side by side with +Agnolo!<br> + Rafael is waiting: up to God, all +three!"<br> + I might have done it for you. So it +seems:<br> + Perhaps not. All is as God +overrules.<br> + Beside, incentives come from the +soul's self;<br> + The rest avail not. Why do I need +you?<br> + What wife had Rafael, or has +Agnolo?<br> + In this world, who can do a thing, +will not;<br> + And who would do it, cannot, I +perceive:<br> + Yet the will's somewhat--somewhat, +too, the power--<br> + And thus we half-men struggle. At the +end,<br> + God, I conclude, compensates, +punishes.<br> + 'Tis safer for me, if the award be +strict,<br> + That I am something underrated +here,<br> + Poor this long while,--despised, to +speak the truth.<br> + I dared not, do you know, leave home +all day,<br> + For fear of chancing on the Paris +lords.<br> + The best is when they pass and look +aside;<br> + But they speak sometimes: I must bear +it all.<br> + Well may they speak! That Francis, +that first time,<br> + And that long festal year at +Fontainebleau!<br> + I surely then could sometimes leave +the ground,<br> + Put on the glory, Rafael's daily +wear,<br> + In that humane great monarch's golden +look,--<br> + One finger in his beard or twisted +curl<br> + Over his mouth's good mark that made +the smile,<br> + One arm about my shoulder, around my +neck,<br> + The jingle of his gold chain in my +ear,<br> + I painting proudly with his breath on +me,<br> + All his court round him, seeing with +his eyes,<br> + Such frank French eyes, and such a +fire of souls<br> + Profuse, my hand kept plying by those +hearts,--<br> + And best of all, this, this, this +face beyond,<br> + This in the background, waiting on my +work,<br> + To crown the issue with a last +reward!<br> + A good time, was it not, my kingly +days,<br> + And had you not grown restless ... +but I know--<br> + 'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my +instinct said;<br> + Too live the life grew, golden and +not gray;<br> + And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun +should tempt<br> + Out of the grange whose four walls +make his world.<br> + How could it end in any other +way?<br> + You called me, and I came home to +your heart.<br> + The triumph was to have ended there; +then, if<br> + I reached it ere the triumph, what is +lost?<br> + Let my hands frame your face in your +hair's gold,<br> + You beautiful Lucrezia that are +mine!<br> + "Rafael did this, Andrea painted +that;<br> + The Roman's is the better when you +pray,<br> + But still the other Virgin was his +wife"--<br> + Men will excuse me. I am glad to +judge<br> + Both pictures in your presence; +clearer grows<br> + My better fortune, I resolve to +think,<br> + For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God +lives,<br> + Said one day Agnolo, his very +self,<br> + To Rafael--I have known it all these +years--<br> + (When the young man was flaming out +his thoughts<br> + Upon a palace wall for Rome to +see,<br> + Too lifted up in heart because of +it)<br> + "Friend, there's a certain sorry +little scrub<br> + Goes up and down our Florence, none +cares how,<br> + Who, were he set to plan and +execute<br> + As you are, pricked on by your popes +and kings,<br> + Would bring the sweat into that brow +of yours!"<br> + To Rafael's!--and indeed the arm is +wrong.<br> + I hardly dare ... yet, only you to +see,<br> + Give the chalk here--quick, thus the +line should go!<br> + Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it +out!<br> + Still, all I care for, if he spoke +the truth,<br> + (What he? why, who but Michel +Agnolo?<br> + Do you forget already words like +those?)<br> + If really there was such a chance so +lost,--<br> + Is, whether you're--not grateful--but +more pleased.<br> + Well, let me think so. And you smile +indeed!<br> + This hour has been an hour! Another +smile?<br> + If you would sit thus by me every +night,<br> + I should work better--do you +comprehend?<br> + I mean that I should earn more, give +you more.<br> + See, it is settled dusk now: there's +a star;<br> + Morello's gone, the watch lights show +the wall,<br> + The cue-owls speak the name we call +them by.<br> + Come from the window, love,--come in, +at last,<br> + Inside the melancholy little +house<br> + We built to be so gay with. God is +just.<br> + King Francis may forgive me: oft at +nights<br> + When I look up from painting, eyes +tired out,<br> + The walls become illumined, brick +from brick<br> + Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce +bright gold,<br> + That gold of his I did cement them +with!<br> + Let us but love each other. Must you +go?<br> + That cousin here again? he waits +outside?<br> + Must see you--you, and not with me? +Those loans?<br> + More gaming debts to pay? you smiled +for that?<br> + Well, let smiles buy me! have you +more to spend?<br> + While hand and eye and something of a +heart<br> + Are left me, work's my ware, and +what's it worth?<br> + I'll pay my fancy. Only let me +sit<br> + The gray remainder of the evening +out,<br> + Idle, you call it, and muse +perfectly<br> + How I could paint were I but back in +France,<br> + One picture, just one more--the +Virgin's face,<br> + Not yours this time! I want you at my +side<br> + To hear them--that is, Michel +Agnolo--<br> + Judge all I do and tell you of its +worth.<br> + Will you? To-morrow satisfy your +friend.<br> + I take the subjects for his +corridor,<br> + Finish the portrait out of +hand--there, there,<br> + And throw him in another thing or +two<br> + If he demurs: the whole should prove +enough<br> + To pay for this same cousin's freak. +Beside,<br> + What's better, and what's all I care +about,<br> + Get you the thirteen send for the +ruff!<br> + Love, does that please you? Ah, but +what does he,<br> + The cousin! what does he to please +you more?<br> +<br> + I am grown peaceful as old age +to-night.<br> + I regret little, I would change still +less.<br> + Since there my past life lies, why +alter it?<br> + The very wrong to Francis!--it is +true<br> + I took his coin, was tempted and +complied,<br> + And built this house and sinned, and +all is said.<br> + My father and my mother died of +want.<br> + Well, had I riches of my own? you +see<br> + How one gets rich! Let each one bear +his lot.<br> + They were born poor, lived poor, and +poor they died;<br> + And I have labored somewhat in my +time<br> + And not been paid profusely. Some +good son<br> + Paint my two hundred pictures--let +him try!<br> + No doubt, there's something strikes a +balance. Yes,<br> + You loved me quite enough, it seems +to-night.<br> + This must suffice me here. What would +one have?<br> + In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one +more chance--<br> + Four great walls in the New +Jerusalem,<br> + Meted on each side by the angel's +reed,<br> + For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo, and +me<br> + To cover--the three first without a +wife,<br> + While I have mine! So still they +overcome--<br> + Because there's still Lucrezia,--as I +choose.<br> +<br> + Again the cousin's whistle! Go, my +love.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING02R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>A TOCCATA OF +GALUPPI'S</b><br> +<br> +<br> + O GALLUPI, Baldassaro, this is very +sad to find!<br> + I can hardly misconceive +you; it would prove me deaf and blind:<br> + But although I take your meaning, +'tis with such a heavy mind!<br> +<br> + Have you come with your old music, +and here's all the good it brings?<br> + What, they lived once thus at Venice +where the merchants were the kings,<br> + Where Saint Mark's is, where the +Doges used to wed the sea with rings?<br> +<br> + Ay, because the sea's the street +there; and 'tis arched by--what you call--<br> + Shylock's bridge with houses on it, +where they kept the carnival:<br> + I was never out of England--it's as +if I saw it all.<br> +<br> + Did young people take their pleasure +when the sea was warm in May?<br> + Balls and masks begun at midnight, +burning ever to mid-day,<br> + When they made up fresh adventures +for the morrow, do you say?<br> +<br> + Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so +round and lips so red,--<br> + On her neck the small face buoyant, +like a bell-flower on its bed,<br> + O'er the breast's superb abundance +where a man might base his head?<br> +<br> + Well, and it was graceful of them: +they'd break talk off and afford--<br> + She to bite her mask's black velvet, +he to finger on his sword,<br> + While you sat and played Toccatas, +stately at the clavichord!<br> +<br> + What? Those lesser thirds so +plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on sigh,<br> + Told them something? Those +suspensions, those solutions--"Must we die?"<br> + Those commiserating sevenths--"Life +might last! we can but try!"<br> +<br> + "Were you happy?" "Yes."--"And are +you still as happy?" "Yes. And you?"--<br> + "Then, more kisses!" "Did <i>I</i> +stop them, when a million seemed so few?"<br> + Hark, the dominant's persistence till +it must be answered to!<br> +<br> + So, an octave struck the answer. Oh, +they praised you, I dare say!<br> + "Brave Galuppi! that was music! good +alike at grave and gay!<br> + I can always leave off talking when I +hear a master play!"<br> +<br> + Then they left you for their +pleasure; till in due time, one by one,<br> + Some with lives that came to nothing, +some with deeds as well undone,<br> + Death stepped tacitly, and took them +where they never see the sun.<br> +<br> + But when I sit down to reason, think +to take my stand nor swerve,<br> + While I triumph o'er a secret wrung +from nature's close reserve,<br> + In you come with your cold music till +I creep through every nerve.<br> +<br> + Yes, you, like a ghostly cricket, +creaking where a house was burned.<br> + "Dust and ashes, dead and done with, +Venice spent what Venice earned.<br> + The soul, doubtless, is +immortal--where a soul can be discerned.<br> +<br> + "Yours for instance: you know +physics, something of geology,<br> + Mathematics are your pastime; souls +shall rise in their degree;<br> + Butterflies may dread +extinction,--you'll not die, it cannot be!<br> +<br> + "As for Venice and her people, merely +born to bloom and drop,<br> + Here on earth they bore their +fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop;<br> + What of soul was left, I wonder, when +the kissing had to stop?<br> +<br> + "Dust and ashes!" So you creak it, +and I want the heart to scold.<br> + Dear dead women, with such hair, +too--what's become of all the gold<br> + Used to hang and brush their bosoms? +I feel chilly and grown old.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING03R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>CONFESSIONS</b><br> +<br> + What is he buzzing in my ears?<br> + "Now that I come to +die<br> + Do I view the world as a vale of +tears?"<br> + Ah, reverend sir, not +I!<br> +<br> + What I viewed there once,--what I +viewed again<br> + Where the physic bottles +stand<br> + On the table's edge,--is a suburb +lane,<br> + With a wall to my bedside +hand.<br> +<br> + That lane sloped, much as the bottles +do,<br> + From a house you could +descry<br> + O'er the garden wall: is the curtain +blue,<br> + Or green to a healthy +eye?<br> +<br> + To mine, it serves for the old June +weather<br> + Blue above lane and +wall;<br> + And that farthest bottle labeled +"Ether"<br> + Is the house o'ertopping +all.<br> +<br> + At a terrace, somewhat near the +stopper,<br> + There watched for me, +one June,<br> + A girl: I know, sir, it's +improper,<br> + My poor mind's out of +tune.<br> +<br> + Only, there was a way--you crept<br> + Close by the side, to +dodge<br> + Eyes in the house, two eyes +except:<br> + They styled their house +"The Lodge"<br> +<br> + What right had a lounger up their +lane?<br> + But by creeping very +close,<br> + With the good wall's help,--their +eyes might strain<br> + And stretch themselves +to O's,<br> +<br> + Yet never catch her and me +together,<br> + As she left the attic +there,<br> + By the rim of the bottle labeled +"Ether,"<br> + And stole from stair to +stair,<br> +<br> + And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. +Alas,<br> + We loved, sir--used to +meet:<br> + How sad and bad and mad it was--<br> + But then, how it was +sweet!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING04R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>LOVE AMONG THE +RUINS</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Where the quiet-colored end of +evening smiles,<br> + Miles +and miles,<br> + On the solitary pastures +where our sheep<br> + Half +asleep<br> + Tinkle homeward through the twilight, +stray or stop<br> + As +they crop--<br> + Was the site once of a city great and +gay<br> + (So +they say);<br> + Of our country's very capital, its +prince,<br> + +Ages since,<br> + Held his court in, gathered councils, +wielding far<br> + +Peace or war.<br> +<br> + Now,--the country does not even boast +a tree,<br> + +As you see;<br> + To distinguish slopes of verdure, +certain rills<br> + +From the hills<br> + Intersect and give a name to (else +they run<br> + +Into one).<br> + Where the domed and daring palace +shot in spires<br> + +Up like fires<br> + O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a +wall<br> + +Bounding all,<br> + Made of marble, men might march on +nor be pressed,<br> + +Twelve abreast.<br> +<br> + And such plenty and perfection, see, +of grass<br> + +Never was!<br> + Such a carpet as this summer-time +o'erspreads<br> + +And imbeds<br> + Every vestige of the city, guessed +alone,<br> + +Stock or stone--<br> + Where a multitude of men breathed joy +and woe<br> + +Long ago;<br> + Lust of glory pricked their hearts +up, dread of shame<br> + +Struck them tame;<br> + And that glory and that shame alike, +the gold<br> + +Bought and sold.<br> +<br> + Now,--the single little turret that +remains<br> + +On the plains,<br> + By the caper overrooted, by the +gourd<br> + Overscored,<br> + + While the patching houseleek's head +of blossom winks<br> + Through +the chinks--<br> + Marks the basement whence a tower in +ancient time<br> + Sprang +sublime,<br> + And a burning ring, all round, the +chariots traced<br> + As +they raced,<br> + And the monarch and his minions and +his dames<br> + Viewed +the games.<br> +<br> + And I know--while thus the +quiet-colored eve<br> + Smiles +to leave<br> + To their folding all our +many-tinkling fleece<br> + In +such peace,<br> + And the slopes and rills in +undistinguished gray<br> + Melt +away--<br> + That a girl with eager eyes and +yellow hair<br> + Waits +me there<br> + In the turret whence the charioteers +caught soul<br> + For +the goal,<br> + When the king looked, where she looks +now, breathless, dumb,<br> + Till +I come.<br> +<br> + But he looked upon the city every +side,<br> + Far +and wide,<br> + All the mountains topped with +temples, all the glades<br> + Colonnades,<br> + + All the causeys, bridges, +aqueducts,--and then,<br> + All +the men!<br> + When I do come, she will speak not, +she will stand,<br> + Either +hand<br> + On my shoulder, give her eyes the +first embrace<br> + Of +my face,<br> + Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight +and speech<br> + Each +on each.<br> +<br> + In one year they sent a million +fighters forth<br> + South +and North,<br> + And they built their gods a brazen +pillar high<br> + As +the sky,<br> + Yet reserved a thousand chariots in +full force--<br> + Gold, +of course.<br> + O heart! O blood that freezes, blood +that burns!<br> + Earth's +returns<br> + For whole centuries of folly, noise, +and sin!<br> + Shut them in,<br> + With their triumphs and their glories +and the rest!<br> + Love is +best.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING05R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>A GRAMMARIAN'S +FUNERAL</b><br> +<br> + SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING +IN EUROPE<br> +<br> + Let us begin and carry up this +corpse,<br> + Singing together.<br> + Leave we the common crofts, the +vulgar thorpes,<br> + Each in its tether,<br> + Sleeping safe in the bosom of the +plain,<br> + Cared-for till +cock-crow:<br> + Look out if yonder be not day +again<br> + Rimming the rock-row!<br> + That's the appropriate country; +there, man's thought,<br> + Rarer, intenser,<br> + Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it +ought,<br> + Chafes in the censer.<br> + Leave we the unlettered plain its +herd and crop;<br> + Seek we sepulture<br> + On a tall mountain, citied to the +top,<br> + Crowded with culture!<br> + All the peaks soar, but one the rest +excels:<br> + Clouds overcome it;<br> + No, yonder sparkle is the +citadel's<br> + Circling its summit.<br> + Thither our path lies; wind we up the +heights!<br> + Wait ye the warning?<br> + Our low life was the level's and the +night's:<br> + He's for the morning.<br> + Step to a tune, square chests, erect +each head,<br> + 'Ware the beholders!<br> + This is our master, famous, calm, and +dead,<br> + Borne on our +shoulders.<br> +<br> + Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling +thorpe and croft,<br> + Safe from the +weather!<br> + He whom we convoy to his grave +aloft,<br> + Singing together,<br> + He was a man born with thy face and +throat,<br> + Lyric Apollo!<br> + Long he lived nameless: how should +spring take note<br> + Winter would follow?<br> + Till lo, the little touch, and youth +was gone!<br> + Cramped and +diminished,<br> + Moaned he, "New measures, other feet +anon!<br> + My dance is +finished"?<br> + No, that's the world's way: (keep the +mountain side,<br> + Make for the city!)<br> + He knew the signal, and stepped on +with pride<br> + Over men's pity;<br> + Left play for work, and grappled with +the world<br> + Bent on escaping:<br> + "What's in the scroll," quoth he, +"thou keepest furled?<br> + Show me their +shaping,<br> + Theirs who most studied man, the bard +and sage,--<br> + Give!" so he gowned +him,<br> + Straight got by heart that book to +its last page;<br> + Learned, we found +him.<br> + Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes +like lead.<br> + Accents uncertain:<br> + "Time to taste life," another would +have said,<br> + "Up with the +curtain!"<br> + This man said rather, "Actual life +comes next?<br> + Patience a moment!<br> + Grant I have mastered learning's +crabbed text,<br> + Still there's the +comment.<br> + Let me know all! Prate not of most or +least,<br> + Painful or easy!<br> + Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up +the feast,<br> + Ay, nor feel queasy."<br> + Oh, such a life as he resolved to +live,<br> + When he had learned +it,<br> + When he had gathered all books had to +give!<br> + Sooner, he spurned +it.<br> + Image the whole, then execute the +parts--<br> + Fancy the fabric<br> + Quite, ere you build, ere steel +strike fire from quartz,<br> + Ere mortar dab brick!<br> +<br> + (Here's the town-gate reached; +there's the market-place<br> + Gaping before us.)<br> + Yea, this in him was the peculiar +grace:<br> + (Hearten our chorus!)<br> + That before living he'd learn how to +live--<br> + No end to learning:<br> + Earn the means first--God surely will +contrive<br> + Use for our earning.<br> + Others mistrust and say, "But time +escapes!<br> + Live now or never!"<br> + He said, "What's time? Leave Now for +dogs and apes!<br> + Man has Forever."<br> + Back to his book then: deeper drooped +his head;<br> + <i>Calculus</i> racked +him;<br> + Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of +lead;<br> + <i>Tussis</i> attacked +him.<br> + "Now, master, take a little +rest!"--not he!<br> + (Caution redoubled!<br> + Step two abreast, the way winds +narrowly!)<br> + Not a whit troubled,<br> + Back to his studies, fresher than at +first,<br> + Fierce as a dragon<br> + He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred +thirst)<br> + Sucked at the flagon.<br> +<br> + Oh, if we draw a circle +premature,<br> + Heedless of far gain,<br> + Greedy for quick returns of profit, +sure<br> + Bad is our bargain!<br> + Was it not great? did not he throw on +God<br> + (He loves the +burthen)--<br> + God's task to make the heavenly +period<br> + Perfect the earthen?<br> + Did not he magnify the mind, show +clear<br> + Just what it all +meant?<br> + He would not discount life, as fools +do here<br> + Paid by installment.<br> + He ventured neck or nothing--heaven's +success<br> + Found, or earth's +failure:<br> + "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He +answered, "Yes!<br> + Hence with life's pale +lure!"<br> + That low man seeks a little thing to +do,<br> + Sees it and does it:<br> + This high man, with a great thing to +pursue,<br> + Dies ere he knows it.<br> + That low man goes on adding one to +one,<br> + His hundred's soon +hit:<br> + This high man, aiming at a +million,<br> + Misses an unit.<br> + That, has the world here--should he +need the next.<br> + Let the world mind +him!<br> + This, throws himself on God, and +unperplexed<br> + Seeking shall find +him.<br> + So, with the throttling hands of +death at strife,<br> + Ground he at grammar;<br> + Still, through the rattle, parts of +speech were rife:<br> + While he could +stammer<br> + He settled <i>Hoti's</i> +business--let it be!--<br> + Properly based +<i>Oun</i>--<br> + Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic +<i>De</i>,<br> + Dead from the waist +down.<br> +<br> + Well, here's the platform, here's the +proper place:<br> + Hail to your +purlieus,<br> + All ye highfliers of the feathered +race,<br> + Swallows and curlews!<br> + Here's the top-peak; the multitude +below<br> + Live, for they can, +there:<br> + This man decided not to Live but +Know--<br> + Bury this man there?<br> + Here--here's his place, where meteors +shoot, clouds form,<br> + Lightnings are +loosened,<br> + Stars come and go! Let joy break with +the storm,<br> + Peace let the dew +send!<br> + Lofty designs must close in like +effects:<br> + Loftily lying,<br> + Leave him--still loftier than the +world suspects,<br> + Living and +dying.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING06R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>MY LAST +DUCHESS</b><br> +<br> + FERRARA<br> +<br> +<br> + That's my last Duchess painted on the +wall,<br> + Looking as if she were alive. I +call<br> + That piece a wonder, now: Frà +Pandolf's hands<br> + Worked busily a day, and there she +stands.<br> + Will't please you sit and look at +her? I said<br> + "Frà Pandolf" by design: for +never read<br> + Strangers like you that pictured +countenance,<br> + The depth and passion of its earnest +glance,<br> + But to myself they turned (since none +puts by<br> + The curtain I have drawn for you, but +I),<br> + And seemed as they would ask me, if +they durst,<br> + How such a glance came there; so, not +the first<br> + Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, +'twas not<br> + Her husband's presence only, called +that spot<br> + Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: +perhaps<br> + Frà Pandolf chanced to say, +"Her mantle laps<br> + Over my lady's wrists too much," or +"Paint<br> + Must never hope to reproduce the +faint<br> + Half-flush that dies along her +throat;" such stuff<br> + Was courtesy, she thought, and cause +enough<br> + For calling up that spot of joy. She +had<br> + A heart--how shall I say?--too soon +made glad,<br> + Too easily impressed: she liked +whate'er<br> + She looked on, and her looks went +everywhere.<br> + Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her +breast,<br> + The dropping of the daylight in the +West,<br> + The bough of cherries some officious +fool<br> + Broke in the orchard for her, the +white mule<br> + She rode with round the terrace,--all +and each<br> + Would draw from her alike the +approving speech,<br> + Or blush, at least. She thanked +men,--good! but thanked<br> + Somehow--I know not how--as if she +ranked<br> + My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old +name<br> + With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to +blame<br> + This sort of trifling? Even had you +skill<br> + In speech (which I have not) to make +your will<br> + Quite clear to such an one, and say, +"Just this<br> + Or that in you disgusts me; here you +miss,<br> + Or there exceed the mark,"--and if +she let<br> + Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly +set<br> + Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made +excuse,--<br> + E'en then would be some stooping; and +I choose<br> + Never to stoop. O sir! she smiled, no +doubt,<br> + When'er I passed her; but who passed +without<br> + Much the same smile? This grew; I +gave commands;<br> + Then all smiles stopped together. +There she stands<br> + As if alive. Will't please you rise? +We'll meet<br> + The company below, then. I +repeat,<br> + The Count your master's known +munificence<br> + Is ample warrant that no just +pretense<br> + Of mine for dowry will be +disallowed;<br> + Though his fair daughter's self, as I +avowed<br> + At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll +go<br> + Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, +though,<br> + Taming a sea-horse, thought a +rarity,<br> + Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in +bronze for me!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING07R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>UP AT A VILLA--DOWN IN +THE CITY</b><br> +<br> + (As DISTINGUISHED BY AN ITALIAN +PERSON OF QUALITY)<br> +<br> +<br> + Had I but plenty of money, money +enough and to spare,<br> + The house for me, no doubt, were a +house in the city-square;<br> + Ah, such a life, such a life, as one +leads at the window there!<br> +<br> + Something to see, by Bacchus, +something to hear, at least!<br> + There, the whole day long, one's life +is a perfect feast;<br> + While up at a villa one lives, I +maintain it, no more than a beast.<br> +<br> + Well, now, look at our villa! stuck +like the horn of a bull<br> + Just on a mountain edge as bare as +the creature's skull,<br> + Save a mere shag of a bush with +hardly a leaf to pull!--<br> + scratch my own, sometimes, to see if +the hair's turned wool.<br> +<br> + But the city, oh the city--the square +with the houses! Why!<br> + They are stone-faced, white as a +curd; there's something to take the eye!<br> + Houses in four straight lines, not a +single front awry;<br> + You watch who crosses and gossips, +who saunters, who hurries by;<br> + Green blinds, as a matter of course, +to draw when the sun gets high;<br> + And the shops with fanciful signs +which are painted properly.<br> +<br> + What of a villa? Though winter be +over in March by rights,<br> + 'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall +have withered well off the heights;<br> + You've the brown-plowed land before, +where the oxen steam and wheeze,<br> + And the hills over-smoked behind by +the faint gray olive-trees.<br> +<br> + Is it better in May, I ask you? +You've summer all at once;<br> + In a day he leaps complete with a few +strong April suns.<br> + 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, +scarce risen three fingers well,<br> + The wild tulip, at end of its tube, +blows out its great red bell<br> + Like a thin clear bubble of blood, +for the children to pick and sell.<br> +<br> + Is it ever hot in the square? There's +a fountain to spout and splash!<br> + In the shade it sings and springs; in +the shine such foam-bows flash<br> + On the horses with curling +fish-tails, that prance and paddle and pash<br> + Round the lady atop in her +conch--fifty gazers do not abash,<br> + Though all that she wears is some +weeds round her waist in a sort of sash.<br> +<br> + All the year long at the villa, +nothing to see though you linger,<br> + Except yon cypress that points like +death's lean lifted forefinger.<br> + Some think fireflies pretty, when +they mix i' the corn and mingle,<br> + Or thrid the stinking hemp till the +stalks of it seem a-tingle.<br> + Late August or early September, the +stunning cicala is shrill,<br> + And the bees keep their tiresome +whine round the resinous firs on the hill.<br> + Enough of the seasons,--I spare you +the months of the fever and chill.<br> +<br> + Ere you open your eyes in the city, +the blessèd church-bells begin;<br> + No sooner the bells leave off than +the diligence rattles in:<br> + You get the pick of the news, and it +costs you never a pin.<br> + By and by there's the traveling +doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth,<br> + Or the Pulcinella-trumpet breaks up +the market beneath.<br> + At the post-office such a scene +picture--the new play, piping hot!<br> + And a notice how, only this morning, +three liberal thieves were shot.<br> + Above it, behold the Archbishop's +most fatherly of rebukes,<br> + And beneath, with his crown and his +lion, some little new law of the Duke's!<br> + Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to +the Reverend Don So-and-so<br> + Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, +St. Jerome, and Cicero,<br> + "And moreover" (the sonnet goes +rhyming), "the skirts of St. Paul has reached,<br> + Having preached us those six +Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever he preached."<br> + Noon strikes,--here sweeps the +procession! our Lady borne smiling and smart,<br> + With a pink gauze gown all spangles, +and seven swords stuck in her heart!<br> + <i>Bang-whang-whang</i> goes the +drum, <i>tootle-te-tootle</i> the fife;<br> + No keeping one's haunches still: it's +the greatest pleasure in life.<br> +<br> + But bless you, it's dear--it's dear! +fowls, wine, at double the rate;<br> + They have clapped a new tax upon +salt, and what oil pays passing the gate<br> + It's a horror to think of. And so, +the villa for me, not the city!<br> + Beggars can scarcely be choosers: but +still--ah, the pity, the pity!<br> + Look, two and two go the priests, +then the monks with cowls and sandals,<br> + And then penitents dressed in white +shirts, a-holding the yellow candles;<br> + One, he carries a flag up straight, +and another a cross with handles,<br> + And the Duke's guard brings up the +rear, for the better prevention of scandals:<br> + <i>Bang-whang-whang</i> goes the +drum, <i>tootle-te-tootle</i> the fife,<br> + Oh, a day in the city-square, there +is no such pleasure in life!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING08R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>IN THREE DAYS</b><br> +<br> +<br> + So, I shall see her in three days<br> + And just one night,--but nights are +short,--<br> + Then two long hours, and that is +morn.<br> + See how I come, unchanged, +unworn--<br> + Feel, where my life broke off from +thine,<br> + How fresh the splinters keep and +fine,--Only<br> + a touch and we combine!<br> +<br> + Too long, this time of year, the +days!<br> + But nights--at least the nights are +short,<br> + As night shows where her one moon +is,<br> + A hand's-breadth of pure light and +bliss,<br> + So, life's night gives my lady +birth<br> + And my eyes hold her! What is +worth<br> + The rest of heaven, the rest of +earth?<br> +<br> + O loaded curls, release your +store<br> + Of warmth and scent, as once +before<br> + The tingling hair did, lights and +darks<br> + Outbreaking into fairy sparks<br> + When under curl and curl I pried<br> + After the warmth and scent +inside,<br> + Through lights and darks how +manifold--The<br> + dark inspired, the light +controlled!<br> + As early Art embrowned the gold.<br> +<br> + What great fear--should one say, +"Three days<br> + That change the world might change as +well<br> + Your fortune; and if joy delays,<br> + Be happy that no worse befell."<br> + What small fear--if another says,<br> + "Three days and one short night +beside<br> + May throw no shadow on your ways;<br> + But years must teem with change +untried,<br> + With chance not easily defied,<br> + With an end somewhere +undescried."<br> + No fear!--or if a fear be born<br> + This minute, it dies out in +scorn.<br> + Fear? I shall see her in three +days<br> + And one night,--now the nights are +short,--<br> + Then just two hours, and that is +morn.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING09R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>IN A YEAR</b><br> +<br> + Never any more,<br> + While I +live,<br> + Need I hope to see his face<br> + As +before.<br> + Once his love grown chill,<br> + Mine may +strive:<br> + Bitterly we re-embrace,<br> + Single +still.<br> +<br> + Was it something said,<br> + Something +done,<br> + Vexed him? was it touch of hand,<br> + Turn of +head?<br> + Strange! that very way<br> + Love +begun:<br> + I as little understand<br> + Love's +decay.<br> +<br> + When I sewed or drew,<br> + I recall<br> + How he looked as if I sung,--<br> + Sweetly +too.<br> + If I spoke a word,<br> + First of +all<br> + Up his cheek the color sprung,<br> + Then he +heard.<br> +<br> + Sitting by my side,<br> + At my +feet,<br> + So he breathed but air I +breathed,<br> + +Satisfied!<br> + I, too, at love's brim<br> + Touched the +sweet:<br> + I would die if death bequeathed<br> + Sweet to +him.<br> +<br> + "Speak, I love thee best!"<br> + He +exclaimed:<br> + "Let thy love my own foretell!"<br> + I +confessed:<br> + "Clasp my heart on thine<br> + Now +unblamed,<br> + Since upon thy soul as well<br> + Hangeth +mine!"<br> +<br> + Was it wrong to own,<br> + Being +truth?<br> + Why should all the giving prove<br> + His +alone?<br> + I had wealth and ease,<br> + Beauty, +youth:<br> + Since my lover gave me love,<br> + I gave +these.<br> +<br> + That was all I meant,--<br> + To be +just,<br> + And the passion I had raised<br> + To +content.<br> + Since he chose to change<br> + Gold for +dust,<br> + If I gave him what he praised<br> + Was it +strange?<br> + Would he loved me yet,<br> + On and +on,<br> + While I found some way +undreamed--<br> + Paid my +debt!<br> + Gave more life and more,<br> + Till all +gone,<br> + He should smile--"She never +seemed<br> + Mine +before.<br> +<br> + "What, she felt the while,<br> + Must I +think?<br> + Love's so different with us men!"<br> + He should +smile:<br> + "Dying for my sake--<br> + White and +pink!<br> + Can't we touch these bubbles then<br> + But they +break?"<br> +<br> + Dear, the pang is brief,<br> + Do thy +part,<br> + Have thy pleasure! How perplexed<br> + Grows +belief!<br> + Well, this cold clay clod<br> + Was man's +heart:<br> + Crumble it, and what comes next?<br> + Is it +God?</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING10R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>EVELYN HOPE</b><br> +<br> + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!<br> + Sit and watch by her +side an hour.<br> + That is her book-shelf, this her +bed:<br> + She plucked that piece +of geranium-flower,<br> + Beginning to die too, in the +glass:<br> + Little has yet been +changed, I think;<br> + The shutters are shut, no light may +pass<br> + Save two long rays +through the hinge's chink.<br> +<br> + Sixteen years old when she died!<br> + Perhaps she had scarcely +heard my name;<br> + It was not her time to love; +beside,<br> + Her life had many a hope +and aim,<br> + Duties enough and little cares,<br> + And now was quiet, now +astir,<br> + Till God's hand beckoned +unawares--<br> + And the sweet white brow +is all of her.<br> +<br> + Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?<br> + What, your soul was pure +and true,<br> + The good stars met in your +horoscope,<br> + Made you of spirit, +fire, and dew<br> + And just because I was thrice as +old,<br> + And our paths in the +world diverged so wide,<br> + Each was naught to each, must I be +told?<br> + We were fellow mortals, +naught beside?<br> +<br> + No, indeed! for God above<br> + Is great to grant, as +mighty to make,<br> + And creates the love to reward the +love:<br> + I claim you still, for +my own love's sake!<br> + Delayed it may be for more lives +yet,<br> + Through worlds I shall +traverse, not a few;<br> + Much is to learn, much to forget<br> + Ere the time be come for +taking you.<br> +<br> + But the time will come,--at last it +will,<br> + When, Evelyn Hope, what +meant (I shall say)<br> + In the lower earth, in the years long +still,<br> + That body and soul so +pure and gay?<br> + Why your hair was amber, I shall +divine,<br> + And your mouth of your +own geranium's red--<br> + And what would you do with me, in +fine,<br> + In the new life come in +the old one's stead?<br> +<br> + I have lived (I shall say) so much +since then,<br> + Given up myself so many +times,<br> + Gained me the gains of various +men,<br> + Ransacked the ages, +spoiled the climes;<br> + Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full +scope,<br> + Either I missed or +itself missed me:<br> + And I want and find you, Evelyn +Hope!<br> + What is the issue? let +us see!<br> +<br> + I loved you, Evelyn, all the +while!<br> + My heart seemed full as +it could hold;<br> + There was place and to spare for the +frank young smile,<br> + And the red young mouth, +and the hair's young gold.<br> + So hush,--I will give you this leaf +to keep;<br> + See, I shut it inside +the sweet cold hand!<br> + There, that is our secret: go to +sleep!<br> + You will wake, and +remember, and understand.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING11R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>PROSPICE</b><br> +<br> + Fear death?--to feel the fog in my +throat,<br> + The mist in +my face,<br> + When the snows begin, and the blasts +denote<br> + I am nearing +the place,<br> + The power of the night, the press of +the storm,<br> + The post of +the foe;<br> + Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a +visible form,<br> + Yet the +strong man must go:<br> + For the journey is done and the +summit attained,<br> + And the +barriers fall,<br> + Though a battle's to fight ere the +guerdon be gained,<br> + The reward +of it all.<br> + I was ever a fighter, so--one fight +more,<br> + The best and +the last!<br> + I would hate that death bandaged my +eyes, and forbore,<br> + And bade me +creep past.<br> + No! let me taste the whole of it, +fare like my peers<br> + The heroes +of old,<br> + Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad +life's arrears<br> + Of pain, +darkness, and cold.<br> + For sudden the worst turns the best +to the brave,<br> + The black +minute's at end,<br> + And the elements' rage, the +fiend-voices that rave,<br> + Shall +dwindle, shall blend,<br> + Shall change, shall become first a +peace out of pain,<br> + Then a +light, then thy breast,<br> + O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp +thee again,<br> + And with God +be the rest!</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING12R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE PATRIOT</b><br> +<br> + AN OLD STORY<br> +<br> +<br> + It was roses, roses, all the way,<br> + With myrtle mixed in my path like +mad:<br> + The house-roofs seemed to heave and +sway,<br> + The church-spires flamed, such flags +they had,<br> + A year ago on this very day.<br> +<br> + The air broke into a mist with +bells,<br> + The old walls rocked with the crowd +and cries.<br> + Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise +repels--<br> + But give me your sun from yonder +skies"<br> + They had answered, "And afterward, +what else?"<br> +<br> + Alack, it was I who leaped at the +sun<br> + To give it my loving friends to +keep!<br> + Naught man could do have I left +undone;<br> + And you see my harvest, what I +reap<br> + This very day, now a year is run.<br> +<br> + There's nobody on the housetops +now--<br> + Just a palsied few at the windows +set;<br> + For the best of the sight is, all +allow,<br> + At the Shambles' Gate--or, better +yet,<br> + By the very scaffold's foot, I +trow.<br> +<br> + I go in the rain, and, more than +needs,<br> + A rope cuts both my wrists +behind;<br> + And I think, by the feel, my forehead +bleeds,<br> + For they fling, whoever has a +mind,<br> + Stones at me for my year's +misdeeds.<br> +<br> + Thus I entered, and thus I go!<br> + In triumphs, people have dropped +down dead.<br> + "Paid by the world, what dost thou +owe<br> + Me?"--God might question; now +instead,<br> + 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer +so.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNING13R"></a> +<blockquote> <b>ONE WORD MORE</b><br> +<br> + To E.B.B.<br> +<br> + London, September, 1855<br> +<br> +<br> + There they are, my fifty men and +women,<br> + Naming me the fifty poems +finished!<br> + Take them, Love, the book and me +together:<br> + Where the heart lies, let the brain +lie also.<br> +<br> + Raphael made a century of +sonnets,<br> + Made and wrote them in a certain +volume<br> + Dinted with the silver-pointed +pencil<br> + Else he only used to draw +Madonnas:<br> + These, the world might view--but one, +the volume.<br> + Who that one, you ask? Your heart +instructs you.<br> + Did she live and love it all her +lifetime?<br> + Did she drop, his lady of the +sonnets,<br> + Die and let it drop beside her +pillow,<br> + Where it lay in place of Raphael's +glory,<br> + Raphael's cheek so duteous and so +loving--<br> + Cheek the world was wont to hail a +painter's,<br> + Raphael's cheek, her love had turned +a poet's?<br> +<br> + You and I would rather read that +volume<br> + (Taken to his beating bosom by +it),<br> + Lean and list the bosom-beats of +Raphael,<br> + Would we not? than wonder at +Madonnas--<br> + Her, San Sisto names, and Her, +Foligno,<br> + Her, that visits Florence in a +vision,<br> + Her, that's left with lilies in the +Louvre--<br> + Seen by us and all the world in +circle.<br> +<br> + You and I will never read that +volume.<br> + Guido Reni like his own eye's +apple<br> + Guarded long the treasure-book and +loved it.<br> + Guido Reni dying, all Bologna<br> + Cried, and the world cried too, "Ours +the treasure!"<br> + Suddenly, as rare things will, it +vanished.<br> +<br> + Dante once prepared to paint an +angel:<br> + Whom to please? You whisper +"Beatrice."<br> + While he mused and traced it and +retraced it,<br> + (Peradventure with a pen corroded<br> + Still by drops of that hot ink he +dipped for<br> + When, his left hand i' the hair o' +the wicked,<br> + Back he held the brow and pricked its +stigma,<br> + Bit into the live man's flesh for +parchment,<br> + Loosed him, laughed to see the +writing rankle,<br> + Let the wretch go festering through +Florence)--<br> + Dante, who loved well because he +hated,<br> + Hated wickedness that hinders +loving,<br> + Dante standing, studying his +angel--<br> + In there broke the folk of his +Inferno.<br> + Says he--"Certain people of +importance"<br> + (Such he gave his daily dreadful line +to)<br> + "Entered and would seize, forsooth, +the poet."<br> + Says the poet--"Then I stopped my +painting."<br> +<br> + You and I would rather see that +angel<br> + Painted by the tenderness of +Dante--<br> + Would we not?--than read a fresh +Inferno.<br> +<br> + You and I will never see that +picture.<br> + While he mused on love and +Beatrice,<br> + While he softened o'er his outlined +angel,<br> + In they broke, those "people of +importance";<br> + We and Bice bear the loss +forever.<br> +<br> + What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's +picture?<br> + This: no artist lives and loves, that +longs not<br> + Once, and only once, and for one +only,<br> + (Ah, the prize!) to find his love a +language<br> + Fit and fair and simple and +sufficient--<br> + Using nature that's an art to +others,<br> + Not, this one time, art that's turned +his nature.<br> + Ay, of all the artists living, +loving,<br> + None but would forego his proper +dowry.<br> + Does he paint? he fain would write a +poem:<br> + Does he write? he fain would paint a +picture:<br> + Put to proof art alien to the +artist's,<br> + Once, and only once, and for one +only,<br> + So to be the man and leave the +artist,<br> + Gain the man's joy, miss the artist's +sorrow.<br> +<br> + Wherefore? Heaven's gift takes +earth's abatement!<br> + He who smites the rock and spreads +the water,<br> + Bidding drink and live a crowd +beneath him,<br> + Even he the minute makes immortal<br> + Proves perchance but mortal in the +minute,<br> + Desecrates belike the deed in +doing.<br> + While he smites, how can he but +remember<br> + So he smote before, in such a +peril,<br> + When they stood and mocked--"Shall +smiting help us?"<br> + When they drank and sneered--"A +stroke is easy!"<br> + When they wiped their mouths and went +their journey,<br> + Throwing him for thanks--"But drought +was pleasant."<br> + Thus old memories mar the actual +triumph;<br> + Thus the doing savors of +disrelish;<br> + Thus achievement lacks a gracious +somewhat;<br> + O'er-importuned brows becloud the +mandate,<br> + Carelessness or consciousness--the +gesture.<br> + For he bears an ancient wrong about +him,<br> + Sees and knows again those phalanxed +faces,<br> + Hears, yet one time more, the +'customed prelude--<br> + "How shouldst thou, of all men, +smite, and save us?"<br> + Guesses what is like to prove the +sequel--<br> + "Egypt's flesh-pots--nay, the drought +was better."<br> +<br> + Oh, the crowd must have emphatic +warrant!<br> + Theirs the Sinai-forehead's cloven +brilliance,<br> + Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's +imperial fiat.<br> + Never dares the man put off the +prophet.<br> +<br> + Did he love one face from out the +thousands<br> + (Were she Jethro's daughter, white +and wifely,<br> + Were she but the Æthiopian +bondslave),<br> + He would envy yon dumb patient +camel,<br> + Keeping a reserve of scanty water<br> + Meant to save his own life in the +desert;<br> + Ready in the desert to deliver<br> + (Kneeling down to let his breast be +opened)<br> + Hoard and life together for his +mistress.<br> +<br> + I shall never, in the years +remaining,<br> + Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you +statues.<br> + Make you music that should +all-express me;<br> + So it seems: I stand on my +attainment.<br> + This of verse alone, one life allows +me;<br> + Verse and nothing else have I to give +you.<br> + Other heights in other lives, God +willing:<br> + All the gifts from all the heights, +your own, Love!<br> +<br> + Yet a semblance of resource avails +us--<br> + Shade so finely touched, love's sense +must seize it.<br> + Take these lines, look lovingly and +nearly,<br> + Lines I write the first time and the +last time.<br> + He who works in fresco, steals a +hair-brush,<br> + Curbs the liberal hand, subservient +proudly,<br> + Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in +little,<br> + Makes a strange art of an art +familiar,<br> + Fills his lady's missal-marge with +flowerets.<br> + He who blows through bronze may +breathe through silver,<br> + Fitly serenade a slumbrous +princess.<br> + He who writes may write for once as I +do.<br> +<br> + Love, you saw me gather men and +women,<br> + Live or dead or fashioned by my +fancy,<br> + Enter each and all, and use their +service,<br> + Speak from every mouth,--the speech a +poem.<br> + Hardly shall I tell my joys and +sorrows,<br> + Hopes and fears, belief and +disbelieving:<br> + I am mine and yours--the rest be all +men's,<br> + Karshish, Cleon, Norbert, and the +fifty.<br> + Let me speak this once in my true +person,<br> + Not as Lippo, Roland, or Andrea,<br> + Though the fruit of speech be just +this sentence:<br> + Pray you, look on these, my men and +women,<br> + Take and keep my fifty poems +finished;<br> + Where my heart lies, let my brain lie +also!<br> + Poor the speech; be how I speak, for +all things.<br> +<br> + Not but that you know me! Lo, the +moon's self!<br> + Here in London, yonder late in +Florence,<br> + Still we find her face, the +thrice-transfigured.<br> + Curving on a sky imbrued with +color,<br> + Drifted over Fiesole by twilight,<br> + Came she, our new crescent of a +hair's-breadth.<br> + Full she flared it, lamping +Samminiato,<br> + Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and +rounder,<br> + Perfect till the nightingales +applauded.<br> + Now, a piece of her old self, +impoverished,<br> + Hard to greet, she traverses the +house-roofs,<br> + Hurries with unhandsome thrift of +silver,<br> + Goes dispiritedly, glad to +finish.<br> + What, there's nothing in the moon +noteworthy?<br> + Nay: for if that moon could love a +mortal,<br> + Use to charm him (so to fit a +fancy),<br> + All her magic ('tis the old sweet +mythos).<br> + She would turn a new side to her +mortal,<br> + Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, +steersman--<br> + Blank to Zoroaster on his +terrace,<br> + Blind to Galileo on his turret,<br> + Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats--him, +even!<br> + Think, the wonder of the moonstruck +mortal--<br> + When she turns round, comes again in +heaven,<br> + Opens out anew for worse or +better!<br> + Proves she like some portent of an +iceberg<br> + Swimming full upon the ship it +founders,<br> + Hungry with huge teeth of splintered +crystals?<br> + Proves she as the paved work of a +sapphire<br> + Seen by Moses when he climbed the +mountain?<br> + Moses, Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu<br> + Climbed and saw the very God, the +Highest,<br> + Stand upon the paved work of a +sapphire.<br> + Like the bodied heaven in his +clearness<br> + Shone the stone, the sapphire of that +paved work,<br> + When they ate and drank and saw God +also!<br> +<br> + What were seen? None knows, none ever +shall know.<br> + Only this is sure--the sight were +other,<br> + Not the moon's same side, born late +in Florence,<br> + Dying now impoverished here in +London.<br> + God be thanked, the meanest of his +creatures<br> + Boasts two soul-sides, one to face +the world with,<br> + One to show a woman when he loves +her!<br> +<br> + This I say of me, but think of you, +Love!<br> + This to you--yourself my moon of +poets!<br> + Ah, but that's the world's side, +there's the wonder;<br> + Thus they see you, praise you, think +they know you!<br> + There, in turn I stand with them and +praise you--<br> + Out of my own self, I dare to phrase +it.<br> + But the best is when I glide from out +them,<br> +<br> + Cross a step or two of dubious +twilight,<br> + Come out on the other side, the +novel<br> + Silent silver lights and darks +undreamed of,<br> + Where I hush and bless myself with +silence.<br> +<br> + Oh, their Rafael of the dear +Madonnas,<br> + Oh, their Dante of the dread +Inferno,<br> + Wrote one song--and in my brain I +sing it,<br> + Drew one angel--borne, see, on my +bosom!<br> +<br> + R.B.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BROWNSON"></a> +<h2>ORESTES AUGUSTUS BROWNSON</h2> +<h3>(1803-1876)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-o.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>restes Brownson, in his time, was a figure of striking +originality and influence in American literature and American +political, philosophical, and religious discussion. His career was +an exceptional one; for he was connected with some of the most +important contemporaneous movements of thought, and passed through +several distinct phases: Presbyterianism, Universalism, +Socialism--of a mild and benevolent kind, not to be confused with +the later fiery and destructive socialism of "the Reds"; afterward +sympathizing somewhat with the aims and tendencies of the New +England Transcendentalists; a close intellectual associate of Ralph +Waldo Emerson; then the apostle of a "new Christianity"--finally +becoming a Roman Catholic.</p> +<p class="lft"><img src="images/brownson.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Orestes Brownson</b></p> +<p>Coming of old Connecticut stock on his father's side, he was +born in Vermont, September 16th, 1803; and, notwithstanding that he +was brought up in poverty on a farm with small opportunity for +education, contrived in later years to make himself a thorough +scholar in various directions, mastering several languages, +acquiring a wide knowledge of history, reading deeply in +philosophy, and developing marked originality in setting forth new +philosophical views. His bent in childhood was strongly religious; +and he even believed, at that period of his life, that he held long +conversations with the sacred personages of Holy Scripture. Yet +while in manhood he devoted many years and much of his energy to +preaching, his character was aggressive and his tone controversial, +he however revealed many traits of real gentleness and humility, +and the mixture of rugged strength and tenderness in his character +and his work won him a large following in whatever position he +took.</p> +<p>He performed the remarkable feat, when the support of American +letters was slight, of founding and conducting almost +single-handed, from 1838 to 1843, his famous Quarterly Review, +which was a power in the land. He started it again in 1844 as +'Brownson's Quarterly Review,' and resumed it thirty years later in +still a third series. He died in 1876 at Detroit, much of his +active career having been passed in Boston, and some of his later +years at Seton Hall, New Jersey.</p> +<p>His various changes of belief have often been taken as an index +of vacillation; but a simple and candid study of his writings shows +that such changes were merely the normal progress of an intensely +earnest and sincere mind, which never hesitated to avow its honest +convictions nor to admit its errors. This is the quality which +gives Brownson his vitality as a mind and an author; and he will be +found to be consistent with conscience throughout.</p> +<p>His writings are forceful, eloquent, and lucid in style, with a +Websterian massiveness that does not detract from their charm. They +fill twenty volumes, divided into groups of essays on Civilization, +Controversy, Religion, Philosophy, Scientific Theories, and Popular +Literature, which cover a great and fascinating variety of topics +in detail. Brownson was an intense and patriotic American, and his +national quality comes out strongly in his extended treatise 'The +American Republic' (1865). The best known of his other works is a +candid, vigorous, and engaging autobiography entitled 'The Convert' +(1853).</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BROWNSON01"></a> +<h3>SAINT-SIMONISM</h3> +<center>From 'The Convert'</center> +<br> +<p>If I drew my doctrine of Union in part from the eclecticism of +Cousin, I drew my views of the Church and of the reorganization of +the race from the Saint-Simonians,--a philo-sophico-religious or a +politico-philosophical sect that sprung up in France under the +Restoration, and figured largely for a year or two under the +monarchy of July. Their founder was Claude Henri, Count de +Saint-Simon, a descendant of the Due de Saint-Simon, well known as +the author of the 'Memoirs.' He was born in 1760, entered the army +at the age of seventeen, and the year after came to this country, +where he served with distinction in our Revolutionary War under +Bouillié. After the peace of 1783 he devoted two years to +the study of our people and institutions, and then returned to +France. Hardly had he returned before he found himself in the midst +of the French Revolution, which he regarded as the practical +application of the principles or theories adopted by the reformers +of the sixteenth century and popularized by the philosophers of the +eighteenth. He looked upon that revolution, we are told, as having +only a destructive mission--necessary, important, but inadequate to +the wants of humanity; and instead of being carried away by it as +were most of the young men of his age and his principles, he set +himself at work to amass materials for the erection of a new social +edifice on the ruins of the old, which should stand and improve in +solidity, strength, grandeur, and beauty forever.</p> +<p>The way he seems to have taken to amass these materials was to +engage with a partner in some grand speculations for the +accumulation of wealth,--and speculations too, it is said, not of +the most honorable or even the most honest character. His plans +succeeded for a time, and he became very rich, as did many others +in those troublous times; but he finally met with reverses, and +lost all but the wrecks of his fortune. He then for a number of +years plunged into all manner of vice, and indulged to excess in +every species of dissipation; not, we are told, from love of vice, +any inordinate desire, or any impure affection, but for the holy +purpose of preparing himself by his experience for the great work +of redeeming man and securing for him a Paradise on earth. Having +gained all that experience could give him in the department of +vice, he then proceeded to consult the learned professors of +L'École Polytechnique for seven or ten years, to make +himself master of science, literature, and the fine arts in all +their departments, and to place himself at the level of the last +attainments of the race. Thus qualified to be the founder of a new +social organization, he wrote several books, in which he deposited +the germs of his ideas, or rather the germs of the future; most of +which have hitherto remained unpublished.</p> +<p>But now that he was so well qualified for his work he found +himself a beggar, and had as yet made only a single disciple. He +was reduced to despair and attempted to take his own life; but +failed, the ball only grazing his sacred forehead. His faithful +disciple was near him, saved him, and aroused him into life and +hope. When he recovered he found that he had fallen into a gross +error. He had been a materialist, an atheist, and had discarded all +religious ideas as long since outgrown by the human race. He had +proposed to organize the human race with materials furnished by the +senses alone, and by the aid of positive science. He owns his +fault, and conceives and brings forth a new Christianity, consigned +to a small pamphlet entitled 'Nouveau Christianisme,' which was +immediately published. This done, his mission was ended, and he +died May 19th, 1825, and I suppose was buried.</p> +<p>Saint-Simon, the preacher of a new Christianity, very soon +attracted disciples, chiefly from the pupils of the Polytechnic +School; ardent and lively young men, full of enthusiasm, brought up +without faith in the gospel and yet unable to live without religion +of some sort. Among the active members of the sect were at one time +Pierre Leroux, Jules and Michel Chevalier, Lerminier, [and] my +personal friend Dr. Poyen, who initiated me and so many others in +New England into the mysteries of animal magnetism. Dr. Poyen was, +I believe, a native of the island of Guadeloupe: a man of more +ability than he usually had credit for, of solid learning, genuine +science, and honest intentions. I knew him well and esteemed him +highly. When I knew him his attachment to the new religion was much +weakened, and he often talked to me of the old Church, and assured +me that he felt at times that he must return to her bosom. I owe +him many hints which turned my thoughts toward Catholic principles, +and which, with God's grace, were of much service to me. These and +many others were in the sect; whose chiefs, after the death of its +founder, were--Bazard, a Liberal and a practical man, who killed +himself; and Enfantin, who after the dissolution of the sect sought +employment in the service of the Viceroy of Egypt, and occupies now +some important post in connection with the French railways.</p> +<p>The sect began in 1826 by addressing the working classes; but +their success was small. In 1829 they came out of their narrow +circle, assumed a bolder tone, addressed themselves to the general +public, and became in less than eighteen months a Parisian +<i>mode</i>. In 1831 they purchased the Globe newspaper, made it +their organ, and distributed gratuitously five thousand copies +daily. In 1832 they had established a central propagandism in +Paris, and had their missionaries in most of the departments of +France. They attacked the hereditary peerage, and it fell; they +seemed to be numerous and strong, and I believed for a moment in +their complete success. They called their doctrine a religion, +their ministers priests, and their organization a church; and as +such they claimed to be recognized by the State, and to receive +from it a subvention as other religious denominations [did]. But +the courts decided that Saint-Simonism was not a religion and its +ministers were not religious teachers. This decision struck them +with death. Their prestige vanished. They scattered, dissolved in +thin air, and went off, as Carlyle would say, into endless vacuity, +as do sooner or later all shams and unrealities.</p> +<p>Saint-Simon himself, who as presented to us by his disciples is +a half-mythic personage, seems, so far as I can judge by those of +his writings that I have seen, to have been a man of large ability +and laudable intentions; but I have not been able to find any new +or original thoughts of which he was the indisputable father. His +whole system, if system he had, is summed up in the two maxims +"Eden is before us, not behind us" (or the Golden Age of the poets +is in the future, not in the past), and "Society ought to be so +organized as to tend in the most rapid manner possible to the +continuous moral, intellectual, and physical amelioration of the +poorer and more numerous classes." He simply adopts the doctrine of +progress set forth with so much flash eloquence by Condorcet, and +the philanthropic doctrine with regard to the laboring classes, or +the people, defended by Barbeuf and a large section of the French +Revolutionists. His religion was not so much as the +Theophilanthropy attempted to be introduced by some members of the +French Directory: it admitted God in name, and in name did not deny +Jesus Christ, but it rejected all mysteries, and reduced religion +to mere socialism. It conceded that Catholicity had been the true +Church down to the pontificate of Leo X., because down to that time +its ministers had taken the lead in directing the intelligence and +labors of mankind, had aided the progress of civilization, and +promoted the well-being of the poorer and more numerous classes. +But since Leo X., who made of the Papacy a secular principality, it +had neglected its mission, had ceased to labor for the poorer and +more numerous classes, had leagued itself with the ruling orders, +and lent all its influence to uphold tyrants and tyranny. A new +church was needed; a church which should realize the ideal of Jesus +Christ, and tend directly and constantly to the moral, physical, +and social amelioration of the poorer and more numerous +classes,--in other words, the greatest happiness in this life of +the greatest number, the principle of Jeremy Bentham and his +Utilitarian school.</p> +<p>His disciples enlarged upon the hints of the master, and +attributed to him ideas which he never entertained. They endeavored +to reduce his hints to a complete system of religion, philosophy, +and social organization. Their chiefs, I have said, were Amand +Bazard and Barthélemy Prosper Enfantin....</p> +<p>Bazard took the lead in what related to the external, political, +and economical organization, and Enfantin in what regarded doctrine +and worship. The philosophy or theology of the sect or school was +derived principally from Hegel, and was a refined Pantheism. Its +Christology was the unity, not union, of the divine and human; and +the Incarnation symbolized the unity of God and man, or the +Divinity manifesting himself in humanity, and making humanity +substantially divine,--the very doctrine in reality which I myself +had embraced even before I had heard of the Saint-Simonians, if not +before they had published it. The religious organization was +founded on the doctrine of the progressive nature of man, and the +maxim that all institutions should tend in the most speedy and +direct manner possible to the constant amelioration of the moral, +intellectual, and physical condition of the poorer and more +numerous classes. Socially men were to be divided into three +classes,--artists, <i>savans</i>, and industrials or working men, +corresponding to the psychological division of the human faculties. +The soul has three powers or faculties,--to love, to know, and to +act. Those in whom the love-faculty is predominant belong to the +class of artists, those in whom the knowledge-faculty is +predominant belong to the class of <i>savans</i>, the scientific +and the learned, and in fine, those in whom the act-faculty +predominates belong to the industrial class. This classification +places every man in the social category for which he is fitted, and +to which he is attracted by his nature. These several classes are +to be hierarchically organized under chiefs or priests, who are +respectively priests of the artists, of the scientific, and of the +industrials, and are, priests and all, to be subjected to a supreme +Father, <i>Père Supréme</i>, and a Supreme Mother, +<i>Mère Supréme</i>.</p> +<p>The economical organization is to be based on the maxims, "To +each one according to his capacity," and "To each capacity +according to its work." Private property is to be retained, but its +transmission by inheritance or testamentary disposition must be +abolished. The property is to be held by a tenure resembling that +of gavel-kind. It belongs to the community, and the priests, +chiefs, or brehons, as the Celtic tribes call them, to distribute +it for life to individuals, and to each individual according to his +capacity. It was supposed that in this way the advantages of both +common and individual property might be secured. Something of this +prevailed originally in most nations, and a reminiscence of it +still exists in the village system among the Slavonic tribes of +Russia and Poland; and nearly all jurists maintain that the +testamentary right by which a man disposes of his goods after his +natural death, as well as that by which a child inherits from the +parent, is a municipal, not a natural right.</p> +<p>The most striking feature in the Saint-Simonian scheme was the +rank and position it assigned to woman. It asserted the absolute +equality of the sexes, and maintained that either sex is incomplete +without the other. Man is an incomplete individual without woman. +Hence a religion, a doctrine, a social institution founded by one +sex alone is incomplete, and can never be adequate to the wants of +the race or a definite order. This idea was also entertained by +Frances Wright, and appears to be entertained by all our Women's +Rights folk of either sex. The old civilization was masculine, not +male and female as God made man. Hence its condemnation. The +Saint-Simonians, therefore, proposed to place by the side of their +sovereign Father at the summit of their hierarchy a sovereign +Mother. The man to be sovereign Father they found; but a woman to +be sovereign Mother, <i>Mère Suprême</i>, they found +not. This caused great embarrassment, and a split between Bazard +and Enfantin. Bazard was about marrying his daughter, and he +proposed to place her marriage under the protection of the existing +French laws. Enfantin opposed his doing so, and called it a sinful +compliance with the prejudices of the world. The Saint-Simonian +society, he maintained, was a State, a kingdom within itself, and +should be governed by its own laws and its own chiefs without any +recognition of those without. Bazard persisted, and had the +marriage of his daughter solemnized in a legal manner, and for +aught I know, according to the rites of the Church. A great scandal +followed. Bazard charged Enfantin with denying Christian marriage, +and with holding loose notions on the subject. Enfantin replied +that he neither denied nor affirmed Christian marriage; that in +enacting the existing law on the subject man alone had been +consulted, and he could not recognize it as law till woman had +given her consent to it. As yet the society was only provisionally +organized, inasmuch as they had not yet found the <i>Mère +Suprême</i>. The law on marriage must emanate conjointly from +the Supreme Father and the Supreme Mother, and it would be +irregular and a usurpation for the Supreme Father to undertake +alone to legislate on the subject. Bazard would not submit, and +went out and shot himself. Most of the politicians abandoned the +association; and Père Enfantin, almost in despair, +dispatched twelve apostles to Constantinople to find in the Turkish +harems the Supreme Mother. After a year they returned and reported +that they were unable to find her; and the society, condemned by +the French courts as immoral, broke up, and broke up because no +woman could be found to be its mother. And so they ended, having +risen, flourished, and decayed in less than a single decade.</p> +<p>The points in the Saint-Simonian movement that arrested my +attention and commanded my belief were what it will seem strange to +my readers could ever have been doubted,--its assertion of a +religious future for the human race, and that religion, in the +future as well as in the past, must have an organization, and a +hierarchical organization. Its classification of men according to +the predominant psychological faculty in each, into artists, +savans, and industrials, struck me as very well; and the maxims "To +each according to his capacity," and "To each capacity according to +its works," as evidently just, and desirable if practicable. The +doctrine of the Divinity in Humanity, of progress, of no essential +antagonism between the spiritual and the material, and of the duty +of shaping all institutions for the speediest and continuous moral, +intellectual, and physical amelioration of the poorer and more +numerous classes, I already held. I was rather pleased than +otherwise with the doctrine with regard to property, and thought it +a decided improvement on that of a community of goods. The doctrine +with regard to the relation of the sexes I rather acquiesced in +than approved. I was disposed to maintain, as the Indian said, that +"woman is the weaker canoe," and to assert my marital prerogatives; +but the equality of the sexes was asserted by nearly all my +friends, and I remained generally silent on the subject, till some +of the admirers of Harriet Martineau and Margaret Fuller began to +scorn equality and to claim for woman superiority. Then I became +roused, and ventured to assert my masculine dignity.</p> +<p>It is remarkable that most reformers find fault with the +Christian law of marriage, and propose to alter the relations which +God has established both in nature and the gospel between the +sexes; and this is generally the rock on which they split. Women do +not usually admire men who cast off their manhood or are +unconscious of the rights and prerogatives of the stronger sex; and +they admire just as little those "strong-minded women" who strive +to excel only in the masculine virtues. I have never been persuaded +that it argues well for a people when its women are men and its men +women. Yet I trust I have always honored and always shall honor +woman. I raise no question as to woman's equality or inequality +with man, for comparisons cannot be made between things not of the +same kind. Woman's sphere and office in life are as high, as holy, +as important as man's, but different; and the glory of both man and +woman is for each to act well the part assigned to each by Almighty +God.</p> +<p>The Saint-Simonian writings made me familiar with the idea of a +hierarchy, and removed from my mind the prejudices against the +Papacy generally entertained by my countrymen. Their proposed +organization, I saw, might be good and desirable if their priests, +their Supreme Father and Mother, could really be the wisest, the +best,--not merely the nominal but the real chiefs of society. Yet +what security have I that they will be? Their power was to have no +limit save their own wisdom and love, but who would answer for it +that these would always be an effectual limit? How were these +priests or chiefs to be designated and installed in their office? +By popular election? But popular election often passes over the +proper man and takes the improper. Then as to the assignment to +each man of a capital proportioned to his capacity to begin life +with, what certainty is there that the rules of strict right will +be followed? that wrong will not often be done, both voluntarily +and involuntarily? Are your chiefs to be infallible and impeccable? +Still the movement interested me, and many of its principles took +firm hold of me and held me for years in a species of mental +thraldom; insomuch that I found it difficult, if not impossible, +either to refute them or to harmonize them with other principles +which I also held, or rather which held me, and in which I detected +no unsoundness. Yet I imbibed no errors from the Saint-Simonians; +and I can say of them as of the Unitarians,--they did me no harm, +but were in my fallen state the occasion of much good to me.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRUNETIERE"></a> +<h2>FERDINAND BRUNETIÈRE</h2> +<h3>(1849-)</h3> +<center>BY ADOLPHE COHN</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-f.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>erdinand Brunetière, the celebrated French literary +critic, was born in Toulon, the great military Mediterranean +sea-port of France, in the year 1849. His studies were begun in the +college of his native city and continued in Paris, in the +Lycée Louis le Grand, where in the class of philosophy he +came under Professor Émile Charles, by whose original and +profound though decidedly sad way of thinking he was powerfully +influenced. His own ambition then was to become a teacher in the +University of France, an ambition which seemed unlikely to be ever +realized, as he failed to secure admission to the celebrated +École Normale Supérieure, in the competitive +examination which leads up to that school. Strangely enough, about +fifteen years later he was, though not in possession of any very +high University degree, appointed to the Professorship of French +Literature in the school which he had been unable to enter as a +scholar, and his appointment received the hearty indorsement of all +the leading educational authorities in France.</p> +<p class="lft"><img src="images/brunetiere.jpg" width="45%" alt= +""><br> +<b>Ferdiand Brunetière</b></p> +<p>For several years after leaving the Lycée Louis le Grand, +while completing his literary outfit by wonderfully extensive +reading, Ferdinand Brunetière lived on stray orders for work +for publishers. He seldom succeeded in getting these, and when he +got any they were seldom filled. Thus he happened to be +commissioned by the firm of Germer, Baillière and Company to +write a history of Russia, which never was and to all appearances +never will be written. The event which determined the direction of +his career was the acceptance by the Revue des Deux Mondes, in +1875, of an article upon contemporary French novelists. +François Buloz, the energetic and imperious founder and +editor of the world-famed French bi-monthly, felt that he had found +in the young critic the man whom French literary circles had been +waiting for, and who was to be Sainte-Beuve's successor; and +François Buloz was a man who seldom made mistakes.</p> +<p>French literary criticism was just then at a very low ebb. +Sainte-Beuve had been dead about five years; his own +contemporaries, Edmond Schérer for instance, were getting +old and discouraged; the new generation seemed to be turning +unanimously, in consequence of the disasters of the Franco-German +war and of the Revolution of September, 1870, to military or +political activity. The only form of literature which had power to +attract young writers was the novel, which they could fill with the +description of all the passions then agitating the public mind. +That a man of real intellectual strength should then give his +undivided attention to pure literature seemed a most unlikely +phenomenon; but all had to acknowledge that the unlikely had +happened, soon after Ferdinand Brunetière had become the +regular literary critic of the Revue des Deux Mondes.</p> +<p>Fortunately the new critic did not undertake to walk in the +footsteps of Sainte-Beuve. In the art of presenting to the reader +the marrow of a writer's work, of making the writer himself known +by the description of his surroundings, the narrative of his life, +the study of the forces by which he was influenced, the illustrious +author of the 'Causeries du Lundi' remains to this day without a +rival or a continuator. Ferdinand Brunetière had a different +conception of the duties of a literary critic. The one fault with +which thoughtful readers were apt to charge Sainte-Beuve was, that +he failed to pass judgment upon the works and writers; and this +failure was often, and not altogether unjustly, ascribed to a +certain weakness in his grasp of principles, a certain +faint-heartedness whenever it became necessary to take sides. Any +one who studies Brunetière can easily see that from the +start his chief concern was to make it impossible for any one to +charge him with the same fault. He came in with a set of principles +which he has since upheld with remarkable steadfastness and +courage. In an age when nearly every one was turning to the future +and advocating the doctrine and the necessity of progress, when the +chief fear of most men was that they should appear too much afraid +of change, Brunetière proclaimed time and again that there +was no safety for any nation or set of men except in a staunch +adherence to tradition. He bade his readers turn their minds away +from the current literature of the day, and take hold of the +exemplars of excellence handed down to us by the great men of the +past. Together with tradition he upheld authority, and therefore +preferred to all others the period in which French literature and +society had most willingly submitted to authority, that is, the +seventeenth century and the reign of Louis XIV. When compelled to +speak of the literature of the day, he did it in no uncertain +tones. His book 'The Naturalistic Novel' consists of a series of +articles in which he studies Zola and his school, upholding the old +doctrine that there are things in life which must be kept out of +the domain of art and cannot be therein introduced without lowering +the ideal of man. Between the naturalistic and the idealistic novel +he unhesitatingly declares for the latter, and places George Sand +far above the author of 'L'Assommoir.'</p> +<p>But the great success of his labors cannot be said to have been +due solely or even mainly to the principles he advocated. Other +critics have appeared since--Messrs. Jules Lemaître and +Anatole France, for instance,--who antagonize almost everything +that he defends and defend almost everything that he antagonizes, +and whose success has hardly been inferior to his. Neither is it +due to any charm in his style. Brunetière's sentences are +compact,--indeed, strongly knit together,--but decidedly heavy and +at times even clumsy. What he has to say he always says strongly, +but not gracefully. He has a remarkable appreciation of the value +of the words of the French language, but his arrangement of them is +seldom free from mannerisms. What, then, has made him the foremost +literary critic of the present day? The answer is, knowledge and +sincerity. No writer of the present day, save perhaps Anatole +France, is so accurately informed of every fact that bears upon +literary history. Every argument he brings forward is supported by +an array of incontrovertible facts that is simply appalling. No one +can argue with him who does not first subject himself to the +severest kind of training, go through a mass of tedious reading, +become familiar with dates to the point of handling them as nimbly +as a bank clerk handles the figures of a check list. And all this +comes forward in Brunetière's articles in the most natural, +we had almost said casual way. The fact takes its place unheralded +in the reasoning. It is there because it has to be there, not +because the writer wishes to make a display of his wonderful +knowledge; and thus it happens that Ferdinand Brunetière's +literary articles are perhaps the most instructive ones ever +written in the French language. They are moreover admirably +trustworthy. It would never come to this author's mind to hide a +fact that goes against any of his theories. He feels so sure of +being in the right that he is always willing to give his opponents +all that they can possibly claim.</p> +<p>Of late years, moreover, it must be acknowledged that +Brunetière's mind has given signs of remarkable broadening. +Under the influence of the doctrine of evolution, he has undertaken +to class all literary facts as the great naturalists of the day +have classed the facts of physiology, and to show that literary +forms spring from each other by way of transformation in the same +way as do the forms of animal or vegetable life. Already three +works have been produced by him since he entered upon this new line +of development: a history of literary criticism in France, which +forms the first and hitherto only published volume of a large work, +(The Evolution of Literary Forms); a work on the French drama, (The +Periods of the French Theatre); and a treatise on modern French +poetry, (The Evolution of French Lyric Poetry during the Nineteenth +Century.) The second and last of these were first delivered by +their author from the professor's chair or the lecturer's platform, +where he has managed to display some of the greatest gifts of the +public speaker. Most of M. Brunetière's literary articles +have been collected in book form under the following +titles:--(Questions of Criticism) (2 vols.), (History and +Criticism) (3 vols.), (Critical Studies on the History of French +Literature) (6 vols.), (The Naturalistic Novel) (1 vol.).</p> +<p>At various times remarkable addresses have been delivered by him +on public occasions, in which he has often represented the French +Academy since his election to that illustrious body. Unfortunately +his productive literary activity has slackened of late. In 1895 he +was called to the editorship of the Revue des Deux Mondes, and +since his assumption of this responsible editorial position he has +published only two or three articles, bearing upon moral and +educational questions.</p> +<p>To pass final judgment upon a man whose development is far from +completed is an almost impossible task. Still it may be said that +with the exception of Sainte-Beuve's (Causeries du Lundi) and +(Nouveaux Lundis,) nothing exists that can teach the reader so much +about the history of French literature as Brunetière's +works. The doctrinal side, to which the author himself undoubtedly +attaches the greatest importance, will strike the reader as often +very questionable. Too often Brunetière seems in his +judgments to be quite unconsciously actuated by a dislike of the +accepted opinion of the present day. His love of the past bears a +look of defiance of the present, not calculated to win the reader's +assent. But even this does not go without its good side. It gives +to Brunetière's judgments a unity which is seldom if ever +found in the works of those whose chief labors have been spent in +the often ungrateful task of making a hurried public acquainted +with the uninterrupted stream of literary production.</p> +<p class="sign"><img src="images/sign-316.jpg" width="60%" alt= +""></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNETIERE01"></a> +<h3>TAINE AND PRINCE NAPOLEON</h3> +<br> +<p>For the last five or six months, since it has been known that a +prince, nephew, cousin, and son of emperors or kings formerly very +powerful, had proposed to answer the libel, as he calls it, written +by M. Taine about Napoleon, we have been awaiting this reply with +an impatience, a curiosity which were equally justified,--although +for very different reasons,--by M. Taine's reputation, by the +glorious name of his antagonist, by the greatness, and finally the +national interest of the subject.</p> +<p>The book has just appeared; and if we can say without flattery +that it has revealed to us in the Prince a writer whose existence +we had not suspected, it is because we must at once add that +neither in its manner nor in its matter is the book itself what it +might have been. Prince Napoleon did not wish to write a 'Life of +Napoleon,' and nobody expected that of him,--for after all, and for +twenty different reasons, even had he wished it he could not have +done it. But to M. Taine's Napoleon, since he did not find in him +the true Napoleon, since he declared him to be as much against +nature as against history, he could, and we expected that he would, +have opposed his own Napoleon. By the side of the "inventions of a +writer whose judgment had been misled and whose conscience had been +obscured by passion,"--these are his own words,--he could have +restored, as he promised in his 'Introduction,' "the man and his +work in their living reality." And in our imaginations, on which M. +Taine's harsh and morose workmanship had engraven the features of a +modern Malatesta or modern Sforza, <i>he</i> could at last +substitute for them, as the inheritor of the name and the dynastic +claims, the image of the founder of contemporary France, of the god +of war. Unfortunately, instead of doing so, it is M. Taine himself, +it is his analytical method, it is the witnesses whom M. Taine +chose as his authorities, that Prince Napoleon preferred to assail, +as a scholar in an Academy who descants upon the importance of the +genuineness of a text, and moreover with a freedom of utterance and +a pertness of expression which on any occasion I should venture to +pronounce decidedly insulting.</p> +<p>For it is a misfortune of princes, when they do us the honor of +discussing with us, that they must observe a moderation, a reserve, +a courtesy greater even than our own. It will therefore be +unanimously thought that it ill became Prince Napoleon to address +M. Taine in a tone which M. Taine would decline to use in his +answer, out of respect for the very name which he is accused of +<i>slandering</i>. It will be thought also that it ill became him, +when speaking of Miot de Melito, for instance, or of many other +servants of the imperial government, to seem to ignore that princes +also are under an obligation to those who have served them well. +Perhaps even it may be thought that it poorly became him, when +discussing or contradicting the 'Memoirs of Madame de +Rémusat,' to forget under what auspices the remains of his +uncle, the Emperor, were years ago carried in his city of Paris. +But what will be thought especially is, that he had something else +to do than to split hairs in discussion of evidences; that he had +something far better to say, more peremptory and to the point, and +more literary besides, than to call M. Taine names, to hurl at him +the epithets of "Entomologist, Materialist, Pessimist, Destroyer of +Reputations, Iconoclast," and to class him as a +"déboulonneur" among those who, in 1871, pulled down the +Colonne Vendôme.</p> +<p>Not, undoubtedly, that M. Taine--and we said so ourselves more +than once with perfect freedom--if spending much patience and +conscientiousness in his search for documents, has always displayed +as much critical spirit and discrimination in the use he made of +them. We cannot understand why in his 'Napoleon' he accepted the +testimony of Bourrienne, for instance, any more than recently, in +his 'Revolution,' that of George Duval, or again, in his 'Ancien +Régime,' that of the notorious Soulavic. M. Taine's +documents as a rule are not used by him as a foundation for his +argument; no, he first takes his position, and then he consults his +library, or he goes to the original records, with the hope of +finding those documents that will support his reasoning. But +granting that, we must own that though different from M. Taine's, +Prince Napoleon's historical method is not much better; that though +in a different manner and in a different direction, it is neither +less partial nor less passionate: and here is a proof of it.</p> +<p>Prince Napoleon blames M. Taine for quoting "eight times" +'Bourrienne's Memoirs,' and then, letting his feelings loose, he +takes advantage of the occasion and cruelly besmirches Bourrienne's +name. Does he tell the truth or not? is he right at the bottom? I +do not know anything about it; I do not <i>wish</i> to know +anything; I do not need it, since I <i>know</i>, from other +sources, that 'Bourrienne's Memoirs' are hardly less spurious than, +say, the 'Souvenirs of the Marquise de Créqui' or the +'Memoirs of Monsieur d'Artagnan.' But if these so-called 'Memoirs' +are really not his, what has Bourrienne himself to do here? and +suppose the former secretary of the First Consul to have been, +instead of the shameless embezzler whom Prince Napoleon so fully +and so uselessly describes to us, the most honest man in the world, +would the 'Memoirs' be any more reliable, since it is a fact that +<i>he</i> wrote nothing? ...</p> +<p>And now I cannot but wonder at the tone in which those who +contradict M. Taine, and especially Prince Napoleon himself, +condescend to tell him that he lacks that which would be needed in +order to speak of Napoleon or the Revolution. But who is it, then, +that <i>has</i> what is needed in order to judge Napoleon? +Frederick the Great, or Catherine II., perhaps,--as Napoleon +himself desired, "his peers"; or in other words, those who, born as +he was for war and government, can only admire, justify, and +glorify themselves in him. And who will judge the Revolution? +Danton. we suppose, or Robespierre,--that is, the men who were the +Revolution itself. No: the real judge will be the average opinion +of men; the force that will create, modify, correct this average +opinion, the historians will be; and among the historians of our +time, in spite of Prince Napoleon, it will be M. Taine for a large +share.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNETIERE02"></a> +<h3>THE LITERATURES OF FRANCE, ENGLAND, AND GERMANY</h3> +<br> +<p>Twice at least in the course of their long history, it is known +that the literature and even the language of France has exerted +over the whole of Europe an influence, whose universal character +other languages perhaps more harmonious,--Italian for +instance,--and other literatures more original in certain respects, +like English literature, have never possessed. It is in a purely +French form that our mediæval poems, our 'Chansons de Geste,' +our 'Romances of the Round Table,' our <i>fabliaux</i> themselves, +whencesoever they came,--Germany or Tuscany, England or Brittany, +Asia or Greece,--conquered, fascinated, charmed, from one end of +Europe to the other, the imaginations of the Middle Ages. The +amorous languor and the subtlety of our "courteous poetry" are +breathed no less by the madrigals of Shakespeare himself than by +Petrarch's sonnets; and after such a long lapse of time we still +discover something that comes from us even in the Wagnerian drama, +for instance in 'Parsifal' or in 'Tristan and Isolde.' A long time +later, in a Europe belonging entirely to classicism, from the +beginning of the seventeenth to the end of the eighteenth century, +during one hundred and fifty years or even longer, French +literature possessed a real sovereignty in Italy, in Spain, in +England, and in Germany. Do not the names of Algarotti, Bettinelli, +Beccaria, Filengieri, almost belong to France? What shall I say of +the famous Gottschedt? Shall I recall the fact that in his +victorious struggle against Voltaire, Lessing had to call in +Diderot's assistance? And who ignores that if Rivarol wrote his +'Discourse upon the Universality of the French Language,' it can be +charged neither to his vanity nor to our national vanity, since he +was himself half Italian, and the subject had been proposed by the +Academy of Berlin?</p> +<p>All sorts of reasons have been given for this universality of +French literature: some were statistical, if I may say so, some +geographical, political, linguistic. But the true one, the good +one, is different: it must be found in the supremely sociable +character of the literature itself. If at that time our great +writers were understood and appreciated by everybody, it is because +they were addressing everybody, or better, because they were +speaking to all concerning the interests of all. They were +attracted neither by exceptions nor by peculiarities: they cared to +treat only of man in general, or as is also said, of the universal +man, restrained by the ties of human society; and their very +success shows that below all that distinguishes, say, an Italian +from a German, this universal man whose reality has so often been +discussed, persists and lives, and though constantly changing never +loses his own likeness....</p> +<p>In comparison with the literature of France, thus defined and +characterized by its sociable spirit, the literature of England is +an individualistic literature. Let us put aside, as should be done, +the generation of Congreve and Wycherley, perhaps also the +generation of Pope and Addison,--to which, however, we ought not to +forget that Swift also belonged;--it seems that an Englishman never +writes except in order to give to himself the external sensation of +his own personality. Thence his <i>humor</i>, which may be defined +as the expression of the pleasure he feels in thinking like nobody +else. Thence, in England, the plenteousness, the wealth, the +amplitude of the lyric vein; it being granted that +<i>individualism</i> is the very spring of lyric poetry, and that +an ode or an elegy is, as it were, the involuntary surging, the +outflowing of what is most intimate, most secret, most peculiar in +the poet's soul. Thence also the <i>eccentricity</i> of all the +great English writers when compared with the rest of the nation, as +though they became conscious of themselves only by distinguishing +themselves from those who claim to differ from them least. But is +it not possible to otherwise characterize the literature of +England? It will be easily conceived that I dare not assert such a +thing; all I say here is, that I cannot better express the +differences which distinguish that literature from our own.</p> +<p>That is also all I claim, in stating that the essential +character of the literature of Germany is, that it is +<i>philosophical</i>. The philosophers there are poets, and the +poets are philosophers. Goethe is to be found no more, or no less, +in his 'Theory of Colors' or in his 'Metamorphosis of Plants,' than +in his 'Divan' or his 'Faust'; and lyrism, if I may use this trite +expression, "is overflowing" in Schleiermacher's theology and in +Schelling's philosophy. Is this not perhaps at least one of the +reasons of the inferiority of the German drama? It is surely the +reason of the depth and scope of Germanic poetry. Even in the +masterpieces of German literature it seems that there is mixed +something indistinct, or rather mysterious, <i>suggestive</i> in +the extreme, which leads us to thought by the channel of the dream. +But who has not been struck by what, under a barbarous terminology, +there is of attractive, and as such of eminently poetical, of +realistic and at the same time idealistic, in the great systems of +Kant and Fichte, Hegel and Schopenhauer? Assuredly nothing is +further removed from the character of our French literature. We can +here understand what the Germans mean when they charge us with a +lack of depth. Let them forgive us if <i>we</i> do not blame their +literature for not being the same as ours.</p> +<p>For it is good that it be thus, and for five or six hundred +years this it is that has made the greatness not only of European +literature, but of Western civilization itself; I mean that which +all the great nations, after slowly elaborating it, as it were, in +their national isolation, have afterwards deposited in the common +treasury of the human race. Thus, to this one we owe the sense of +mystery, and we might say the revelation of what is beautiful, in +that which remains obscure and cannot be grasped. To another we owe +the sense of art, and what may be called the appreciation of the +power of form. A third one has handed to us what was most heroic in +the conception of chivalrous honor. And to another, finally, we owe +it that we know what is both most ferocious and noblest, most +wholesome and most to be feared, in human pride. The share that +belongs to us Frenchmen was, in the meanwhile, to bind, to fuse +together, and as it were to unify under the idea of the general +society of mankind, the contradictory and even hostile elements +that may have existed in all that. No matter whether our inventions +and ideas were, by their origin, Latin or Romance, Celtic or +Gallic, Germanic even, if you please, the whole of Europe had +borrowed them from us in order to adapt them to the genius of its +different races. Before re-admitting them in our turn, before +adopting them after they had been thus transformed, we asked only +that they should be able to serve the progress of reason and of +humanity. What was troublous in them we clarified; what was +corrupting we corrected; what was local we generalized; what was +excessive we brought down to the proportions of mankind. Have we +not sometimes also lessened their grandeur and altered their +purity? If Corneille has undoubtedly brought nearer to us the still +somewhat barbaric heroes of Guillem de Castro, La Fontaine, when +imitating the author of the Decameron, has made him more indecent +than he is in his own language; and if the Italians have no right +to assail Molière for borrowing somewhat from them, the +English may well complain that Voltaire failed to understand +Shakespeare. But it is true none the less that in disengaging from +the particular man of the North or the South this idea of a +universal man, for which we have been so often reviled,--if any one +of the modern literatures has breathed in its entirety the spirit +of the public weal and of civilization, it is the literature of +France. And this ideal cannot possibly be as empty as has too often +been asserted; since, as I endeavored to show, from Lisbon to +Stockholm and from Archangel to Naples, it is its manifestations +that foreigners have loved to come across in the masterpieces, or +better, in the whole sequence of the history of our literature.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRUNO"></a> +<h2>GIORDANO BRUNO</h2> +<h3>(1548-1600)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-f.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>illippo Bruno, known as Giordano Bruno, was born at Nola, near +Naples, in 1548. This was eight years after the death of +Copernicus, whose system he eagerly espoused, and ten years before +the birth of Bacon, with whom he associated in England. Of an +ardent, poetic temperament, he entered the Dominican order in +Naples at the early age of sixteen, doubtless attracted to +conventual life by the opportunities of study it offered to an +eager intellect. Bruno had been in the monastery nearly thirteen +years when he was accused of heresy in attacking some of the dogmas +of the Church. He fled first to Rome and then to Northern Italy, +where he wandered about for three seasons from city to city, +teaching and writing. In 1579 he arrived at Geneva, then the +stronghold of the Calvinists. Coming into conflict with the +authorities there on account of his religious opinions, he was +thrown into prison. He escaped and went to Toulouse, at that time +the literary centre of Southern France, where he lectured for a +year on Aristotle. His restless spirit, however, drove him on to +Paris. Here he was made professor extraordinary at the +Sorbonne.</p> +<p>Although his teachings were almost directly opposed to the +philosophic tenets of the time, attacking the current dogmas, and +Aristotle, the idol of the schoolmen, yet such was the power of +Bruno's eloquence and the charm of his manner that crowds flocked +to his lecture-room, and he became one of the most popular foreign +teachers the university had known. Under pretense of expounding the +writings of Thomas Aquinas, he set forth his own philosophy. He +also spoke much on the art of memory, amplifying the writings of +Raymond Lully; and these principles, formulated by the monk of the +thirteenth century and taken up again by the free-thinkers of the +sixteenth, are the basis of all the present-day mnemonics.</p> +<p>But Bruno went even further. He attracted the attention of King +Henry III. of France, who in 1583 introduced him to the French +ambassador to England, Castelnuovo di Manvissière. Going to +London, he spent three years in the family of this nobleman, more +as friend than dependent. They were the happiest, or at least the +most restful years of his stormy life. England was just then +entering on the glorious epoch of her Elizabethan literature. Bruno +came into the brilliant court circles, meeting even the Queen, who +cordially welcomed all men of culture, especially the Italians. The +astute monk reciprocated her good-will by paying her the customary +tribute of flattery. He won the friendship of Sir Philip Sidney, to +whom he dedicated two of his books, and enjoyed the acquaintance of +Spenser, Sir Fulke Greville, Dyer, Harvey, Sir William Temple, +Bacon, and other wits and poets of the day.</p> +<p>At that time--somewhere about 1580--Shakespeare was still +serving his apprenticeship as playwright, and had perhaps less +claim on the notice of the observant foreigner than his elder +contemporaries. London was still a small town, where the news of +the day spread rapidly, and where, no doubt, strangers were as +eagerly discussed as they are now within narrow town limits. +Bruno's daring speculations could not remain the exclusive property +of his own coterie. And as Shakespeare had the faculty of absorbing +all new ideas afloat in the air, he would hardly have escaped the +influence of the teacher who proclaimed in proud self-confidence +that he was come to arouse men out of their theological stagnation. +His influence on Bacon is more evident, because of their friendly +associations. Bruno lectured at Oxford, but the English university +found less favor in his eyes than English court life. Pedantry had +indeed set its fatal mark on scholarship, not only on the Continent +but in England. Aristotle was still the god of the pedants of that +age, and dissent from his teaching was heavily punished, for the +dry dust of learning blinded the eyes of the scholastics to new +truths.</p> +<p>Bruno, the knight-errant of these truths, devoted all his life +to scourging pedantry, and dissented <i>in toto</i> from the idol +of the schools. No wonder he and Oxford did not agree together. He +wittily calls her "the widow of sound learning," and again, "a +constellation of pedantic, obstinate ignorance and presumption, +mixed with a clownish incivility that would tax the patience of +Job." He lashed the shortcomings of English learning in 'La Cena +delle Ceneri' (Ash Wednesday Conversation). But Bruno's roving +spirit, and perhaps also his heterodox tendencies, drove him at +last from England, and for the next five years he roamed about +Germany, leading the life of the wandering scholars of the time, +always involved in conflicts and controversies with the +authorities, always antagonistic to public opinion. Flying in the +face of the most cherished traditions, he underwent the common +experience of all prophets: the minds he was bent on awakening +refused to be aroused.</p> +<p>Finally he was invited by Zuone Mocenigo of Venice to teach him +the higher and secret learning. The Venetian supposed that Bruno, +with more than human erudition, possessed the art of conveying +knowledge into the heads of dullards. Disappointed in this +expectation, he quarreled with his teacher, and in a spirit of +revenge picked out of Bruno's writings a mass of testimony +sufficient to convict him of heresy. This he turned over to the +Inquisitor at Venice, Bruno was arrested, convicted, and sent to +the Inquisition in Rome. When called upon there to recant, he +replied, "I ought not to recant, and I will not recant." He was +accordingly confined in prison for seven years, then sentenced to +death. On hearing the warrant he said, "It may be that you fear +more to deliver this judgment than I to bear it." On February 17th, +1600, he was burned at the stake in the Campo de' Fiori at Rome. He +remained steadfast to the end, saying, "I die a martyr, and +willingly." His ashes were cast into the Tiber. Two hundred and +fifty-nine years afterwards, his statue was unveiled on the very +spot where he suffered; and the Italian government is bringing out +(1896) the first complete edition, the 'National Edition,' of his +works.</p> +<p>In their substance Bruno's writings belong to philosophy rather +than to literature, although they are still interesting both +historically and biographically as an index of the character of the +man and of the temper of the time. Many of the works have either +perished or are hidden away in inaccessible archives. For two +hundred years they were tabooed, and as late as 1836 forbidden to +be shown in the public library of Dresden. He published twenty-five +works in Latin and Italian, and left many others incomplete, for in +all his wanderings he was continually writing. The eccentric titles +show his desire to attract attention: as 'The Work of the Great +Key,' 'The Exploration of the Thirty Seals,' etc. The first extant +work is 'Il Candelajo' (The Taper), a comedy which in its license +of language and manner vividly reflects the time. In the dedication +he discloses his philosophy: 'Time takes away everything and gives +everything.' The 'Spaccio della Bestia Trionfante' (Expulsion of +the Triumphant Beast), the most celebrated of his works, is an +attack on the superstitions of the day, a curious medley of +learning, imagination, and buffoonery. 'Degl' Eroici Furori' (The +Heroic Enthusiasts) is the most interesting to modern readers, and +in its majestic exaltation and poetic imagery is a true product of +Italian culture.</p> +<p>Bruno was evidently a man of vast intellect and of immense +erudition. His philosophic speculations comprehended not only the +ancient thought, and that current at his time, but also reached out +toward the future and the results of modern science. He perceived +some of the facts which were later formulated in the theory of +evolution. "The mind of man differs from that of lower animals and +of plants not in quality but only in quantity.... Each individual +is the resultant of innumerable individuals. Each species is the +Starting point for the next.... No individual is the same to-day as +yesterday."</p> +<p>Not only in this divination of coming truths is he modern, but +also in his methods of investigation. Reason was to him the guide +to truth. In a study of him Lewes says:--"Bruno was a true +Neapolitan child--as ardent as its soil ... as capricious as its +varied climate. There was a restless energy which fitted him to +become the preacher of a new crusade--urging him to throw a haughty +defiance in the face of every authority in every country,--an +energy which closed his wild adventurous career at the stake." He +was distinguished also by a rich fancy, a varied humor, and a +chivalrous gallantry, which constantly remind us that the +intellectual athlete is an Italian, and an Italian of the sixteenth +century.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO01"></a> +<h3>A DISCOURSE OF POETS</h3> +<center>From 'The Heroic Enthusiasts'</center> +<br> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--Say, what do you mean by those who vaunt +themselves of myrtle and laurel?</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--Those may and do boast of the myrtle who sing +of love: if they bear themselves nobly, they may wear a crown of +that plant consecrated to Venus, of which they know the potency. +Those may boast of the laurel who sing worthily of things +pertaining to heroes, substituting heroic souls for speculative and +moral philosophy, praising them and setting them as mirrors and +exemplars for political and civil actions.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--There are then many species of poets and +crowns?</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--Not only as many as there are Muses, but a +great many more; for although genius is to be met with, yet certain +modes and species of human ingenuity cannot be thus classified.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--There are certain schoolmen who barely allow +Homer to be a poet, and set down Virgil, Ovid, Martial, Hesiod, +Lucretius, and many others as versifiers, judging them by the rules +of poetry of Aristotle.</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--Know for certain, my brother, that such as +these are beasts. They do not consider that those rules serve +principally as a frame for the Homeric poetry, and for other +similar to it; and they set up one as a great poet, high as Homer, +and disallow those of other vein and art and enthusiasm, who in +their various kinds are equal, similar, or greater.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--So that Homer was not a poet who depended upon +rules, but was the cause of the rules which serve for those who are +more apt at imitation than invention, and they have been used by +him who, being no poet, yet knew how to take the rules of Homeric +poetry into service, so as to become, not a poet or a Homer, but +one who apes the Muse of others?</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--Thou dost well conclude that poetry is not born +in rules, or only slightly and accidentally so: the rules are +derived, from the poetry, and there are as many kinds and sorts of +true rules as there are kinds and sorts of true poets.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--How then are the true poets to be known?</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--By the singing of their verses: in that singing +they give delight, or they edify, or they edify and delight +together.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--To whom then are the rules of Aristotle +useful?</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--To him who, unlike Homer, Hesiod, Orpheus, and +others, could not sing without the rules of Aristotle, and who, +having no Muse of his own, would coquette with that of Homer.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--Then they are wrong, those stupid pedants of our +days, who exclude from the number of poets those who do not use +words and metaphors conformable to, or whose principles are not in +union with, those of Homer and Virgil; or because they do not +observe the custom of invocation, or because they weave one history +or tale with another, or because they finish the song with an +epilogue on what has been said and a prelude on what is to be said, +and many other kinds of criticism and censure; from whence it seems +they would imply that they themselves, if the fancy took them, +could be the true poets: and yet in fact they are no other than +worms, that know not how to do anything well, but are born only to +gnaw and befoul the studies and labors of others; and not being +able to attain celebrity by their own virtue and ingenuity, seek to +put themselves in the front, by hook or by crook, through the +defects and errors of others.</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--There are as many sorts of poets as there are +sentiments and ideas; and to these it is possible to adapt +garlands, not only of every species of plant, but also of other +kinds of material. So the crowns of poets are made not only of +myrtle and of laurel, but of vine leaves for the white-wine verses, +and of ivy for the bacchanals; of olive for sacrifice and laws; of +poplar, of elm, and of corn for agriculture; of cypress for +funerals, and innumerable others for other occasions; and if it +please you, also of the material signified by a good fellow when he +exclaimed:</p> +<blockquote>"O Friar Leek! O Poetaster!<br> +That in Milan didst buckle on thy wreath<br> +Composed of salad, sausage, and the pepper-caster."</blockquote> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--Now surely he of divers moods, which he exhibits +in various ways, may cover himself with the branches of different +plants, and may hold discourse worthily with the Muses; for they +are his aura or comforter, his anchor or support, and his harbor, +to which he retires in times of labor, of agitation, and of storm. +Hence he cries:--"O Mountain of Parnassus, where I abide; Muses, +with whom I converse; Fountain of Helicon, where I am nourished; +Mountain, that affordest me a quiet dwelling-place; Muses, that +inspire me with profound doctrines; Fountain, that cleansest me; +Mountain, on whose ascent my heart uprises; Muses, that in +discourse revive my spirits; Fountain, whose arbors cool my +brows,--change my death into life, my cypress to laurels, and my +hells into heavens: that is, give me immortality, make me a poet, +render me illustrious!"</p> +<p><i>Tansillo</i>--Well; because to those whom Heaven favors, the +greatest evils turn to greatest good; for needs or necessities +bring forth labors and studies, and these most often bring the +glory of immortal splendor.</p> +<p><i>Cicada</i>--For to die in one age makes us live in all the +rest.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO02"></a> +<blockquote> <b>CANTICLE OF THE +SHINING ONES</b><br> +<br> + A Tribute to English Women, from 'The +Nolan'<br> +<br> +<br> + "Nothing I envy, Jove, from this thy +sky,"<br> + Spake Neptune thus, and +raised his lofty crest.<br> + "God of the waves," said Jove, "thy +pride runs high;<br> + What more wouldst add to +own thy stern behest?"<br> +<br> + "Thou," spake the god, "dost rule the +fiery span,<br> + The circling spheres, the +glittering shafts of day;<br> + Greater am I, who in the realm of +man<br> + Rule Thames, with all his +Nymphs in fair array.<br> +<br> + "In this my breast I hold the +fruitful land,<br> + The vasty reaches of the +trembling sea;<br> + And what in night's bright dome, or +day's, shall stand<br> + Before these radiant +maids who dwell with me?"<br> +<br> + "Not thine," said Jove, "god of the +watery mount,<br> + To exceed my lot; but +thou my lot shalt share:<br> + Thy heavenly maids among my stars +I'll count,<br> + And thou shalt own the +stars beyond compare!"</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO03"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE SONG OF THE NINE +SINGERS</b><br> +<br> + [<i>The first sings and plays the +cithern</i>.]<br> +<br> + O cliffs and rocks! O thorny woods! O +shore!<br> + O hills and dales! O valleys, rivers, +seas!<br> + How do your new-discovered beauties +please?<br> + O Nymph, 'tis yours the guerdon +rare,<br> + If now the open skies shine fair;<br> + O happy wanderings, well spent and +o'er!<br> +<br> + [<i>The second sings and plays to his +mandolin</i>.]<br> +<br> + O happy wanderings, well spent and +o'er!<br> + Say then, O Circe, these heroic +tears,<br> + These griefs, endured through tedious +months and years,<br> + Were as a grace divine bestowed<br> + If now our weary travail is no +more.<br> +<br> + [<i>The third sings and plays to his +lyre</i>.]<br> +<br> + If now our weary travail is no +more!<br> + If this sweet haven be our destined +rest,<br> + Then naught remains but to be +blest,<br> + To thank our God for all his +gifts,<br> + Who from our eyes the veil +uplifts,<br> + Where shines the light upon the +heavenly shore,<br> +<br> + [<i>The fourth sings to the +viol</i>.]<br> +<br> + Where shines the light upon the +heavenly shore!<br> + O blindness, dearer far than others' +sight!<br> + O sweeter grief than earth's most +sweet delight!<br> + For ye have led the erring soul<br> + By gradual steps to this fair +goal,<br> + And through the darkness into light +we soar.<br> +<br> + [<i>The fifth sings to a Spanish +timbrel</i>.]<br> +<br> + And through the darkness into light +we soar!<br> + To full fruition all high thought is +brought,<br> + With such brave patience that ev'n +we<br> + At least the only path can see,<br> + And in his noblest work our God +adore.<br> +<br> + [<i>The sixth sings to a +lute</i>.]<br> +<br> + And in his noblest work our God +adore!<br> + God doth not will joy +should to joy succeed,<br> + Nor ill shall be of other +ill the seed;<br> + But in his +hand the wheel of fate<br> + Turns, now +depressed and now elate,<br> + Evolving day from night for +evermore.<br> +<br> + [<i>The seventh sings to the Irish +harp</i>.]<br> +<br> + Evolving day from night for +evermore!<br> + And as yon robe of +glorious nightly fire<br> + Pales when the morning +beams to noon aspire,<br> + Thus He who +rules with law eternal,<br> + Creating +order fair diurnal,<br> + Casts down the proud and doth exalt +the poor.<br> +<br> + [<i>The eighth plays with a viol and +bow</i>.]<br> +<br> + Casts down the proud and doth exalt +the poor!<br> + And with an +equal hand maintains<br> + The boundless +worlds which He sustains,<br> + And scatters +all our finite sense<br> + At thought of +His omnipotence,<br> + Clouded awhile, to be revealed once +more.<br> +<br> + [<i>The ninth plays upon the +rebeck</i>.]<br> +<br> + Clouded awhile, to be revealed once +more!<br> + Thus neither +doubt nor fear avails;<br> + O'er all the +incomparable End prevails,<br> + O'er fair +champaign and mountain,<br> + O'er +river-brink and fountain,<br> + And o'er the shocks of seas and +perils of the shore.<br> +<br> + Translation of Isa +Blagden.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO04"></a> +<blockquote> <b>OF IMMENSITY</b><br> +<br> + From Frith's 'Life of Giordano +Bruno'<br> +<br> +<br> + 'Tis thou, O Spirit, dost within my +soul<br> + This weakly thought with +thine own life amend;<br> + Rejoicing, dost thy rapid +pinions lend<br> + Me, and dost wing me to that lofty +goal<br> + Where secret portals ope and fetters +break,<br> + And thou dost grant me, +by thy grace complete,<br> + Fortune to spurn, and death; O high +retreat,<br> + Which few attain, and +fewer yet forsake!<br> + Girdled with gates of brass in every +part,<br> + Prisoned and bound in +vain, 'tis mine to rise<br> + Through sparkling fields +of air to pierce the skies,<br> + Sped and accoutred by no doubting +heart,<br> + Till, raised on clouds of +contemplation vast,<br> + Light, leader, law, Creator, I attain +at last.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO05"></a> +<blockquote> <b>LIFE WELL LOST</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Winged by desire and thee, O dear +delight!<br> + As still the vast and +succoring air I tread,<br> + So, mounting still, on +swifter pinions sped,<br> + I scorn the world, and heaven +receives my flight.<br> + And if the end of Ikaros be nigh,<br> + I will submit, for I +shall know no pain:<br> + And falling dead to +earth, shall rise again;<br> + What lowly life with such high death +can vie?<br> + Then speaks my heart from out the +upper air,<br> + "Whither dost lead me? sorrow and +despair<br> + Attend the rash." and thus I make +reply:--<br> + "Fear thou no fall, nor +lofty ruin sent;<br> + Safely divide the clouds, +and die content,<br> + When such proud death is dealt thee +from on high."</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO06"></a> +<blockquote> <b>PARNASSUS +WITHIN</b><br> +<br> +<br> + O heart, 'tis you my chief Parnassus +are,<br> + Where for my safety I +must ever climb.<br> + My wingèd thoughts +are Muses, who from far<br> + Bring gifts of beauty to +the court of Time;<br> + And Helicon, that fair unwasted +rill,<br> + Springs newly in my tears +upon the earth,<br> + And by those streams and nymphs, and +by that hill,<br> + It pleased the gods to +give a poet birth.<br> + No favoring hand that comes of lofty +race,<br> + No priestly unction, nor +the grant of kings,<br> + Can on me lay such lustre and such +grace,<br> + Nor add such heritage; +for one who sings<br> + Hath a crowned head, and by the +sacred bay,<br> + His heart, his thoughts, his tears, +are consecrate alway.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO07"></a> +<blockquote> <b>COMPENSATION</b><br> +<br> +<br> + The moth beholds not death as forth +he flies<br> + Into the splendor of the +living flame;<br> + The hart athirst to crystal water +hies,<br> + Nor heeds the shaft, nor +fears the hunter's aim;<br> + The timid bird, returning from +above<br> + To join his mate, deems +not the net is nigh;<br> + Unto the light, the fount, and to my +love,<br> + Seeing the flame, the +shaft, the chains, I fly;<br> + So high a torch, love-lighted in the +skies,<br> + Consumes my soul; and +with this bow divine<br> + Of piercing sweetness what +terrestrial vies?<br> + This net of dear delight +doth prison mine;<br> + And I to life's last day have this +desire--<br> + Be mine thine arrows, love, and mine +thy fire.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRUNO08"></a> +<blockquote> <b>LIFE FOR SONG</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Come Muse, O Muse, so often scorned +by me,<br> + The hope of sorrow and +the balm of care,--<br> + Give to me speech and song, that I +may be<br> + Unchid by grief; grant me such graces +rare<br> + As other ministering +souls may never see<br> + Who boast thy laurel, and thy myrtle +wear.<br> + I know no joy wherein thou hast not +part,<br> + My speeding wind, my +anchor, and my goal,<br> + Come, fair Parnassus, lift thou up my +heart;<br> + Come, Helicon, renew my +thirsty soul.<br> + A cypress crown, O Muse, is thine to +give,<br> + And pain eternal: take +this weary frame,<br> + Touch me with fire, and this my death +shall live<br> + On all men's lips and in undying +fame.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRYANT"></a> +<h2>WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT</h2> +<h3>(1794-1878)</h3> +<center>BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-d.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>istinguished as he was by the lofty qualities of his verse, +William Cullen Bryant held a place almost unique in American +literature, by the union of his activity as a poet with his +eminence as a citizen and an influential journalist, throughout an +uncommonly long career. Two traits still further define the +peculiarity of his position--his precocious development, and the +evenness and sustained vigor of all his poetic work from the +beginning to the end. He began writing verse at the age of eight; +at ten he made contributions in this kind to the county gazette, +and produced a finished and effective rhymed address, read at his +school examination, which became popular for recitation; and in his +thirteenth year, during the Presidency of Thomas Jefferson, he +composed a political satire, 'The Embargo.' This, being published, +was at first supposed by many to be the work of a man, attracted +much attention and praise, and passed into a second edition with +other shorter pieces.</p> +<p>But these, while well wrought in the formal eighteenth-century +fashion, showed no special originality. It was with 'Thanatopsis,' +written in 1811, when he was only seventeen, that his career as a +poet of original and assured strength began. 'Thanatopsis' was an +inspiration of the primeval woods of America, of the scenes that +surrounded the writer in youth. At the same time it expressed with +striking independence and power a fresh conception of "the +universality of Death in the natural order." As has been well said, +"it takes the idea of death out of its theological aspects and +restores it to its proper place in the vast scheme of things. This +in itself was a mark of genius in a youth of his time and place." +Another American poet, Stoddard, calls it the greatest poem ever +written by so young a man. The author's son-in-law and biographer, +Parke Godwin, remarks upon it aptly, "For the first time on this +continent a poem was written destined to general admiration and +enduring fame;" and this indeed is a very significant point, that +it began the history of true poetry in the United States,--a fact +which further secured to Bryant his exceptional place. The poem +remains a classic of the English language, and the author himself +never surpassed the high mark attained in it; although the balanced +and lasting nature of his faculty is shown in a pendant to this +poem, which he created in his old age and entitled 'The Flood of +Years.' The last is equal to the first in dignity and finish, but +is less original, and has never gained a similar fame.</p> +<p>Another consideration regarding Bryant is, that representing a +modern development of poetry under American inspiration, he was +also a descendant of the early Massachusetts colonists, being +connected with the Pilgrim Fathers through three ancestral lines. +Born at Cummington, Massachusetts, November 3d, 1794, the son of a +stalwart but studious country physician of literary tastes, he +inherited the strong religious feeling of this ancestry, which was +united in him with a deep and sensitive love of nature. This led +him to reflect in his poems the strength and beauty of American +landscape, vividly as it had never before been mirrored; and the +blending of serious thought and innate piety with the sentiment for +nature so reflected gave a new and impressive result.</p> +<p>Like many other long-lived men, Bryant suffered from delicate +health in the earlier third of his life: there was a tendency to +consumption in his otherwise vigorous family stock. He read much, +and was much interested in Greek literature and somewhat influenced +by it. But he also lived a great deal in the open air, rejoiced in +the boisterous games and excursions in the woods with his brothers +and sisters, and took long rambles alone among the hills and wild +groves; being then, as always afterwards, an untiring walker. After +a stay of only seven months at Williams College, he studied law, +which he practiced for some eight years in Plainfield and Great +Barrington. In the last-named village he was elected a tithingman, +charged with the duty of keeping order in the churches and +enforcing the observance of Sunday. Chosen town clerk soon +afterwards, at a salary of five dollars a year, he kept the records +of the town with his own hand for five years, and also served as +justice of the peace with power to hear cases in a lower court. +These biographical items are of value, as showing his close +relation to the self-government of the people in its simpler forms, +and his early practical familiarity with the duties of a trusted +citizen.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, however, he kept on writing at intervals, and in 1821 +read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard a long poem, 'The +Ages,' a kind of composition more in favor at that period than in +later days, being a general review of the progress of man in +knowledge and virtue. With the passage of time it has not held its +own as against some of his other poems, although it long enjoyed a +high reputation; but its success on its original hearing was the +cause of his bringing together his first volume of poems, hardly +more than a pamphlet, in the same year. It made him famous with the +reading public of the United States, and won some recognition in +England. In this little book were contained, besides 'The Ages' and +'Thanatopsis,' several pieces which have kept their hold upon +popular taste; such as the well-known lines 'To a Waterfowl' and +the 'Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood.'</p> +<br> +<a name="bryant.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/bryant.jpg"><img src= +"images/bryant.jpg" width="45%" alt=""></a></p> +<p>The year of its publication also brought into the world Cooper's +'The Spy,' Irving's 'Sketch Book' and 'Bracebridge Hall,' with +various other significant volumes, including Channing's early +essays and Daniel Webster's great Plymouth Oration. It was evident +that a native literature was dawning brightly; and as Bryant's +productions now came into demand, and he had never liked the +profession of law, he quitted it and went to New York in 1825, +there to seek a living by his pen as "a literary adventurer." The +adventure led to ultimate triumph, but not until after a long term +of dark prospects and hard struggles.</p> +<p>Even in his latest years Bryant used to declare that his +favorite among his poems--although it is one of the least +known--was 'Green River'; perhaps because it recalled the scenes of +young manhood, when he was about entering the law, and contrasted +the peacefulness of that stream with the life in which he would +be</p> +<blockquote>"Forced to drudge for the dregs of men,<br> +And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen,<br> +And mingle among the jostling crowd,<br> +Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud."</blockquote> +<p>This might be applied to much of his experience in New York, +where he edited the New York Review and became one of the editors, +then a proprietor, and finally chief editor of the Evening Post. A +great part of his energies now for many years was given to his +journalistic function, and to the active outspoken discussion of +important political questions; often in trying crises and at the +cost of harsh unpopularity. Success, financial as well as moral, +came to him within the next quarter-century, during which laborious +interval he had likewise maintained his interest and work in pure +literature and produced new poems from time to time in various +editions.</p> +<p>From this point on until his death, June 12th, 1878, in his +eighty-fourth year, he was the central and commanding figure in the +enlarging literary world of New York. His newspaper had gained a +potent reputation, and it brought to bear upon public affairs a +strong influence of the highest sort. Its editorial course and +tone, as well as the earnest and patriotic part taken by Bryant in +popular questions and national affairs, without political ambition +or office-holding, had established him as one of the most +distinguished citizens of the metropolis, no less than its most +renowned poet. His presence and co-operation were indispensable in +all great public functions or humanitarian and intellectual +movements. In 1864 his seventieth birthday was celebrated at the +Century Club with extraordinary honors. In 1875, again, the two +houses of the State Legislature at Albany paid him the compliment, +unprecedented in the annals of American authorship, of inviting him +to a reception given to him in their official capacity. Another +mark of the abounding esteem in which he was held among his +fellow-citizens was the presentation to him in 1876 of a rich +silver vase, commemorative of his life and works. He was now a +wealthy man; yet his habits of life remained essentially unchanged. +His tastes were simple, his love of nature was still ardent; his +literary and editorial industry unflagging.</p> +<p>Besides his poems, Bryant wrote two short stories for 'Tales of +the Glauber Spa'; and published 'Letters of a Traveler' in 1850, as +a result of three journeys to Europe and the Orient, together with +various public addresses. His style as a writer of prose is clear, +calm, dignified, and denotes exact observation and a wide range of +interests. So too his editorial articles in the Evening Post, some +of which have been preserved in his collected writings, are couched +in serene and forcible English, with nothing of the sensational or +the colloquial about them. They were a fitting medium of expression +for his firm conscientiousness and integrity as a journalist.</p> +<p>But it is as a poet, and especially by a few distinctive +compositions, that Bryant will be most widely and deeply held in +remembrance. In the midst of the exacting business of his career as +an editor, and many public or social demands upon his time, he +found opportunity to familiarize himself with portions of German +and Spanish poetry, which he translated, and to maintain in the +quietude of his country home in Roslyn, Long Island, his old +acquaintance with the Greek and Latin classics. From this continued +study there resulted naturally in 1870 his elaborate translation of +Homer's Iliad, which was followed by that of the Odyssey in 1871. +These scholarly works, cast in strong and polished blank verse, won +high praise from American critics, and even achieved a popular +success, although they were not warmly acclaimed, in England. Among +literarians they are still regarded as in a manner standards of +their kind. Bryant, in his long march of over sixty-five years +across the literary field, was witness to many new developments in +poetic writing, in both his own and other countries. But while he +perceived the splendor and color and rich novelty of these, he held +in his own work to the plain theory and practice which had guided +him from the start. "The best poetry," he still believed--"that +which takes the strongest hold of the general mind, not in one age +only but in all ages--is that which is always simple and always +luminous." He did not embody in impassioned forms the sufferings, +emotions, or problems of the human kind, but was disposed to +generalize them, as in 'The Journey of Life,' the 'Hymn of the +City,' and 'The Song of the Sower,' it is characteristic that two +of the longer poems, 'Sella' and 'The Little People of the Snow,' +which are narratives, deal with legends of an individual human life +merging itself with the inner life of nature, under the form of +imaginary beings who dwell in the snow or in water. On the other +hand, one of his eulogists observes that although some of his +contemporaries went much beyond him in fullness of insight and +nearness to the great conflicts of the age, "he has certainly not +been surpassed, perhaps not been approached, by any writer since +Wordsworth, in that majestic repose and that self-reliant +simplicity which characterized the morning stars of song." In 'Our +Country's Call,' however, one hears the ring of true martial +enthusiasm; and there is a deep patriotic fervor in 'O Mother of a +Mighty Race.' The noble and sympathetic homage paid to the typical +womanhood of a genuine woman of every day, in 'The Conqueror's +Grave,' reveals also great underlying warmth and sensitiveness of +feeling. 'Robert of Lincoln,' and 'The Planting of the Apple-Tree' +are both touched with a lighter mood of joy in nature, which +supplies a contrast to his usual pensiveness.</p> +<p>Bryant's venerable aspect in old age--with erect form, white +hair, and flowing snowy beard--gave him a resemblance to Homer; and +there was something Homeric about his influence upon the literature +of his country, in the dignity with which he invested the poetic +art and the poet's relation to the people.</p> +<p class="sign"><img src="images/sign-339.png" width="60%" alt= +""></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>[All Bryant's poems were originally published by D. Appleton and +Company.]</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT01"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THANATOPSIS</b><br> +<br> + To him who in the love of Nature +holds<br> + Communion with her visible forms, she +speaks<br> + A various language; for his gayer +hours<br> + She has a voice of gladness, and a +smile<br> + And eloquence of beauty, and she +glides<br> + Into his darker musings, with a +mild<br> + And healing sympathy, that steals +away<br> + Their sharpness ere he is aware. When +thoughts<br> + Of the last bitter hour come like a +blight<br> + Over thy spirit, and sad images<br> + Of the stern agony, and shroud, and +pall,<br> + And breathless darkness, and the +narrow house,<br> + Make thee to shudder, and grow sick +at heart;--<br> + Go forth, under the open sky, and +list<br> + To Nature's teachings, while from all +around--<br> + Earth and her waters, and the depths +of air--<br> + Comes a still voice:--<br> +<br> + Yet +a few days, and thee<br> + The all-beholding sun shall see no +more<br> + In all his course; nor yet in the +cold ground,<br> + Where thy pale form was laid, with +many tears,<br> + Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall +exist<br> + Thy image. Earth, that nourished +thee, shall claim<br> + Thy growth, to be resolved to earth +again,<br> + And, lost each human trace, +surrendering up<br> + Thine individual being, shalt thou +go<br> + To mix for ever with the +elements,<br> + To be a brother to the insensible +rock<br> + And to the sluggish clod, which the +rude swain<br> + Turns with his share, and treads +upon. The oak<br> + Shall send his roots abroad, and +pierce thy mold.<br> +<br> + Yet not to thine eternal +resting-place<br> + Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst +thou wish<br> + Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt +lie down<br> + With patriarchs of the infant +world--with kings,<br> + The powerful of the earth--the wise, +the good,<br> + Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages +past,<br> + All in one mighty sepulchre. The +hills<br> + Rock-ribbed and ancient as the +sun,--the vales<br> + Stretching in pensive quietness +between;<br> + The venerable woods--rivers that +move<br> + In majesty, and the complaining +brooks<br> + That make the meadows green; and, +poured round all,<br> + Old Ocean's gray and melancholy +waste,--<br> + Are but the solemn decorations +all<br> + Of the great tomb of man. The golden +sun,<br> + The planets, all the infinite host of +heaven,<br> + Are shining on the sad abodes of +death,<br> + Through the still lapse of ages. All +that tread<br> + The globe are but a handful to the +tribes<br> + That slumber in its bosom.--Take the +wings<br> + Of morning, pierce the Barcan +wilderness,<br> + Or lose thyself in the continuous +woods<br> + Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no +sound<br> + Save his own dashings--yet the dead +are there;<br> + And millions in those solitudes, +since first<br> + The flight of years began, have laid +them down<br> + In their last sleep--the dead reign +there alone.<br> +<br> + So shalt thou rest; and what if thou +withdraw<br> + In silence from the living, and no +friend<br> + Take note of thy departure? All that +breathe<br> + Will share thy destiny. The gay will +laugh<br> + When thou art gone, the solemn brood +of care<br> + Plod on, and each one as before will +chase<br> + His favorite phantom; yet all these +shall leave<br> + Their mirth and their employments, +and shall come<br> + And make their bed with thee. As the +long train<br> + Of ages glides away, the sons of +men,--<br> + The youth in life's fresh spring and +he who goes<br> + In the full strength of years, matron +and maid,<br> + The speechless babe and the +gray-headed man--<br> + Shall one by one be gathered to thy +side,<br> + By those who in their turn shall +follow them.<br> +<br> + So live, that when thy +summons comes to join<br> + The innumerable caravan which +moves<br> + To that mysterious realm where each +shall take<br> + His chamber in the silent halls of +death,<br> + Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at +night,<br> + Scourged to his dungeon; but, +sustained and soothed<br> + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy +grave<br> + Like one who wraps the drapery of his +couch<br> + About him, and lies down to pleasant +dreams.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT02"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE CROWDED +STREET</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Let me move slowly through the +street,<br> + Filled with an +ever-shifting train,<br> + Amid the sound of steps that beat<br> + The murmuring walks like +autumn rain.<br> +<br> + How fast the flitting figures +come!<br> + The mild, the fierce, the +stony face--<br> + Some bright with thoughtless smiles, +and some<br> + Where secret tears have +lost their trace.<br> +<br> + They pass to toil, to strife, to +rest--<br> + To halls in which the +feast is spread--<br> + To chambers where the funeral +guest<br> + In silence sits beside +the dead.<br> +<br> + And some to happy homes repair,<br> + Where children, pressing +cheek to cheek,<br> + With mute caresses shall declare<br> + The tenderness they +cannot speak.<br> +<br> + And some, who walk in calmness +here,<br> + Shall shudder as they +reach the door<br> + Where one who made their dwelling +dear,<br> + Its flower, its light, is +seen no more.<br> +<br> + Youth, with pale cheek and slender +frame,<br> + And dreams of greatness +in thine eye!<br> + Go'st thou to build an early +name,<br> + Or early in the task to +die?<br> +<br> + Keen son of trade, with eager +brow!<br> + Who is now fluttering in +thy snare?<br> + Thy golden fortunes, tower they +now,<br> + Or melt the glittering +spires in air?<br> +<br> + Who of this crowd to-night shall +tread<br> + The dance till daylight +gleam again?<br> + Who sorrow o'er the untimely +dead?<br> + Who writhe in throes of +mortal pain?<br> +<br> + Some, famine-struck, shall think how +long<br> + The cold dark hours, how +slow the light;<br> + And some who flaunt amid the +throng<br> + Shall hide in dens of +shame to-night.<br> +<br> + Each where his tasks or pleasures +call,<br> + They pass, and heed each +other not.<br> + There is Who heeds, Who holds them +all<br> + In His large love and +boundless thought.<br> +<br> + These struggling tides of life, that +seem<br> + In wayward, aimless +course to tend,<br> + Are eddies of the mighty stream<br> + That rolls to its +appointed end.<br> +<br> +<br> + D. Appleton and Company, New +York.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT03"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE DEATH OF THE +FLOWERS</b><br> +<br> + The melancholy days are come, the +saddest of the year,<br> + Of wailing winds, and naked woods, +and meadows brown and sere.<br> + Heaped in the hollows of the grove, +the autumn leaves lie dead;<br> + They rustle to the eddying gust, and +to the rabbit's tread.<br> + The robin and the wren are flown, and +from the shrubs the jay,<br> + And from the wood-top calls the crow +through all the gloomy day.<br> +<br> + Where are the flowers, the fair young +flowers, that lately sprang and stood<br> + In brighter light and softer airs, a +beauteous sisterhood?<br> + Alas! they all are in their graves; +the gentle race of flowers<br> + Are lying in their lowly beds, with +the fair and good of ours.<br> + The rain is falling where they lie, +but the cold November rain<br> + Calls not from out the gloomy earth +the lovely ones again.<br> +<br> + The wind-flower and the violet, they +perished long ago,<br> + And the brier-rose and the orchis +died amid the summer glow;<br> + But on the hills the golden-rod, and +the aster in the wood,<br> + And the yellow sunflower by the +brook, in autumn beauty stood,<br> + Till fell the frost from the clear +cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,<br> + And the brightness of their smile was +gone from upland, glade, and glen.<br> +<br> + And now, when comes the calm mild +day, as still such days will come,<br> + To call the squirrel and the bee from +out their winter home;<br> + When the sound of dropping nuts is +heard, though all the trees are still,<br> + And twinkle in the smoky light the +waters of the rill,<br> + The south-wind searches for the +flowers whose fragrance late he bore,<br> + And sighs to find them in the wood +and by the stream no more.<br> +<br> + And then I think of one who in her +youthful beauty died,<br> + The fair meek blossom that grew up +and faded by my side.<br> + In the cold moist earth we laid her, +when the forests cast the leaf,<br> + And we wept that one so lovely should +have a life so brief;<br> + Yet not unmeet it was that one like +that young friend of ours,<br> + So gentle and so beautiful, should +perish with the flowers.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT04"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE CONQUEROR'S +GRAVE</b><br> +<br> + Within this lowly grave a Conqueror +lies,<br> + And yet the monument +proclaims it not,<br> + Nor round the sleeper's +name hath chisel wrought<br> + The emblems of a fame that never +dies,--<br> + Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful +sheaf,<br> + Twined with the laurel's fair, +imperial leaf.<br> + A simple name +alone,<br> + To the great +world unknown,<br> + Is graven here, and wild-flowers +rising round,<br> + Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the +ground,<br> + Lean lovingly against the +humble stone.<br> +<br> + Here, in the quiet earth, they laid +apart<br> + No man of iron mold and +bloody hands,<br> + Who sought to wreak upon +the cowering lands<br> + The passions that consumed his +restless heart:<br> + But one of tender spirit and delicate +frame,<br> + Gentlest, in +mien and mind,<br> + Of gentle +womankind,<br> + Timidly shrinking from the breath of +blame;<br> + One in whose eyes the smile of +kindness made<br> + Its haunts, like flowers +by sunny brooks in May,<br> + Yet, at the thought of others' pain, +a shade<br> + Of sweeter sadness chased +the smile away.<br> +<br> + Nor deem that when the hand that +molders here<br> + Was raised in menace, realms were +chilled with fear,<br> + And armies mustered at +the sign, as when<br> + Clouds rise on clouds before the +rainy East--<br> + Gray captains leading +bands of veteran men<br> + And fiery youths to be the vulture's +feast.<br> + Not thus were waged the mighty wars +that gave<br> + The victory to her who fills this +grave:<br> + Alone her +task was wrought,<br> + Alone the +battle fought;<br> + Through that long strife her constant +hope was staid<br> + On God alone, nor looked for other +aid.<br> +<br> + She met the hosts of Sorrow with a +look<br> + That altered not beneath +the frown they wore,<br> + And soon the lowering brood were +tamed, and took<br> + Meekly her gentle rule, +and frowned no more.<br> + Her soft hand put aside the assaults +of wrath,<br> + And +calmly broke in twain<br> + The +fiery shafts of pain,<br> + And rent the nets of passion from her +path.<br> + By that victorious hand +despair was slain.<br> + With love she vanquished hate and +overcame<br> + Evil with good, in her Great Master's +name.<br> +<br> + Her glory is not of this shadowy +state,<br> + Glory that with the +fleeting season dies;<br> + But when she entered at the sapphire +gate<br> + What joy was radiant in +celestial eyes!<br> + How heaven's bright depths with +sounding welcomes rung,<br> + And flowers of heaven by shining +hands were flung!<br> + And +He who long before,<br> + Pain, +scorn, and sorrow bore,<br> + The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect +sweet,<br> + Smiled on the timid stranger from his +seat;<br> + He who returning, +glorious, from the grave,<br> + Dragged Death disarmed, +in chains, a crouching slave.<br> +<br> + See, as I linger here, the sun grows +low;<br> + Cool airs are murmuring +that the night is near.<br> + O gentle sleeper, from the grave I +go,<br> + Consoled though sad, in +hope and yet in fear.<br> + +Brief is the time, I know,<br> + +The warfare scarce begun;<br> + Yet all may win the triumphs thou +hast won.<br> + Still flows the fount whose waters +strengthened thee;<br> + The victors' names are +yet too few to fill<br> + Heaven's mighty roll; the glorious +armory<br> + That ministered to thee, +is open still.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT05"></a> +<blockquote> + <b>THE-BATTLE-FIELD</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Once this soft turf, this rivulet's +sands,<br> + Were trampled by a +hurrying crowd,<br> + And fiery hearts and armed hands<br> + Encountered in the +battle-cloud.<br> +<br> + Ah! never shall the land forget<br> + How gushed the life-blood +of her brave--<br> + Gushed, warm with hope and courage +yet,<br> + Upon the soil they sought +to save.<br> +<br> + Now all is calm, and fresh, and +still;<br> + Alone the chirp of +flitting bird,<br> + And talk of children on the hill,<br> + And bell of wandering +kine are heard.<br> +<br> + No solemn host goes trailing by<br> + The black-mouthed gun and +staggering wain;<br> + Men start not at the battle-cry--<br> + Oh, be it never heard +again!<br> +<br> + Soon rested those who fought; but +thou<br> + Who minglest in the +harder strife<br> + For truths which men receive not +now,<br> + Thy warfare only ends +with life.<br> +<br> + A friendless warfare! lingering +long<br> + Through weary day and +weary year;<br> + A wild and many-weaponed throng<br> + Hang on thy front, and +flank, and rear.<br> +<br> + Yet nerve thy spirit to the +proof,<br> + And blench not at thy +chosen lot;<br> + The timid good may stand aloof,<br> + The sage may frown--yet +faint thou not.<br> +<br> + Nor heed the shaft too surely +cast,<br> + The foul and hissing bolt +of scorn;<br> + For with thy side shall dwell, at +last,<br> + The victory of endurance +born.<br> +<br> + Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise +again--<br> + The eternal years of God +are hers;<br> + But Error, wounded, writhes in +pain,<br> + And dies among his +worshipers.<br> +<br> + Yea, though thou lie upon the +dust,<br> + When they who helped thee +flee in fear,<br> + Die full of hope and manly trust,<br> + Like those who fell in +battle here!<br> +<br> + Another hand thy sword shall +wield,<br> + Another hand the standard +wave,<br> + Till from the trumpet's mouth is +pealed<br> + The blast of triumph o'er +thy grave.<br> +<br> +<br> + D. Appleton and Company, New +York.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT06"></a> +<blockquote> <b>TO A WATERFOWL</b><br> +<br> +<br> + Whither, 'midst falling dew,<br> + While +glow the heavens with the last steps of day,<br> + Far through their rosy depths dost +thou pursue<br> + Thy +solitary way?<br> +<br> + Vainly +the fowler's eye<br> + Might mark thy distant flight to do +thee wrong,<br> + As, darkly painted on the crimson +sky,<br> + Thy +figure floats along,<br> +<br> + Seek'st +thou the plashy brink<br> + Of weedy lake, or marge of river +wide,<br> + Or where the rocking billows rise and +sink<br> + On +the chafed ocean-side?<br> +<br> + There +is a Power whose care<br> + Teaches thy way along that pathless +coast--<br> + The desert and illimitable air--<br> + Lone +wandering, but not lost.<br> +<br> + All +day thy wings have fanned,<br> + At that far height, the cold thin +atmosphere,<br> + Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome +land,<br> + Though +the dark night is near.<br> +<br> + And +soon that toil shall end;<br> + Soon shalt thou find a summer home, +and rest,<br> + And scream among thy fellows; reeds +shall bend,<br> + Soon, +o'er thy sheltered nest.<br> +<br> + Thou'rt +gone, the abyss of heaven<br> + Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my +heart<br> + Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast +given,<br> + And +shall not soon depart.<br> +<br> + He +who, from zone to zone,<br> + Guides through the boundless sky thy +certain flight,<br> + In the long way that I must tread +alone,<br> + Will +lead my steps aright.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT07"></a> +<blockquote> <b>ROBERT OF +LINCOLN</b><br> +<br> + Merrily swinging on brier and +weed,<br> + Near to the nest of his +little dame,<br> + Over the mountain-side or mead,<br> + Robert of Lincoln is +telling his name:--<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink;<br> + Snug and safe is that nest of +ours,<br> + Hidden among the summer flowers.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,<br> + Wearing a bright black +wedding-coat;<br> + White are his shoulders and white his +crest.<br> + Hear him call in his +merry note:--<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink;<br> + Look what a nice new coat is +mine,<br> + Sure there was never a bird so +fine.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,<br> + Pretty and quiet, with +plain brown wings,<br> + Passing at home a patient life,<br> + Broods in the grass while +her husband sings:<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink:<br> + Brood, kind creature; you need not +fear<br> + Thieves and robbers while I am +here.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Modest and shy as a nun is she;<br> + One weak chirp is her +only note.<br> + Braggart and prince of braggarts is +he,<br> + Pouring boasts from his +little throat:--<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink:<br> + Never was I afraid of man;<br> + Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you +can!<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Six white eggs on a bed of hay,<br> + Flecked with purple, a +pretty sight!<br> + There as the mother sits all day,<br> + Robert is singing with +all his might:--<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink;<br> + Nice good wife, that never goes +out,<br> + Keeping house while I frolic +about.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Soon as the little ones chip the +shell,<br> + Six wide mouths are open +for food;<br> + Robert of Lincoln bestirs him +well,<br> + Gathering seeds for the +hungry brood.<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink;<br> + This new life is likely to be<br> + Hard for a gay young fellow like +me.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Robert of Lincoln at length is +made<br> + Sober with work, and +silent with care;<br> + Off is his holiday garment laid,<br> + Half forgotten that merry +air:<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink;<br> + Nobody knows but my mate and I<br> + Where our nest and our nestlings +lie.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> + Summer wanes; the children are +grown;<br> + Fun and frolic no more he +knows;<br> + Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum +crone;<br> + Off he flies, and we sing +as he goes:--<br> + Bob-o'-link, +bob-o'-link,<br> + Spink, spank, +spink;<br> + When you can pipe that merry old +strain,<br> + Robert of Lincoln, come back +again.<br> + Chee, +chee, chee.<br> +<br> +<br> + <i>1855</i></blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT08"></a> +<blockquote> <b>JUNE</b><br> +<br> + I gazed upon the glorious sky<br> + And the green mountains +round;<br> + And thought that when I came to +lie<br> + At rest within the +ground,<br> + 'Twere pleasant that in flowery +June,<br> + When brooks send up a cheerful +tune<br> + And groves a joyous +sound,<br> + The sexton's hand, my grave to +make,<br> + The rich green mountain turf should +break.<br> +<br> + A cell within the frozen mold,<br> + A coffin borne through +sleet,<br> + And icy clods above it rolled,<br> + While fierce the tempests +beat--<br> + Away! I will not think of these:<br> + Blue be the sky and soft the +breeze,<br> + Earth green beneath the +feet,<br> + And be the damp mold gently +pressed<br> + Into my narrow place of rest.<br> +<br> + There through the long, long summer +hours<br> + The golden light should +lie,<br> + And thick young herbs and groups of +flowers<br> + Stand in their beauty +by;<br> + The oriole should build and tell<br> + His love-tale close beside my +cell;<br> + The idle butterfly<br> + Should rest him there, and there be +heard<br> + The housewife bee and +humming-bird.<br> +<br> + And what if cheerful shouts at +noon<br> + Come, from the village +sent,<br> + Or songs of maids beneath the +moon,<br> + With fairy laughter +blent?<br> + And what if, in the evening +light,<br> + Betrothed lovers walk in sight<br> + Of my low monument?<br> + I would the lovely scene around<br> + Might know no sadder sight nor +sound.<br> +<br> + I know that I no more should see<br> + The season's glorious +show,<br> + Nor would its brightness shine for +me,<br> + Nor its wild music +flow;<br> + But if, around my place of sleep.<br> + The friends I love should come to +weep,<br> + They might not haste to +go.<br> + Soft airs, and song, and light, and +bloom,<br> + Should keep them lingering by my +tomb.<br> +<br> + These to their softened hearts should +bear<br> + The thought of what has +been,<br> + And speak of one who cannot share<br> + The gladness of the +scene;<br> + Whose part in all the pomp that +fills<br> + The circuit of the summer hills<br> + Is--that his grave is +green;<br> + And deeply would their hearts +rejoice<br> + To hear again his living +voice.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT09"></a> +<blockquote> <b>TO THE FRINGED +GENTIAN</b><br> +<br> + Thou blossom, bright with autumn +dew,<br> + And colored with the heaven's own +blue,<br> + That openest when the quiet light<br> + Succeeds the keen and frosty +night;<br> +<br> + Thou comest not when violets lean<br> + O'er wandering brooks and springs +unseen,<br> + Or columbines, in purple dressed,<br> + Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden +nest.<br> +<br> + Thou waitest late, and com'st +alone,<br> + When woods are bare and birds are +flown,<br> + And frost and shortening days +portend<br> + The aged Year is near his end.<br> +<br> + Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye<br> + Look through its fringes to the +sky,<br> + Blue--blue--as if that sky let +fall<br> + A flower from its cerulean wall.<br> +<br> + I would that thus, when I shall +see<br> + The hour of death draw near to +me,<br> + Hope, blossoming within my heart,<br> + May look to heaven as I depart.<br> +<br> +<br> + D. Appleton and Company, New +York.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT10"></a> +<blockquote> <b>THE FUTURE +LIFE</b><br> +<br> + How shall I know thee in the sphere +which keeps<br> + The disembodied spirits +of the dead,<br> + When all of thee that time could +wither sleeps<br> + And perishes among the +dust we tread?<br> +<br> + For I shall feel the sting of +ceaseless pain<br> + If there I meet thy +gentle presence not;<br> + Nor hear the voice I love, nor read +again<br> + In thy serenest eyes the +tender thought.<br> +<br> + Will not thy own meek heart demand me +there?<br> + That heart whose fondest +throbs to me were given?<br> + My name on earth was ever in thy +prayer,<br> + And wilt thou never utter +it in heaven?<br> +<br> + In meadows fanned by heaven's +life-breathing wind,<br> + In the resplendence of +that glorious sphere,<br> + And larger movements of the +unfettered mind,<br> + Wilt thou forget the love +that joined us here?<br> +<br> + The love that lived through all the +stormy past,<br> + And meekly with my +harsher nature bore,<br> + And deeper grew, and tenderer to the +last,<br> + Shall it expire with +life, and be no more?<br> +<br> + A happier lot than mine, and larger +light,<br> + Await thee there; for +thou hast bowed thy will<br> + In cheerful homage to the rule of +right,<br> + And lovest all, and +renderest good for ill.<br> +<br> + For me, the sordid cares in which I +dwell<br> + Shrink and consume my +heart, as heat the scroll;<br> + And wrath has left its scar--that +fire of hell<br> + Has left its frightful +scar upon my soul.<br> +<br> + Yet though thou wear'st the glory of +the sky,<br> + Wilt thou not keep the +same beloved name,<br> + The same fair thoughtful brow, and +gentle eye,<br> + Lovelier in heaven's +sweet climate, yet the same?<br> +<br> + Shalt thou not teach me, in that +calmer home,<br> + The wisdom that I learned +so ill in this--<br> + The wisdom which is love--till I +become<br> + Thy fit companion in that +land of bliss?<br> +<br> +<br> + D. Appleton and Company, New +York.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYANT11"></a> +<blockquote> <b>TO THE PAST</b><br> +<br> + Thou +unrelenting Past!<br> + Stern are the fetters round thy dark +domain,<br> + And +fetters, sure and fast,<br> + Hold all that enter thy unbreathing +reign.<br> +<br> + Far +in thy realm withdrawn<br> + Old empires sit in sullenness and +gloom,<br> + And +glorious ages gone<br> + Lie deep within the shadows of thy +womb.<br> +<br> + Childhood, +with all its mirth,<br> + Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to +the ground,<br> + And +last, Man's Life on earth,<br> + Glide to thy dim dominions, and are +bound.<br> +<br> + Thou +hast my better years,<br> + Thou hast my earlier friends--the +good, the kind--<br> + Yielded +to thee with tears--<br> + The venerable form, the exalted +mind.<br> +<br> + My +spirit yearns to bring<br> + The lost ones back; yearns with +desire intense,<br> + And +struggles hard to wring<br> + Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy +captives thence.<br> +<br> + In +vain!--Thy gates deny<br> + All passage save to those who hence +depart.<br> + Nor +to the streaming eye<br> + Thou givest them back, nor to the +broken heart.<br> +<br> + In +thy abysses hide<br> + Beauty and excellence unknown. To +thee<br> + Earth's +wonder and her pride<br> + Are gathered, as the waters to the +sea.<br> +<br> + Labors +of good to man,<br> + Unpublished charity, unbroken +faith;<br> + Love, +that 'midst grief began,<br> + And grew with years, and faltered not +in death.<br> +<br> + Full +many a mighty name<br> + Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, +unrevered.<br> + With +thee are silent Fame,<br> + Forgotten Arts, and Wisdom +disappeared.<br> +<br> + Thine +for a space are they.<br> + Yet thou shalt yield thy treasures up +at last;<br> + Thy +gates shall yet give way,<br> + Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable +Past!<br> +<br> + All +that of good and fair<br> + Has gone into thy womb from earliest +time<br> + Shall +then come forth, to wear<br> + The glory and the beauty of its +prime.<br> +<br> + They +have not perished--no!<br> + Kind words, remembered voices once so +sweet,<br> + Smiles, +radiant long ago,<br> + And features, the great soul's +apparent seat:<br> +<br> + All +shall come back. Each tie<br> + Of pure affection shall be knit +again:<br> + Alone +shall Evil die,<br> + And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy +reign.<br> +<br> + And +then shall I behold<br> + Him by whose kind paternal side I +sprung;<br> + And +her who, still and cold,<br> + Fills the next grave--the beautiful +and young.<br> +<br> +<br> + D. Appleton and Company, New +York.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BRYCE"></a> +<h2>JAMES BRYCE</h2> +<h3>(1838-)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-j.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>ames Bryce was born at Belfast, Ireland, of Scotch and Irish +parents. He studied at the University of Glasgow and later at +Oxford, where he graduated with high honors in 1862, and where +after some years of legal practice he was appointed Regius +Professor of Civil Law in 1870. He had already established a high +reputation as an original and accurate historical scholar by his +prize essay on the 'Holy Roman Empire' (1864), which passed through +many editions, was translated into German, French, and Italian, and +remains to-day a standard work and the best known work on the +subject, Edward A. Freeman said on the appearance of the work that +it had raised the author at once to the rank of a great historian. +It has done more than any other treatise to clarify the vague +notions of historians as to the significance of the imperial idea +in the Middle Ages, and its importance as a factor in German and +Italian politics; and it is safe to say that there is scarcely a +recent history of the period that does not show traces of its +influence. The scope of this work being juristic and philosophical, +it does not admit of much historical narrative, and the style is +lucid but not brilliant. It is not in fact as a historian that Mr. +Bryce is best known, but rather as a jurist, a politician, and a +student of institutions.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/bryce.jpg" width="45%" alt=""><br> +<b>James Bryce</b></p> +<p>The most striking characteristic of the man is his versatility; +a quality which in his case has not been accompanied by its usual +defects, for his achievements in one field seem to have made him no +less conscientious in others, while they have given him that +breadth of view which is more essential than any special training +to the critic of men and affairs. For the ten years that followed +his Oxford appointment he contributed frequently to the magazines +on geographical, social, and political topics. His vacations he +spent in travel and in mountain climbing, of which he gave an +interesting narrative in 'Transcaucasia and Ararat' (1877). In 1880 +he entered active politics, and was elected to Parliament in the +Liberal interest. He has continued steadfast in his support of the +Liberal party and of Mr. Gladstone, whose Home Rule policy he has +heartily seconded. In 1886 he became Gladstone's Under-Secretary of +Foreign Affairs, and in 1894 was appointed President of the Board +of Trade.</p> +<p>The work by which he is best known in this country, the +'American Commonwealth' (1888), is the fruit of his observations +during three visits to the United States, and of many years of +study. It is generally conceded to be the best critical analysis of +American institutions ever made by a foreign author. Inferior in +point of style to De Tocqueville's 'Democracy in America,' it far +surpasses that book in amplitude, breadth of view, acuteness of +observation, and minuteness of information; besides being half a +century later in date, and therefore able to set down accomplished +facts where the earlier observer could only make forecasts. His +extensive knowledge of foreign countries, by divesting him of +insular prejudice, fitted him to handle his theme with +impartiality, and his experience in the practical workings of +British institutions gave him an insight into the practical defects +and benefits of ours. That he has a keen eye for defects is +obvious, but his tone is invariably sympathetic; so much so, in +fact, that Goldwin Smith has accused him of being somewhat "hard on +England" in some of his comparisons. The faults of the book pertain +rather to the manner than to the matter. He does not mislead, but +sometimes wearies, and in some portions of the work the frequent +repetitions, the massing of details, and the absence of compact +statement tend to obscure the general drift of his argument and to +add unduly to the bulkiness of his volumes.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYCE01"></a> +<h3>THE POSITION OF WOMEN IN THE UNITED STATES</h3> +<center>From 'The American Commonwealth'</center> +<br> +<p>Social intercourse between youths and maidens is everywhere more +easy and unrestrained than in England or Germany, not to speak of +France. Yet there are considerable differences between the Eastern +cities, whose usages have begun to approximate to those of Europe, +and other parts of the country. In the rural districts, and +generally all over the West, young men and girls are permitted to +walk together, drive together, go out to parties and even to public +entertainments together, without the presence of any third person +who can be supposed to be looking after or taking charge of the +girl. So a girl may, if she pleases, keep up a correspondence with +a young man, nor will her parents think of interfering. She will +have her own friends, who when they call at her house ask for her, +and are received by her, it may be alone; because they are not +deemed to be necessarily the friends of her parents also, nor even +of her sisters.</p> +<p>In the cities of the Atlantic States it is now thought scarcely +correct for a young man to take a young lady out for a solitary +drive; and in few sets would he be permitted to escort her alone to +the theatre. But girls still go without chaperons to dances, the +hostess being deemed to act as chaperon for all her guests; and as +regards both correspondence and the right to have one's own circle +of acquaintances, the usage even of New York or Boston allows more +liberty than does that of London or Edinburgh. It was at one time, +and it may possibly still be, not uncommon for a group of young +people who know one another well to make up an autumn "party in the +woods." They choose some mountain and forest region, such as the +Adirondack Wilderness west of Lake Champlain, engage three or four +guides, embark with guns and fishing-rods, tents, blankets, and a +stock of groceries, and pass in boats up the rivers and across the +lakes of this wild country through sixty or seventy miles of +trackless forest, to their chosen camping-ground at the foot of +some tall rock that rises from the still crystal of the lake. Here +they build their bark hut, and spread their beds of the elastic and +fragrant hemlock boughs; the youths roam about during the day, +tracking the deer, the girls read and work and bake the corn-cakes; +at night there is a merry gathering round the fire, or a row in the +soft moonlight. On these expeditions brothers will take their +sisters and cousins, who bring perhaps some lady friends with them; +the brothers' friends will come too; and all will live together in +a fraternal way for weeks or months, though no elderly relative or +married lady be of the party.</p> +<p>There can be no doubt that the pleasure of life is sensibly +increased by the greater freedom which transatlantic custom +permits; and as the Americans insist that no bad results have +followed, one notes with regret that freedom declines in the places +which deem themselves most civilized. American girls have been, so +far as a stranger can ascertain, less disposed to what are called +"fast ways" than girls of the corresponding classes in England, and +exercise in this respect a pretty rigorous censorship over one +another. But when two young people find pleasure in one another's +company, they can see as much of each other as they please, can +talk and walk together frequently, can show that they are mutually +interested, and yet need have little fear of being misunderstood +either by one another or by the rest of the world. It is all a +matter of custom. In the West, custom sanctions this easy +friendship; in the Atlantic cities, so soon as people have come to +find something exceptional in it, constraint is felt, and a +conventional etiquette like that of the Old World begins to replace +the innocent simplicity of the older time, the test of whose merit +may be gathered from the universal persuasion in America that happy +marriages are in the middle and upper ranks more common than in +Europe, and that this is due to the ampler opportunities which +young men and women have of learning one another's characters and +habits before becoming betrothed. Most girls have a larger range of +intimate acquaintances than girls have in Europe, intercourse is +franker, there is less difference between the manners of home and +the manners of general society. The conclusions of a stranger are +in such matters of no value; so I can only repeat that I have never +met any judicious American lady who, however well she knew the Old +World, did not think that the New World customs conduced more both +to the pleasantness of life before marriage, and to constancy and +concord after it.</p> +<p>In no country are women, and especially young women, so much +made of. The world is at their feet. Society seems organized for +the purpose of providing enjoyment for them. Parents, uncles, +aunts, elderly friends, even brothers, are ready to make their +comfort and convenience bend to the girls' wishes. The wife has +fewer opportunities for reigning over the world of amusements, +because except among the richest people she has more to do in +household management than in England, owing to the scarcity of +servants; but she holds in her own house a more prominent if not a +more substantially powerful position than in England or even in +France. With the German <i>haus-frau</i>, who is too often content +to be a mere housewife, there is of course no comparison. The best +proof of the superior place American ladies occupy is to be found +in the notions they profess to entertain of the relations of an +English married pair. They talk of the English wife as little +better than a slave; declaring that when they stay with English +friends, or receive an English couple in America, they see the wife +always deferring to the husband and the husband always assuming +that his pleasure and convenience are to prevail. The European +wife, they admit, often gets her own way, but she gets it by +tactful arts, by flattery or wheedling or playing on the man's +weaknesses; whereas in America the husband's duty and desire is to +gratify the wife, and render to her those services which the +English tyrant exacts from his consort. One may often hear an +American matron commiserate a friend who has married in Europe, +while the daughters declare in chorus that they will never follow +the example. Laughable as all this may seem to English women, it is +perfectly true that the theory as well as the practice of conjugal +life is not the same in America as in England. There are +overbearing husbands in America, but they are more condemned by the +opinion of the neighborhood than in England. There are exacting +wives in England, but their husbands are more pitied than would be +the case in America. In neither country can one say that the +principle of perfect equality reigns; for in America the balance +inclines nearly, though not quite, as much in favor of the wife as +it does in England in favor of the husband. No one man can have a +sufficiently large acquaintance in both countries to entitle his +individual opinion on the results to much weight. So far as I have +been able to collect views from those observers who have lived in +both countries, they are in favor of the American practice, perhaps +because the theory it is based on departs less from pure equality +than does that of England. These observers do not mean that the +recognition of women as equals or superiors makes them any better +or sweeter or wiser than Englishwomen; but rather that the +principle of equality, by correcting the characteristic faults of +men, and especially their selfishness and vanity, is more conducive +to the concord and happiness of a home. They conceive that to make +the wife feel her independence and responsibility more strongly +than she does in Europe tends to brace and expand her character; +while conjugal affection, usually stronger in her than in the +husband, inasmuch as there are fewer competing interests, saves her +from abusing the precedence yielded to her. This seems to be true; +but I have heard others maintain that the American system, since it +does not require the wife habitually to forego her own wishes, +tends, if not to make her self-indulgent and capricious, yet +slightly to impair the more delicate charms of character; as it is +written, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."</p> +<p>A European cannot spend an evening in an American drawing-room +without perceiving that the attitude of men to women is not that +with which he is familiar at home. The average European man has +usually a slight sense of condescension when he talks to a woman on +serious subjects. Even if she is his superior in intellect, in +character, in social rank, he thinks that as a man he is her +superior, and consciously or unconsciously talks down to her. She +is too much accustomed to this to resent it, unless it becomes +tastelessly palpable. Such a notion does not cross an American's +mind. He talks to a woman just as he would to a man; of course with +more deference of manner, and with a proper regard to the topics +likely to interest her, but giving her his intellectual best, +addressing her as a person whose opinion is understood by both to +be worth as much as his own. Similarly an American lady does not +expect to have conversation made to her: it is just as much her +duty or pleasure to lead it as the man's is; and more often than +not she takes the burden from him, darting along with a gay +vivacity which puts to shame his slower wits.</p> +<p>It need hardly be said that in all cases where the two sexes +come into competition for comfort, the provision is made first for +women. In railroads the end car of the train, being that farthest +removed from the smoke of the locomotive, is often reserved for +them (though men accompanying a lady are allowed to enter it); and +at hotels their sitting-room is the best and sometimes the only +available public room, ladyless guests being driven to the bar or +the hall. In omnibuses and horse-cars (tram-cars), it was formerly +the custom for a gentleman to rise and offer his seat to a lady if +there were no vacant place. This is now less universally done. In +New York and Boston (and I think also in San Francisco), I have +seen the men keep their seats when ladies entered; and I recollect +one occasion when the offer of a seat to a lady was declined by +her, on the ground that as she had chosen to enter a full car she +ought to take the consequences. It was (I was told in Boston) a +feeling of this kind that had led to the discontinuance of the old +courtesy: when ladies constantly pressed into the already crowded +vehicles, the men, who could not secure the enforcement of the +regulations against over-crowding, tried to protect themselves by +refusing to rise. It is sometimes said that the privileges yielded +to American women have disposed them to claim as a right what was +only a courtesy, and have told unfavorably upon their manners. I +know of several instances, besides this one of the horse-cars, +which might seem to support the criticism, but cannot on the whole +think it well founded. The better-bred women do not presume on +their sex, and the area of good breeding is always widening. It +need hardly be said that the community at large gains by the +softening and restraining influence which the reverence for +womanhood diffuses. Nothing so quickly incenses the people as any +insult offered to a woman. Wife-beating, and indeed any kind of +rough violence offered to women, is far less common among the +rudest class than it is in England. Field work or work at the +pit-mouth of mines is seldom or never done by women in America; and +the American traveler who in some parts of Europe finds women +performing severe manual labor, is revolted by the sight in a way +which Europeans find surprising.</p> +<p>In the farther West, that is to say, beyond the Mississippi, in +the Rocky Mountain and Pacific States, one is much struck by what +seems the absence of the humblest class of women. The trains are +full of poorly dressed and sometimes (though less frequently) +rough-mannered men. One discovers no women whose dress or air marks +them out as the wives, daughters, or sisters of these men, and +wonders whether the male population is celibate, and if so, why +there are so many women. Closer observation shows that the wives, +daughters, and sisters are there, only their attire and manner are +those of what Europeans would call middle-class and not +working-class people. This is partly due to the fact that Western +men affect a rough dress. Still one may say that the remark so +often made, that the masses of the American people correspond to +the middle class of Europe, is more true of the women than of the +men; and is more true of them, in the rural districts and in the +West than it is of the inhabitants of Atlantic cities. I remember +to have been dawdling in a book-store in a small town in Oregon +when a lady entered to inquire if a monthly magazine, whose name +was unknown to me, had yet arrived. When she was gone I asked the +salesman who she was, and what was the periodical she wanted. He +answered that she was the wife of a railway workman, that the +magazine was a journal of fashions, and that the demand for such +journals was large and constant among women of the wage-earning +class in the town. This set me to observing female dress more +closely; and it turned out to be perfectly true that the women in +these little towns were following the Parisian fashions very +closely, and were in fact ahead of the majority of English ladies +belonging to the professional and mercantile classes. Of course in +such a town as I refer to, there are no domestic servants except in +the hotels (indeed, almost the only domestic service to be had in +the Pacific States was till very recently that of Chinese), so +these votaries of fashion did all their own housework and looked +after their own babies.</p> +<p>Three causes combine to create among American women an average +of literary taste and influence higher than that of women in any +European country. These are the educational facilities they enjoy, +the recognition of the equality of the sexes in the whole social +and intellectual sphere, and the leisure which they possess as +compared with men. In a country where men are incessantly occupied +at their business or profession, the function of keeping up the +level of culture devolves upon women. It is safe in their hands. +They are quick and keen-witted, less fond of open-air life and +physical exertion than English women are, and obliged by the +climate to pass a greater part of their time under shelter from the +cold of winter and the sun of summer. For music and for the +pictorial arts they do not yet seem to have formed so strong a +taste as for literature; partly perhaps owing to the fact that in +America the opportunities of seeing and hearing masterpieces, +except indeed operas, are rarer than in Europe. But they are eager +and assiduous readers of all such books and periodicals as do not +presuppose special knowledge in some branch of science or learning, +while the number who have devoted themselves to some special study +and attained proficiency in it is large. The fondness for +sentiment, especially moral and domestic sentiment, which is often +observed as characterizing American taste in literature, seems to +be mainly due to the influence of women, for they form not only the +larger part of the reading public, but an independent-minded part, +not disposed to adopt the canons laid down by men, and their +preferences count for more in the opinions and predilections of the +whole nation than is the case in England. Similarly the number of +women who write is infinitely larger in America than in Europe. +Fiction, essays, and poetry are naturally their favorite provinces. +In poetry more particularly, many whose names are quite unknown in +Europe have attained wide-spread fame.</p> +<p>Some one may ask how far the differences between the position of +women in America and their position in Europe are due to democracy? +or if not to this, then to what other cause?</p> +<p>They are due to democratic feeling, in so far as they spring +from the notion that all men are free and equal, possessed of +certain inalienable rights and owing certain corresponding duties. +This root idea of democracy cannot stop at defining men as male +human beings, any more than it could ultimately stop at defining +them as white human beings. For many years the Americans believed +in equality with the pride of discoverers as well as with the +fervor of apostles. Accustomed to apply it to all sorts and +conditions of men, they were naturally the first to apply it to +women also; not indeed as respects politics, but in all the social +as well as legal relations of life. Democracy is in America more +respectful of the individual, less disposed to infringe his freedom +or subject him to any sort of legal or family control, than it has +shown itself in Continental Europe; and this regard for the +individual inured to the benefit of women. Of the other causes that +have worked in the same direction, two may be mentioned. One is the +usage of the Congregationalist, Presbyterian, and Baptist churches, +under which a woman who is a member of the congregation has the +same rights in choosing a deacon, elder, or pastor, as a man has. +Another is the fact that among the westward-moving settlers women +were at first few in number, and were therefore treated with +special respect. The habit then formed was retained as the +communities grew, and propagated itself all over the country.</p> +<p>What have been the results on the character and usefulness of +women themselves?</p> +<p>Favorable. They have opened to them a wider life and more +variety of career. While the special graces of the feminine +character do not appear to have suffered, there has been produced a +sort of independence and a capacity for self-help which are +increasingly valuable as the number of unmarried women increases. +More resources are open to an American woman who has to lead a +solitary life, not merely in the way of employment, but for the +occupation of her mind and tastes, than to a European spinster or +widow; while her education has not rendered the American wife less +competent for the discharge of household duties.</p> +<p>How has the nation at large been affected by the development of +this new type of womanhood, or rather perhaps of this variation on +the English type?</p> +<p>If women have on the whole gained, it is clear that the nation +gains through them. As mothers they mold the character of their +children; while the function of forming the habits of society and +determining its moral tone rests greatly in their hands. But there +is reason to think that the influence of the American system tells +directly for good upon men as well as upon the whole community. Men +gain in being brought to treat women as equals, rather than as +graceful playthings or useful drudges. The respect for women which +every American man either feels, or is obliged by public sentiment +to profess, has a wholesome effect on his conduct and character, +and serves to check the cynicism which some other peculiarities of +the country foster. The nation as a whole owes to the active +benevolence of its women, and their zeal in promoting social +reforms, benefits which the customs of Continental Europe would +scarcely have permitted women to confer. Europeans have of late +years begun to render a well-deserved admiration to the brightness +and vivacity of American ladies. Those who know the work they have +done and are doing in many a noble cause will admire still more +their energy, their courage, their self-devotion. No country seems +to owe more to its women than America does, nor to owe to them so +much of what is best in social institutions and in the beliefs that +govern conduct.</p> +<p>By permission of James Bryce and the Macmillan Company.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYCE02"></a> +<h3>THE ASCENT OF ARARAT</h3> +<center>From 'Trans-Caucasia and Ararat'</center> +<br> +<p>About 1 A.M. we got off, thirteen in all, and made straight +across the grassy hollows for the ridges which trend up towards the +great cone, running parallel in a west-north-westerly direction, +and inclosing between them several long narrow depressions, hardly +deep enough to be called valleys. The Kurds led the way, and at +first we made pretty good progress. The Cossacks seemed fair +walkers, though less stalwart than the Kurds; the pace generally +was better than that with which Swiss guides start. However, we +were soon cruelly undeceived. In twenty-five minutes there came a +steep bit, and at the top of it they flung themselves down on the +grass to rest. So did we all. Less than half a mile farther, down +they dropped again, and this time we were obliged to give the +signal for resuming the march. In another quarter of an hour they +were down once more, and so it continued for the rest of the way. +Every ten minutes' walking--it was seldom steep enough to be called +actual climbing--was followed by seven or eight minutes of sitting +still, smoking and chattering. How they did chatter! It was to no +purpose that we continued to move on when they sat down, or that we +rose to go before they had sufficiently rested. They looked at one +another, so far as I could make out by the faint light, and +occasionally they laughed; but they would not and did not stir till +such time as pleased themselves. We were helpless. Impossible to go +on alone; impossible also to explain to them why every moment was +precious, for the acquaintance who had acted as interpreter had +been obliged to stay behind at Sardarbulakh, and we were absolutely +without means of communication with our companions. One could not +even be angry, had there been any use in that, for they were +perfectly good-humored. It was all very well to beckon them, or +pull them by the elbow, or clap them on the back; they thought this +was only our fun, and sat still and chattered all the same. When it +grew light enough to see the hands of a watch, and mark how the +hours advanced while the party did not, we began for a second time +to despair of success.</p> +<p>About 3 A.M. there suddenly sprang up from behind the Median +mountains the morning star, shedding a light such as no star ever +gave in these northern climes of ours,--a light that almost +outshone the moon. An hour later it began to pale in the first +faint flush of yellowish light that spread over the eastern heaven; +and first the rocky masses above us, then Little Ararat, throwing +behind him a gigantic shadow, then the long lines of mountains +beyond the Araxes, became revealed, while the wide Araxes plain +still lay dim and shadowy below. One by one the stars died out as +the yellow turned to a deeper glow that shot forth in long +streamers, the rosy fingers of the dawn, from the horizon to the +zenith. Cold and ghostly lay the snows on the mighty cone; till at +last there came upon their topmost slope, six thousand feet above +us, a sudden blush of pink. Swiftly it floated down the eastern +face, and touched and kindled the rocks just above us. Then the sun +flamed out, and in a moment the Araxes valley and all the hollows +of the savage ridges we were crossing were flooded with +overpowering light.</p> +<p>It was nearly six o'clock, and progress became easier now that +we could see our way distinctly. The Cossacks seemed to grow +lazier, halting as often as before and walking less briskly; in +fact, they did not relish the exceeding roughness of the jagged +lava ridges along whose tops or sides we toiled. I could willingly +have lingered here myself; for in the hollows, wherever a little +soil appeared, some interesting plants were growing, whose +similarity to and difference from the Alpine species of Western +Europe alike excited one's curiosity. Time allowed me to secure +only a few; I trusted to get more on the way back, but this turned +out to be impossible. As we scrambled along a ridge above a long +narrow winding glen filled with loose blocks, one of the Kurds +suddenly swooped down like a vulture from the height on a spot at +the bottom, and began peering and grubbing among the stones. In a +minute or two he cried out, and the rest followed; he had found a +spring, and by scraping in the gravel had made a tiny basin out of +which we could manage to drink a little. Here was a fresh cause of +delay: everybody was thirsty, and everybody must drink; not only +the water which, as we afterwards saw, trickled down hither under +the stones from a snow-bed seven hundred feet higher, but the water +mixed with some whisky from a flask my friend carried, which even +in this highly diluted state the Cossacks took to heartily. When at +last we got them up and away again, they began to waddle and +strangle; after a while two or three sat down, and plainly gave us +to see they would go no farther. By the time we had reached a +little snow-bed whence the now strong sun was drawing a stream of +water, and halted on the rocks beside it for breakfast, there were +only two Cossacks and the four Kurds left with us, the rest having +scattered themselves about somewhere lower down. We had no idea +what instructions they had received, nor whether indeed they had +been told anything except to bring us as far as they could, to see +that the Kurds brought the baggage, and to fetch us back again, +which last was essential for Jaafar's peace of mind. We concluded +therefore that if left to themselves they would probably wait our +return; and the day was running on so fast that it was clear there +was no more time to be lost in trying to drag them along with +us.</p> +<p>Accordingly I resolved to take what I wanted in the way of food, +and start at my own pace. My friend, who carried more weight, and +had felt the want of training on our way up, decided to come no +farther, but wait about here, and look out for me towards +nightfall. We noted the landmarks carefully,--the little snow-bed, +the head of the glen covered with reddish masses of stone and +gravel; and high above it, standing out of the face of the great +cone of Ararat, a bold peak or rather projecting tooth of black +rock, which our Cossacks called the Monastery, and which, I suppose +from the same fancied resemblance to a building, is said to be +called in Tatar Tach Kilissa, "the church rock." It is doubtless an +old cone of eruption, about thirteen thousand feet in height, and +is really the upper end of the long ridge we had been following, +which may perhaps represent a lava flow from it, or the edge of a +fissure which at this point found a vent.</p> +<p>It was an odd position to be in: guides of two different races, +unable to communicate either with us or with one another: guides +who could not lead and would not follow; guides one-half of whom +were supposed to be there to save us from being robbed and murdered +by the other half, but all of whom, I am bound to say, looked for +the moment equally simple and friendly, the swarthy Iranian as well +as the blue-eyed Slav.</p> +<p>At eight o'clock I buckled on my canvas gaiters, thrust some +crusts of bread, a lemon, a small flask of cold tea, four +hard-boiled eggs, and a few meat lozenges into my pocket, bade +good-by to my friend, and set off. Rather to our surprise, the two +Cossacks and one of the Kurds came with me, whether persuaded by a +pantomime of encouraging signs, or simply curious to see what would +happen. The ice-axe had hugely amused the Cossacks all through. +Climbing the ridge to the left, and keeping along its top for a +little way, I then struck across the semi-circular head of a wide +glen, in the middle of which, a little lower, lay a snow-bed over a +long steep slope of loose broken stones and sand. This slope, a +sort of talus or "screen" as they say in the Lake country, was +excessively fatiguing from the want of firm foothold; and when I +reached the other side, I was already so tired and breathless, +having been on foot since midnight, that it seemed almost useless +to persevere farther. However, on the other side I got upon solid +rock, where the walking was better, and was soon environed by a +multitude of rills bubbling down over the stones from the +stone-slopes above. The summit of Little Ararat, which had for the +last two hours provokingly kept at the same apparent height above +me, began to sink, and before ten o'clock I could look down upon +its small flat top, studded with lumps of rock, but bearing no +trace of a crater. Mounting steadily along the same ridge, I saw at +a height of over thirteen thousand feet, lying on the loose blocks, +a piece of wood about four feet long and five inches thick, +evidently cut by some tool, and so far above the limit of trees +that it could by no possibility be a natural fragment of one. +Darting on it with a glee that astonished the Cossack and the Kurd, +I held it up to them, and repeated several times the word "Noah." +The Cossack grinned; but he was such a cheery, genial fellow that I +think he would have grinned whatever I had said, and I cannot be +sure that he took my meaning, and recognized the wood as a fragment +of the true Ark. Whether it was really gopher wood, of which +material the Ark was built, I will not undertake to say, but am +willing to submit to the inspection of the curious the bit which I +cut off with my ice-axe and brought away. Anyhow, it will be hard +to prove that it is not gopher wood. And if there be any remains of +the Ark on Ararat at all,--a point as to which the natives are +perfectly clear,--here rather than the top is the place where one +might expect to find them, since in the course of ages they would +get carried down by the onward movement of the snow-beds along the +declivities. This wood, therefore, suits all the requirements of +the case. In fact, the argument is for the case of a relic +exceptionally strong: the Crusaders who found the Holy Lance at +Antioch, the archbishop who recognized the Holy Coat at Treves, not +to speak of many others, proceeded upon slighter evidence. I am, +however, bound to admit that another explanation of the presence of +this piece of timber on the rocks of this vast height did occur to +me. But as no man is bound to discredit his own relic, and such is +certainly not the practice of the Armenian Church, I will not +disturb my readers' minds or yield to the rationalizing tendencies +of the age by suggesting it.</p> +<p>Fearing that the ridge by which we were mounting would become +too precipitous higher up, I turned off to the left, and crossed a +long, narrow snow-slope that descended between this ridge and +another line of rocks more to the west. It was firm, and just steep +enough to make steps cut in the snow comfortable, though not +necessary; so the ice-axe was brought into use. The Cossack who +accompanied me--there was but one now, for the other Cossack had +gone away to the right some time before, and was quite lost to +view--had brought my friend's alpenstock, and was developing a +considerable capacity for wielding it. He followed nimbly across; +but the Kurd stopped on the edge of the snow, and stood peering and +hesitating, like one who shivers on the plank at a bathing-place, +nor could the jeering cries of the Cossack induce him to venture on +the treacherous surface. Meanwhile, we who had crossed were +examining the broken cliff which rose above us. It looked not +exactly dangerous, but a little troublesome, as if it might want +some care to get over or through. So after a short rest I stood up, +touched my Cossack's arm, and pointed upward. He reconnoitred the +cliff with his eye, and shook his head. Then, with various gestures +of hopefulness, I clapped him on the back, and made as though to +pull him along. He looked at the rocks again and pointed, to them, +stroked his knees, turned up and pointed to the soles of his boots, +which certainly were suffering from the lava, and once more +solemnly shook his head. This was conclusive: so I conveyed to him +my pantomime that he had better go back to the bivouac where my +friend was, rather than remain here alone, and that I hoped to meet +him there in the evening; took an affectionate farewell, and turned +towards the rocks. There was evidently nothing for it but to go on +alone. It was half-past ten o'clock, and the height about thirteen +thousand six hundred feet, Little Ararat now lying nearly one +thousand feet below the eye.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>Not knowing how far the ridge I was following might continue +passable, I was obliged to stop frequently to survey the rocks +above, and erect little piles of stone to mark the way. This not +only consumed time, but so completely absorbed the attention that +for hours together I scarcely noticed the marvelous landscape +spread out beneath, and felt the solemn grandeur of the scenery far +less than many times before on less striking mountains. Solitude at +great heights, or among majestic rocks or forests, commonly stirs +in us all deep veins of feeling, joyous or saddening, or more often +of joy and sadness mingled. Here the strain on the observing senses +seemed too great for fancy or emotion to have any scope. When the +mind is preocupied by the task of the moment, imagination is +checked. This was a race against time, in which I could only scan +the cliffs for a route, refer constantly to the watch, husband my +strength by morsels of food taken at frequent intervals, and +endeavor to conceive how a particular block or bit of slope which +it would be necessary to recognize would look when seen the other +way in descending....</p> +<p>All the way up this rock-slope, which proved so fatiguing that +for the fourth time I had almost given up hope, I kept my eye fixed +on its upper end to see what signs there were of crags or +snow-fields above. But the mist lay steadily at the point where the +snow seemed to begin, and it was impossible to say what might be +hidden behind that soft white curtain. As little could I conjecture +the height I had reached by looking around, as one so often does on +mountain ascents, upon other summits; for by this time I was +thousands of feet above Little Ararat, the next highest peak +visible, and could scarcely guess how many thousands. From this +tremendous height it looked more like a broken obelisk than an +independent summit twelve thousand eight hundred feet in height. +Clouds covered the farther side of the great snow basin, and were +seething like waves about the savage pinnacles, the towers of the +Jinn palace, which guard its lower margin, and past which my upward +path had lain. With mists to the left and above, and a range of +black precipices cutting off all view to the right, there came a +vehement sense of isolation and solitude, and I began to understand +better the awe with which the mountain silence inspires the Kurdish +shepherds. Overhead the sky had turned from dark blue to an intense +bright green, a color whose strangeness seemed to add to the weird +terror of the scene. It wanted barely an hour to the time when I +had resolved to turn back; and as I struggled up the crumbling +rocks, trying now to right and now to left, where the foothold +looked a little firmer, I began to doubt whether there was strength +enough left to carry me an hour higher. At length the rock-slope +came suddenly to an end, and I stepped out upon the almost level +snow at the top of it, coming at the same time into the clouds, +which naturally clung to the colder surfaces. A violent west wind +was blowing, and the temperature must have been pretty low, for a +big icicle at once enveloped the lower half of my face, and did not +melt till I got to the bottom of the cone four hours afterwards. +Unluckily I was very thinly clad, the stout tweed coat reserved for +such occasions having been stolen on a Russian railway. The only +expedient to be tried against the piercing cold was to tighten in +my loose light coat by winding around the waist a Spanish +<i>faja</i>, or scarf, which I had brought up to use in case of +need as a neck wrapper. Its bright purple looked odd enough in such +surroundings, but as there was nobody there to notice, appearances +did not much matter. In the mist, which was now thick, the eye +could pierce only some thirty yards ahead; so I walked on over the +snow five or six minutes, following the rise of its surface, which +was gentle, and fancying there might still be a good long way to +go. To mark the backward track I trailed the point of the ice-axe +along behind me in the soft snow, for there was no longer any +landmark; all was cloud on every side. Suddenly to my astonishment +the ground began to fall away to the north; I stopped; a puff of +wind drove off the mists on one side, the opposite side to that by +which I had come, and showed the Araxes plain at an abysmal depth +below. It was the top of Ararat.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BRYCE03"></a> +<h3>THE WORK OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE</h3> +<center>From 'The Holy Roman Empire'</center> +<br> +<p>No one who reads the history of the last three hundred years--no +one, above all, who studies attentively the career of Napoleon--can +believe it possible for any State, however great her energy and +material resources, to repeat in modern Europe the part of ancient +Rome; to gather into one vast political body races whose national +individuality has grown more and more marked in each successive +age. Nevertheless, it is in great measure due to Rome and to the +Roman Empire of the Middle Ages that the bonds of national union +are on the whole both stronger and nobler than they were ever +before. The latest historian of Rome [Mommsen], after summing up +the results to the world of his hero's career, closes his treatise +with these words:</p> +<blockquote>"There was in the world as Cæsar found it the +rich and noble heritage of past centuries, and an endless abundance +of splendor and glory; but little soul, still less taste, and least +of all, joy in and through life. Truly it was an old world, and +even Cæsar's genial patriotism could not make it young again. +The blush of dawn returns not until the night has fully descended. +Yet with him there came to the much-tormented races of the +Mediterranean a tranquil evening after a sultry day; and when after +long historical night the new day broke once more upon the peoples, +and fresh nations in free self-guided movement began their course +toward new and higher aims, many were found among them in whom the +seed of Cæsar had sprung up,--many who owed him, and who owe +him still, their national individuality."</blockquote> +<p>If this be the glory of Julius, the first great founder of the +Empire, so is it also the glory of Charles, the second founder, and +of more than one among his Teutonic successors. The work of the +mediæval Empire was self-destructive; and it fostered, while +seeming to oppose, the nationalities that were destined to replace +it. It tamed the barbarous races of the North and forced them +within the pale of civilization. It preserved the arts and +literature of antiquity. In times of violence and oppression, it +set before its subjects the duty of rational obedience to an +authority whose watchwords were peace and religion. It kept alive, +when national hatreds were most bitter, the notion of a great +European Commonwealth. And by doing all this, it was in effect +abolishing the need for a centralizing and despotic power like +itself; it was making men capable of using national independence +aright; it was teaching them to rise to that conception of +spontaneous activity, and a freedom which is above law but not +against it, to which national independence itself, if it is to be a +blessing at all, must be only a means. Those who mark what has been +the tendency of events since A.D. 1789, and who remember how many +of the crimes and calamities of the past are still but half +redressed, need not be surprised to see the so-called principle of +nationalities advocated with honest devotion as the final and +perfect form of political development. But such undistinguishing +advocacy is after all only the old error in a new shape. If all +other history did not bid us beware the habit of taking the +problems and the conditions of our own age for those of all time, +the warning which the Empire gives might alone be warning enough. +From the days of Augustus down to those of Charles V., the whole +civilized world believed in its existence as a part of the eternal +fitness of things, and Christian theologians were not behind +heathen poets in declaring that when it perished the world would +perish with it. Yet the Empire is gone, and the world remains, and +hardly notes the change.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BUCKLAND"></a> +<h2>FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND</h2> +<h3>(1826-1880)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-c.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>ertainly, among the most useful of writers are the popularizers +of science; those who can describe in readable, picturesque fashion +those wonders and innumerable inhabitants of the world which the +Dryasdusts discover, but which are apt to escape the attention of +idlers or of the busy workers in other fields. Sometimes--not +often--the same man unites the capacities of a patient and accurate +investigator and of an accomplished narrator. To such men the field +of enjoyment is boundless, as is the opportunity to promote the +enjoyment of others.</p> +<p>One of these two-sided men was Francis Trevelyan Buckland, +popularly known as "Frank" Buckland, and so called in some of his +books. His father, William Buckland,--at the time of the son's +birth canon of Christ College, Oxford, and subsequently Dean of +Westminster,--was the well-known geologist. As the father's life +was devoted to the study of the inorganic, so that of the son was +absorbed in the investigation of the organic world. He never tired +of watching the habits of living creatures of all kinds; he lived +as it were in a menagerie and it is related that his numerous +callers were accustomed to the most familiar and impertinent +demonstrations on the part of his monkeys and various other pets. +He was an expert salmon-fisher, and his actual specialty was +fishes; but he could not have these about him so conveniently as +some other forms of life, and he extended his studies and specimens +widely beyond ichthyology.</p> +<p>Buckland was born December 17th, 1826, and died December 19th, +1880. Brought up in a scientific atmosphere, he was all his life +interested in the same subjects. Educated as a physician and +surgeon and distinguished for his anatomical skill, his training +fitted him for the careful investigation which is necessary on the +part of the biologist. He was fortunate too in receiving in early +middle life the government appointment of Inspector of Salmon +Fisheries, and so being enabled to devote himself wholly to his +favorite pursuits. In this position he was unwearied in his efforts +to develop pisciculture, and to improve the apparatus used by the +fishermen, interesting himself also in the condition of themselves +and their families.</p> +<p>He was always writing. He was a very frequent contributor to The +Field from its foundation in 1856, and subsequently to Land and +Water, a periodical which he started in 1866, and to other +periodicals. He published a number of volumes, made up in great +part from his contributions to periodicals, most of them of a +popular character and full of interesting information. Among those +which are best known are the 'Curiosities of Natural History' +(1857-72); the 'Log-Book of a Fisherman and Geologist' (1875); a +'Natural History of British Fishes' (1881); and 'Notes and Jottings +from Animal Life,' which was not issued until 1882, though the +material was selected by himself.</p> +<p>Buckland was of a jovial disposition, and always sure to see the +humorous side of the facts which were presented to him; and in his +social life he was extremely unconventional, and inclined to merry +pranks. His books are as delightful as was their writer. They are +records of accurate, useful, eye-opening details as to fauna, all +the world over. They are written with a brisk, sincere informality +that suggest the lively talker rather than the writer. He takes us +a-walking in green lanes and woods, and a-wading in brooks and +still pools--not drawing us into a class-room or a study. He enters +into the heart and life of creatures, and shows us how we should do +the same. A lively humor is in all his popular pages. He instructs +while smiling; and he is a savant while a light-hearted friend. Few +English naturalists are as genial--not even White of Selborne--and +few as wide in didactics. To know him is a profit indeed; but just +as surely a pleasure.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUCKLAND01"></a> +<h3>A HUNT IN A HORSE-POND</h3> +<center>From 'Curiosities of Natural History'</center> +<br> +<p>Well, let us have a look at the pond-world; choose a dry place +at the side, and fix our eyes steadily upon the dirty water: what +shall we see? Nothing at first; but wait a minute or two: a little +round black knob appears in the middle; gradually it rises higher +and higher, till at last you can make out a frog's head, with his +great eyes staring hard at you, like the eyes of the frog in the +woodcut facing Æsop's fable of the frog and the bull. Not a +bit of his body do you see: he is much too cunning for that; he +does not know who or what you are; you may be a heron, his mortal +enemy, for aught he knows. You move your arm: he thinks it is the +heron's bill coming; down he goes again, and you see him not: a few +seconds, he regains courage and reappears, having probably +communicated the intelligence to the other frogs; for many big +heads and many big eyes appear, in all parts of the pond, looking +like so many hippopotami on a small scale. Soon a conversational +"Wurk; wurk, wurk," begins: you don't understand it; luckily, +perhaps, as from the swelling in their throats it is evident that +the colony is outraged by the intrusion, and the remarks passing +are not complimentary to the intruder. These frogs are all +respectable, grown-up, well-to-do frogs, and they have in this pond +duly deposited their spawn, and then, hard-hearted creatures! left +it to its fate; it has, however, taken care of itself, and is now +hatched, at least that part of it which has escaped the hands of +the gipsies, who not unfrequently prescribe baths of this natural +jelly for rheumatism....</p> +<p>In some places, from their making this peculiar noise, frogs +have been called "Dutch nightingales." In Scotland, too, they have +a curious name, Paddock or Puddick; but there is poetical authority +for it:--</p> +<blockquote>"The water-snake whom fish and paddocks feed,<br> +With staring scales lies poisoned."--DRYDEN.</blockquote> +<p>Returning from the University of Giessen, I brought with me +about a dozen green tree-frogs, which I had caught in the woods +near the town. The Germans call them <i>laub-frosch,</i> or +leaf-frog; they are most difficult things to find, on account of +their color so much resembling the leaves on which they live. I +have frequently heard one singing in a small bush, and though I +have searched carefully, have not been able to find him: the only +way is to remain quite quiet till he again begins his song. After +much ambush-work, at length I collected a dozen frogs and put them +in a bottle. I started at night on my homeward journey by the +diligence, and I put the bottle containing the frogs into the +pocket inside the diligence. My fellow-passengers were sleepy old +smoke-dried Germans: very little conversation took place, and after +the first mile every one settled himself to sleep, and soon all +were snoring. I suddenly awoke with a start, and found all the +sleepers had been roused at the same moment. On their sleepy faces +were depicted fear and anger. What had woke us all up so suddenly? +The morning was just breaking, and my frogs, though in the dark +pocket of the coach, had found it out; and with one accord, all +twelve of them had begun their morning song. As if at a given +signal, they one and all of them began to croak as loud as ever +they could. The noise their united concert made, seemed, in the +closed compartment of the coach, quite deafening. Well might the +Germans look angry: they wanted to throw the frogs, bottle and all, +out of the window; but I gave the bottle a good shaking, and made +the frogs keep quiet. The Germans all went to sleep again, but I +was obliged to remain awake, to shake the frogs when they began to +croak. It was lucky that I did so, for they tried to begin their +concert again two or three times. These frogs came safely to +Oxford; and the day after their arrival, a stupid housemaid took +off the top of the bottle to see what was inside; one of the frogs +croaked at that instant, and so frightened her that she dared not +put the cover on again. They all got loose in the garden, where I +believe the ducks ate them, for I never heard or saw them +again.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUCKLAND02"></a> +<h3>ON RATS</h3> +<center>From 'Curiosities of Natural History'</center> +<br> +<p>On one occasion, when a boy, I recollect secretly borrowing an +old-fashioned flint gun from the bird-keeper of the farm to which I +had been invited. I ensconced myself behind the door of the +pig-sty, determined to make a victim of one of the many rats that +were accustomed to disport themselves among the straw that formed +the bed of the farmer's pet bacon-pigs. In a few minutes out came +an old patriarchal-looking rat, who, having taken a careful survey, +quietly began to feed. After a long aim, bang went the gun--I fell +backwards, knocked down by the recoil of the rusty old piece of +artillery. I did not remain prone long, for I was soon roused by +the most unearthly squeaks, and a dreadful noise as of an +infuriated animal madly rushing round and round the sty. Ye gods! +what had I done? I had not surely, like the tailor in the old song +of the 'Carrion Crow,'</p> +<blockquote>"Shot and missed my mark,<br> +And shot the old sow right bang through the heart."</blockquote> +<p>But I had nearly performed a similar sportsman-like feat. There +was poor piggy, the blood flowing in streamlets from several small +punctures in that part of his body destined, at no very distant +period, to become ham; in vain attempting, by dismal cries and by +energetic waggings of his curly tail, to appease the pain of the +charge of small shot which had so unceremoniously awaked him from +his porcine dreams of oatmeal and boiled potatoes. But where was +the rat? He had disappeared unhurt; the buttocks of the unfortunate +pig, the rightful owner of the premises, had received the charge of +shot intended to destroy the daring intruder.</p> +<p>To appease piggy's wrath I gave him a bucketful of food from the +hog-tub; and while he was thus consoling his inward self, wiped off +the blood from the wounded parts, and said nothing about it to +anybody. No doubt, before this time, some frugal housewife has been +puzzled and astonished at the unwonted appearance of a charge of +small shot in the centre of the breakfast ham which she procured +from Squire Morland, of Sheepstead, Berks.</p> +<p>Rats are very fond of warmth, and will remain coiled up for +hours in any snug retreat where they can find this very necessary +element of their existence. The following anecdote well illustrates +this point:--</p> +<p>My late father, when fellow of Corpus College, Oxford, many +years ago, on arriving at his rooms late one night, found that a +rat was running about among the books and geological specimens, +behind the sofa, under the fender, and poking his nose into every +hiding-place he could find. Being studiously inclined, and wishing +to set to work at his books, he pursued him, armed with the poker +in one hand, and a large dictionary, big enough to crush any rat, +in the other; but in vain; Mr. Rat was not to be caught, +particularly when such "arma scholastica" were used.</p> +<p>No sooner had the studies recommenced than the rat resumed his +gambols, squeaking and rushing about the room like a mad creature. +The battle was renewed, and continued at intervals, to the +destruction of all studies, till quite a late hour at night, when +the pursuer, angry and wearied, retired to his adjoining bedroom; +though he listened attentively he heard no more of the enemy, and +soon fell asleep. In the morning he was astonished to find +something warm lying on his chest; carefully lifting up the +bed-clothes, he discovered his tormentor of the preceding night +quietly and snugly ensconced in a fold in the blanket, and taking +advantage of the bodily warmth of his two-legged adversary. These +two lay looking daggers at each other for some minutes, the one +unwilling to leave his warm berth, the other afraid to put his hand +out from under the protection of the coverlid, particularly as the +stranger's aspect was anything but friendly, his little sharp teeth +and fierce little black eyes seeming to say, "Paws off from me, if +you please!"</p> +<p>At length, remembering the maxim that "discretion is the better +part of valor"--the truth of which, I imagine, rats understand as +well as most creatures,--he made a sudden jump off the bed, +scuttled away into the next room, and was never seen or heard of +afterwards....</p> +<p>Rats are not selfish animals: having found out where the feast +is stored, they will kindly communicate the intelligence to their +friends and neighbors. The following anecdote will confirm this +fact. A certain worthy old lady named Mrs. Oke, who resided at +Axminster several years ago, made a cask of sweet wine, for which +she was celebrated, and carefully placed it on a shelf in the +cellar. The second night after this event she was frightened almost +to death by a strange unaccountable noise in the said cellar. The +household was called up and a search made, but nothing was found to +clear up the mystery. The next night, as soon as the lights were +extinguished and the house quiet, this dreadful noise was heard +again. This time it was most alarming: a sound of squeaking, +crying, knocking, pattering feet; then a dull scratching sound, +with many other such ghostly noises, which continued throughout the +livelong night. The old lady lay in bed with the candle alight, +pale and sleepless with fright, anon muttering her prayers, anon +determined to fire off the rusty old blunderbuss that hung over the +chimneypiece. At last the morning broke, and the cock began to +crow. "Now," thought she, "the ghosts must disappear." To her +infinite relief, the noise really did cease, and the poor +frightened dame adjusted her nightcap and fell asleep. Great +preparations had she made for the next night; farm servants armed +with pitchforks slept in the house; the maids took the family +dinner-bell and the tinder-box into their rooms; the big dog was +tied to the hall-table. Then the dame retired to her room, not to +sleep, but to sit up in the arm-chair by the fire, keeping a drowsy +guard over the neighbor's loaded horse-pistols, of which she was +almost as much afraid as she was of the ghost in the cellar. Sure +enough, her warlike preparations had succeeded; the ghost was +certainly frightened; not a noise, not a sound, except the heavy +snoring of the bumpkins and the rattling of the dog's chain in the +hall, could be heard. She had gained a complete victory; the ghost +was never heard again on the premises, and the whole affair was +soon forgotten. Some weeks afterward some friends dropped in to +take a cup of tea and talk over the last piece of gossip. Among +other things the wine was mentioned, and the maid sent to get some +from the cellar. She soon returned, and gasping for breath, rushed +into the room, exclaiming, "'Tis all gone, ma'am;" and sure enough +it was all gone. "The ghost has taken it"--not a drop was left, +only the empty cask remained; the side was half eaten away, and +marks of sharp teeth were visible round the ragged margins of the +newly made bungholes.</p> +<p>This discovery fully accounted for the noise the ghost had made, +which caused so much alarm. The aboriginal rats in the dame's +cellar had found out the wine, and communicated the joyful news to +all the other rats in the parish; they had assembled there to enjoy +the fun, and get very tipsy (which, judging from the noise they +made, they certainly did) on this treasured cask of wine. Being +quite a family party, they had finished it in two nights; and +having got all they could, like wise rats they returned to their +respective homes, perfectly unconscious that their merry-making had +nearly been the death of the rightful owner and "founder of the +feast." They had first gnawed out the cork, and got as much as they +could: they soon found that the more they drank the lower the wine +became. Perseverance is the motto of the rat; so they set to work +and ate away the wood to the level of the wine again. This they +continued till they had emptied the cask; they must then have got +into it and licked up the last drains, for another and less +agreeable smell was substituted for that of wine. I may add that +this cask, with the side gone, and the marks of the rats' teeth, is +still in my possession.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUCKLAND03"></a> +<h3>SNAKES AND THEIR POISON</h3> +<center>From 'Curiosities of Natural History'</center> +<br> +<p>Be it known to any person to whose lot it should fall to rescue +a person from the crushing folds of a boa-constrictor, that it is +no use pulling and hauling at the centre of the brute's body; catch +hold of the tip of his tail,--he can then be easily unwound,--he +cannot help himself;--he "must" come off. Again, if you wish to +kill a snake, it is no use hitting and trying to crush his head. +The bones of the head are composed of the densest material, +affording effectual protection to the brain underneath: a wise +provision for the animal's preservation; for were his skull +brittle, his habit of crawling on the ground would render it very +liable to be fractured. The spinal cord runs down the entire length +of the body; this being wounded, the animal is disabled or killed +instanter. Strike therefore his tail, and not his head; for at his +tail the spinal cord is but thinly covered with bone, and suffers +readily from injury. This practice is applicable to eels. If you +want to kill an eel, it is not much use belaboring his head: +strike, however, his tail two or three times against any hard +substance, and he is quickly dead.</p> +<p>About four years ago I myself, in person, had painful experience +of the awful effects of snake's poison. I have received a dose of +the cobra's poison into my system; luckily a minute dose, or I +should not have survived it. The accident happened in a very +curious way. I was poisoned by the snake but not bitten by him. I +got the poison second-hand. Anxious to witness the effects of the +poison of the cobra upon a rat, I took up a couple in a bag alive +to a certain cobra. I took one rat out of the bag and put him into +the cage with the snake. The cobra was coiled up among the stones +in the centre of the cage, apparently asleep. When he heard the +noise of the rat falling into the cage, he just looked up and put +out his tongue, hissing at the same time. The rat got in a corner +and began washing himself, keeping one eye on the snake, whose +appearance he evidently did not half like. Presently the rat ran +across the snake's body, and in an instant the latter assumed his +fighting attitude. As the rat passed the snake, he made a dart, but +missing his aim, hit his nose a pretty hard blow against the side +of the cage. This accident seemed to anger him, for he spread out +his crest and waved it to and fro in the beautiful manner peculiar +to his kind. The rat became alarmed and ran near him again. Again +cobra made a dart, and bit him, but did not, I think, inject any +poison into him, the rat being so very active; at least, no +symptoms of poisoning were shown. The bite nevertheless aroused the +ire of the rat, for he gathered himself for a spring, and measuring +his distance, sprang right on to the neck of the cobra, who was +waving about in front of him. This plucky rat, determined to die +hard, gave the cobra two or three severe bites in the neck, the +snake keeping his body erect all this time, and endeavoring to turn +his head round so as to bite the rat who was clinging on like the +old man in 'Sindbad the Sailor.' Soon, however, cobra changed his +tactics. Tired, possibly, with sustaining the weight of the rat, he +lowered his head, and the rat, finding himself again on terra +firma, tried to run away: not so; for the snake, collecting all his +force, brought down his erected poison-fangs, making his head tell +by its weight in giving vigor to the blow, right on to the body of +the rat.</p> +<p>This poor beast now seemed to know that the fight was over and +that he was conquered. He retired to a corner of the cage and began +panting violently, endeavoring at the same time to steady his +failing strength with his feet. His eyes were widely dilated, and +his mouth open as if gasping for breath. The cobra stood erect over +him, hissing and putting out his tongue as if conscious of victory. +In about three minutes the rat fell quietly on his side and +expired; the cobra then moved off and took no further notice of his +defunct enemy. About ten minutes afterward the rat was hooked out +of the cage for me to examine. No external wound could I see +anywhere, so I took out my knife and began taking the skin off the +rat. I soon discovered two very minute punctures, like small +needle-holes, in the side of the rat, where the fangs of the snake +had entered. The parts between the skin and the flesh, and the +flesh itself, appeared as though affected with mortification, even +though the wound had not been inflicted above a quarter of an hour, +if so much.</p> +<p>Anxious to see if the skin itself was affected, I scraped away +the parts on it with my finger-nail. Finding nothing but the +punctures, I threw the rat away and put the knife and skin in my +pocket, and started to go away. I had not walked a hundred yards +before all of a sudden I felt just as if somebody had come behind +me and struck me a severe blow on the head and neck, and at the +same time I experienced a most acute pain and sense of oppression +at the chest, as though a hot iron had been run in and a +hundred-weight put on the top of it. I knew instantly, from what I +had read, that I was poisoned; I said as much to my friend, a most +intelligent gentleman, who happened to be with me, and told him if +I fell to give me brandy and "eau de luce," words which he kept +repeating in case he might forget them. At the same time I enjoined +him to keep me going, and not on any account to allow me to lie +down.</p> +<p>I then forgot everything for several minutes, and my friend +tells me I rolled about as if very faint and weak. He also informs +me that the first thing I did was to fall against him, asking if I +looked seedy. He most wisely answered, "No, you look very well." I +don't think he thought so, for his own face was as white as a +ghost; I recollect this much. He tells me my face was of a +greenish-yellow color. After walking or rather staggering along for +some minutes, I gradually recovered my senses and steered for the +nearest chemist's shop. Rushing in, I asked for eau de luce. Of +course he had none, but my eye caught the words "Spirit, ammon. +co.," or hartshorn, on a bottle. I reached it down myself, and +pouring a large quantity into a tumbler with a little water, both +of which articles I found on a soda-water stand in the shop, drank +it off, though it burnt my mouth and lips very much. Instantly I +felt relief from the pain at the chest and head. The chemist stood +aghast, and on my telling him what was the matter, recommended a +warm bath. If I had then followed his advice these words would +never have been placed on record. After a second draught at the +hartshorn bottle, I proceeded on my way, feeling very stupid and +confused. On arriving at my friend's residence close by, he kindly +procured me a bottle of brandy, of which I drank four large +wine-glasses one after the other, but did not feel the least tipsy +after the operation. Feeling nearly well, I started on my way home, +and then for the first time perceived a most acute pain under the +nail of the left thumb: this pain also ran up the arm. I set to +work to suck the wound, and then found out how the poison had got +into the system. About an hour before I examined the dead rat I had +been cleaning the nail with a penknife, and had slightly separated +the nail from the skin beneath. Into this little crack the poison +had got when I was scraping the rat's skin to examine the wound. +How virulent, therefore, must the poison of the cobra be! It had +already been circulated in the body of the rat, from which I had +imbibed it second-hand!</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUCKLAND04"></a> +<h3>MY MONKEY JACKO</h3> +<center>From 'Curiosities of Natural History'</center> +<br> +<p>After some considerable amount of bargaining (in which amusing, +sometimes animated, not to say exciting exhibition of talent, +Englishmen generally get worsted by the Frenchmen, as was the case +in the present instance), Jacko became transferred, chain, tail and +all, to his new English master. Having arrived at the hotel, it +became a question as to what was to become of Jacko while his +master was absent from home. A little closet, opening into the wall +of the bedroom, offered itself as a temporary prison. Jacko was +tied up <i>securely</i>--alas! how vain are the thoughts of +man!--to one of the row of pegs that were fastened against the +wall. As the door closed on him his wicked eyes seemed to say, +"I'll do some mischief now;" and sure enough he did, for when I +came back to release him, like Æneas,</p> +<blockquote>"Obstupni, steteruntque comæ et vox fancibus +hæsit<a name="FNanchor5"></a><a href= +"#Footnote_5">[5]</a>."</blockquote> +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor5">[5]</a> + "Aghast, astonished, and struck dumb +with fear,<br> + I stood; like bristles rose my +stiffened hair."--DRYDEN.</blockquote> +<p>The walls, that but half an hour previously were covered with a +finely ornamented paper, now stood out in the bold nakedness of +lath and plaster; the relics on the floor showed that the little +wretch's fingers had by no means been idle. The pegs were all +loosened, the individual peg to which his chain had been fastened, +torn completely from its socket, that the destroyer's movements +might not be impeded, and an unfortunate garment that happened to +be hung up in the closet was torn to a thousand shreds. If ever +Jack Sheppard had a successor, it was this monkey. If he had tied +the torn bits of petticoat together and tried to make his escape +from the window, I don't think I should have been much +surprised....</p> +<p>It was, after Jacko's misdeeds, quite evident that he must no +longer be allowed full liberty; and a lawyer's blue bag, such as +may be frequently seen in the dreaded neighborhood of the Court of +Chancery,--filled, however, more frequently with papers and +parchment than with monkeys,--was provided for him; and this +receptacle, with some hay placed at the bottom for a bed, became +his new abode. It was a movable home, and therein lay the +advantage; for when the strings of it were tied there was no mode +of escape. He could not get his hands through the aperture at the +end to unfasten them, the bag was too strong for him to bite his +way through, and his ineffectual efforts to get out only had the +effect of making the bag roll along the floor, and occasionally +make a jump up into the air; forming altogether an exhibition which +if advertised in the present day of wonders as "le bag vivant," +would attract crowds of delighted and admiring citizens.</p> +<p>In the bag aforesaid he traveled as far as Southampton on his +road to town. While taking the ticket at the railway station, +Jacko, who must needs see everything that was going on, suddenly +poked his head out of the bag and gave a malicious grin at the +ticket-giver. This much frightened the poor man, but with great +presence of mind,--quite astonishing under the circumstances,--he +retaliated the insult: "Sir, that's a dog; you must pay for it +accordingly." In vain was the monkey made to come out of the bag +and exhibit his whole person; in vain were arguments in full +accordance with the views of Cuvier and Owen urged eagerly, +vehemently, and without hesitation (for the train was on the point +of starting), to prove that the animal in question was not a dog, +but a monkey. A dog it was in the peculiar views of the official, +and three-and-sixpence was paid. Thinking to carry the joke further +(there were just a few minutes to spare), I took out from my pocket +a live tortoise I happened to have with me, and showing it, said, +"What must I pay for this, as you charge for <i>all</i> animals?" +The employé adjusted his specs, withdrew from the desk to +consult with his superior; then returning, gave the verdict with a +grave but determined manner, "No charge for them, sir: them be +insects."</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BUCKLE"></a> +<h2>HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE</h2> +<h3>(1821-1862)</h3> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-h.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>enry Thomas Buckle was born at Lee, in Kent, on November 24th, +1821, the son of a wealthy London merchant. A delicate child, he +participated in none of the ordinary sports of children, but sat +instead for hours listening to his mother's reading of the Bible +and the 'Arabian Nights.' She had a great influence on his early +development. She was a Calvinist, deeply religious, and Buckle +himself in after years acknowledged that to her he owed his faith +in human progress through the dissemination and triumph of truth, +as well as his taste for philosophic speculations and his love for +poetry. His devotion to her was lifelong. Owing to his feeble +health he passed but a few years at school, and did not enter +college. Nor did he know much, in the scholar's sense, of books. +Till he was nearly eighteen the 'Arabian Nights,' the 'Pilgrim's +Progress' and Shakespeare constituted his chief reading.</p> +<p>But he was fond of games of mental skill, and curiously enough, +first gained distinction, not in letters but at the chessboard, and +in the course of his subsequent travels he challenged and defeated +the champions of Europe. He was concerned for a short time in +business; but being left with an independent income at the death of +his father, he resolved to devote himself to study. He traveled for +a year on the Continent, learning on the spot the languages of the +countries he passed through. In time he became an accomplished +linguist, reading nineteen languages and conversing fluently in +seven.</p> +<p>By the time he was nineteen he had resolved to write a great +historic work, of a nature not yet attempted by any one. To prepare +himself for this monumental labor, and to make up for past +deficiencies, he settled in London; and, apparently single-handed +and without the advice or help of tutors or professional men, +entered upon that course of voluminous reading on which his +erudition rests.</p> +<p>He is a singular instance of a self-taught man, without +scientific or academic training, producing a work that marks an +epoch in historical literature. With a wonderful memory, he had, +like Macaulay, the gift of getting the meaning and value of a book +by simply glancing over the pages. On an average he could read with +intelligent comprehension three books in a working day of eight +hours, and in time mastered his library of twenty-two thousand +volumes, indexing every book on the back, and transcribing many +pages into his commonplace-books. In this way he spent fifteen +years of study in collecting his materials.</p> +<p>The first volume of his introduction to the 'History of +Civilization in England' appeared in 1857, and aroused an +extraordinary interest because of the novelty and audacity of its +statements. It was both bitterly attacked and enthusiastically +praised, as it antagonized or attracted its readers. Buckle became +the intellectual hero of the hour. The second volume appeared in +May, 1861. And now, worn out by overwork, his delicate nerves +completely unstrung by the death of his mother, who had remained +his first and only love, he left England for the East, in company +with the two young sons of a friend. In Palestine he was stricken +with typhoid fever, and died at Damascus on May 29th, 1862. His +grave is marked by a marble tomb with the inscription from the +Arabic:--</p> +<blockquote>"The written word remains long after the writer;<br> +The writer is resting under the earth, but his works +endure."</blockquote> +<p>Three volumes of 'Miscellanies and Posthumous Works,' edited by +Helen Taylor, were published in 1872. Among these are a lecture on +'Woman,' delivered before the Royal Institution,--Buckle's single +and very successful attempt at public speaking,--and a Review of +Mill's 'Liberty,' one of the finest contemporary appreciations of +that thinker. But he wrote little outside his 'History,' devoting +himself with entire singleness of purpose to his life-work.</p> +<p>The introduction to the 'History of Civilization in England' has +been aptly called the "fragment of a fragment." When as a mere +youth he outlined his work, he overestimated the extremest +accomplishment of a single mind, and did not clearly comprehend the +vastness of the undertaking. He had planned a general history of +civilization; but as the material increased on his hands he was +forced to limit his project, and finally decided to confine his +work to a consideration of England from the middle of the sixteenth +century. In February, 1853, he wrote to a friend:--</p> +<blockquote>"I have been long convinced that the progress of every +people is regulated by principles--or as they are called, laws--as +regular and as certain as those which govern the physical world. To +discover these laws is the object of my work.... I propose to take +a general survey of the moral, intellectual, and legislative +peculiarities of the great countries of Europe; and I hope to point +out the circumstances under which these peculiarities have arisen. +This will lead to a perception of certain relations between the +various stages through which each people have progressively passed. +Of these <i>general</i> relations I intend to make a +<i>particular</i> application; and by a careful analysis of the +history of England, show how they have regulated our civilization, +and how the successive and apparently the arbitrary forms of our +opinions, our literature, our laws, and our manners, have naturally +grown out of their antecedents."</blockquote> +<p>This general scheme was adhered to in the published history, and +he supported his views by a vast array of illustrations and proofs. +The main ideas advanced in the Introduction--for he did not live to +write the body of the work, the future volumes to which he often +pathetically refers--these ideas may be thus stated:--First: +Nothing had yet been done toward discovering the principles +underlying the character and destiny of nations, to establish a +basis for a science of history,--a task which Buckle proposed to +himself. Second: Experience shows that nations are governed by laws +as fixed and regular as the laws of the physical world. Third: +Climate, soil, food, and the aspects of nature are the primary +causes in forming the character of a nation. Fourth: The +civilization within and without Europe is determined by the fact +that in Europe man is stronger than nature, and here alone has +subdued her to his service; whereas on the other continents nature +is the stronger and man has been subdued by her. Fifth: The +continually increasing influence of mental laws and the continually +diminishing influence of physical laws characterize the advance of +European civilization. Sixth: The mental laws regulating the +progress of society can only be discovered by such a comprehensive +survey of facts as will enable us to eliminate disturbances; +namely, by the method of averages. Seventh: Human progress is due +to intellectual activity, which continually changes and expands, +rather than to moral agencies, which from the beginnings of society +have been more or less stationary. Eighth: In human affairs in +general, individual efforts are insignificant, and great men work +for evil rather than for good, and are moreover merely incidental +to their age. Ninth: Religion, literature, art, and government +instead of being causes of civilization, are merely its products. +Tenth: The progress of civilization varies directly as +skepticism--the disposition to doubt, or the "protective +spirit"--the disposition to maintain without examination +established beliefs and practices, predominates.</p> +<p>The new scientific methods of Darwin and Mill were just then +being eagerly discussed in England; and Buckle, an alert student +and great admirer of Mill, in touch with the new movements of the +day, proposed, "by applying to the history of man those methods of +investigation which have been found successful in other branches of +knowledge, and rejecting all preconceived notions which could not +bear the test of those methods," to remove history from the +condemnation of being a mere series of arbitrary facts, or a +biography of famous men, or the small-beer chronicle of court +gossip and intrigues, and to raise it to the level of an exact +science, subject to mental laws as rigid and infallible as the laws +of nature:--</p> +<blockquote>"Instead of telling us of those things which alone have +any value--instead of giving us information respecting the progress +of knowledge and the way in which mankind has been affected by the +diffusion of that knowledge ... the vast majority of historians +fill their works with the most trifling and miserable details.... +In other great branches of knowledge, observation has preceded +discovery; first the facts have been registered and then their laws +have been found. But in the study of the history of man, the +important facts have been neglected and the unimportant ones +preserved. The consequence is, that whoever now attempts to +generalize historical phenomena must collect the facts as well as +conduct the generalization."</blockquote> +<p>Buckle's ideal of the office and acquirements of the historian +was of the highest. He must indeed possess a synthesis of the whole +range of human knowledge to explain the progress of man. By +connecting history with political economy and statistics, he strove +to make it exact. And he exemplified his theories by taking up +branches of scientific investigation hitherto considered entirely +outside the province of the historian. He first wrote history +scientifically, pursuing the same methods and using the same kinds +of proofs as the scientific worker. The first volume excited as +much angry discussion as Darwin's 'Origin of Species' had done in +its day. The boldness of its generalizations, its uncompromising +and dogmatic tone, irritated more than one class of readers. The +chapters on Spain and on Scotland, with their strictures on the +religions of those countries, containing some of the most brilliant +passages in the book, brought up in arms against him both Catholics +and Presbyterians. Trained scientists blamed him for encroaching on +their domains with an insufficient knowledge of the phenomena of +the natural world, whence resulted a defective logic and vague +generalizations.</p> +<p>It is true that Buckle was not trained in the methods of the +schools; that he labored under the disadvantage of a self-taught, +solitary worker, not receiving the friction of other vigorous +minds; and that his reading, if extensive, was not always wisely +chosen, and from its very amount often ill-digested. He had +knowledge rather than true learning, and taking this knowledge at +second hand, often relied on sources that proved either +untrustworthy or antiquated, for he lacked the true relator's fine +discrimination, that weighs and sifts authorities and rejects the +inadequate. Malicious critics declared that all was grist that came +to his mill. Yet his popularity with that class of readers whom he +did not shock by his disquisitions on religions and morals, or make +distrustful by his sweeping generalizations and scientific +inaccuracies, is due to the fact that his book appeared at the +right moment: for the time was really come to make history +something more than a chronicle of detached facts and anecdotes. +The scientific spirit was awake, and demanded that human action, +like the processes of nature, be made the subject of general law. +The mind of Buckle proved fruitful soil for those germs of thought +floating in the air, and he gave them visible form in his history. +If he was not a leader, he was a brilliant formulator of thought, +and he was the first to put before the reading world, then ready to +receive them, ideas and speculations till now belonging to the +student. For he wrote with the determination to be intelligible to +the general reader. It detracts nothing from the permanent value of +his work thus to state its genesis, for this is merely to apply to +it his own methods.</p> +<p>Moreover, a perpetual charm lies in his clear, limpid English, a +medium perfectly adapted to calm exposition or to impassioned +rhetoric. Whatever the defects of Buckle's system: whatever the +inaccuracies that the advance of thirty years of patient scientific +labors can easily point out; however sweeping his generalization; +or however dogmatic his assertions, the book must be allowed high +rank among the works that set men thinking, and must thus be +conceded to possess enduring value.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUCKLE01"></a> +<h3>MORAL VERSUS INTELLECTUAL PRINCIPLES IN HUMAN PROGRESS</h3> +<center>From the 'History of Civilization in England'</center> +<br> +<p>There is unquestionably nothing to be found in the world which +has undergone so little change as those great dogmas of which moral +systems are composed. To do good to others; to sacrifice for their +benefit your own wishes; to love your neighbor as yourself; to +forgive your enemies; to restrain your passions; to honor your +parents; to respect those who are set over you,--these and a few +others are the sole essentials of morals: but they have been known +for thousands of years, and not one jot or tittle has been added to +them by all the sermons, homilies, and text-books which moralists +and theologians have been able to produce. But if we contrast this +stationary aspect of moral truths with the progressive aspect of +intellectual truths, the difference is indeed startling. All the +great moral systems which have exercised much influence have been +fundamentally the same; all the great intellectual systems have +been fundamentally different. In reference to our moral conduct, +there is not a single principle now known to the most cultivated +Europeans which was not likewise known to the ancients. In +reference to the conduct of our intellect, the moderns have not +only made the most important additions to every department of +knowledge that the ancients ever attempted to study, but besides +this they have upset and revolutionized the old methods of inquiry; +they have consolidated into one great scheme all those resources of +induction which Aristotle alone dimly perceived; and they have +created sciences, the faintest idea of which never entered the mind +of the boldest thinker antiquity produced.</p> +<p>These are, to every educated man, recognized and notorious +facts; and the inference to be drawn from them is immediately +obvious. Since civilization is the product of moral and +intellectual agencies, and since that product is constantly +changing, it evidently cannot be regulated by the stationary agent; +because, when surrounding circumstances are unchanged, a stationary +agent can only produce a stationary effect. The only other agent is +the intellectual one; and that this is the real mover may be proved +in two distinct ways: first because, being as we have already seen +either moral or intellectual, and being as we have also seen not +moral, it must be intellectual; and secondly, because the +intellectual principle has an activity and a capacity for +adaptation which, as I undertake to show, is quite sufficient to +account for the extraordinary progress that during several +centuries Europe has continued to make.</p> +<p>Such are the main arguments by which my view is supported; but +there are also other and collateral circumstances which are well +worthy of consideration. The first is, that the intellectual +principle is not only far more progressive than the moral +principle, but is also far more permanent in its results. The +acquisitions made by the intellect are, in every civilized country, +carefully preserved, registered in certain well-understood +formulas, and protected by the use of technical and scientific +language; they are easily handed down from one generation to +another, and thus assuming an accessible, or as it were a tangible +form, they often influence the most distant posterity, they become +the heirlooms of mankind, the immortal bequest of the genius to +which they owe their birth. But the good deeds effected by our +moral faculties are less capable of transmission; they are of a +more private and retiring character: while as the motives to which +they owe their origin are generally the result of self-discipline +and of self-sacrifice, they have to be worked out by every man for +himself; and thus, begun by each anew, they derive little benefit +from the maxims of preceding experience, nor can they well be +stored up for the use of future moralists. The consequence is that +although moral excellence is more amiable, and to most persons more +attractive, than intellectual excellence, still it must be +confessed that looking at ulterior results, it is far less active, +less permanent, and as I shall presently prove, less productive of +real good. Indeed, if we examine the effects of the most active +philanthropy and of the largest and most disinterested kindness, we +shall find that those effects are, comparatively speaking, +short-lived; that there is only a small number of individuals they +come in contact with and benefit; that they rarely survive the +generation which witnessed their commencement; and that when they +take the more durable form of founding great public charities, such +institutions invariably fall, first into abuse, then into decay, +and after a time are either destroyed or perverted from their +original intention, mocking the effort by which it is vainly +attempted to perpetuate the memory even of the purest and most +energetic benevolence.</p> +<p>These conclusions are no doubt very unpalatable; and what makes +them peculiarly offensive is, that it is impossible to refute them. +For the deeper we penetrate into this question, the more clearly +shall we see the superiority of intellectual acquisitions over +moral feeling. There is no instance on record of an ignorant man +who, having good intentions and supreme power to enforce them, has +not done far more evil than good. And whenever the intentions have +been very eager, and the power very extensive, the evil has been +enormous. But if you can diminish the sincerity of that man, if you +can mix some alloy with his motives, you will likewise diminish the +evil which he works. If he is selfish as well as ignorant, it will +often happen [that] you may play off his vice against his +ignorance, and by exciting his fears restrain his mischief. If, +however, he has no fear, if he is entirely unselfish, if his sole +object is the good of others, if he pursues that object with +enthusiasm, upon a large scale, and with disinterested zeal, then +it is that you have no check upon him, you have no means of +preventing the calamities which in an ignorant age an ignorant man +will be sure to inflict. How entirely this is verified by +experience, we may see in studying the history of religious +persecution. To punish even a single man for his religious tenets +is assuredly a crime of the deepest dye; but to punish a large body +of men, to persecute an entire sect, to attempt to extirpate +opinions which, growing out of the state of society in which they +arise, are themselves a manifestation of the marvelous and +luxuriant fertility of the human mind,--to do this is not only one +of the most pernicious, but one of the most foolish acts that can +possibly be conceived. Nevertheless it is an undoubted fact that an +overwhelming majority of religious persecutors have been men of the +purest intentions, of the most admirable and unsullied morals. It +is impossible that this should be otherwise. For they are not +bad-intentioned men who seek to enforce opinions which they believe +to be good. Still less are they bad men who are so regardless of +temporal considerations as to employ all the resources of their +power, not for their own benefit, but for the purpose of +propagating a religion which they think necessary to the future +happiness of mankind. Such men as these are not bad, they are only +ignorant; ignorant of the nature of truth, ignorant of the +consequences of their own acts. But in a moral point of view their +motives are unimpeachable. Indeed, it is the very ardor of their +sincerity which warms them into persecution. It is the holy zeal by +which they are fired that quickens their fanaticism into a deadly +activity. If you can impress any man with an absorbing conviction +of the supreme importance of some moral or religious doctrine; if +you can make him believe that those who reject that doctrine are +doomed to eternal perdition; if you then give that man power, and +by means of his ignorance blind him to the ulterior consequences of +his own act,--he will infallibly persecute those who deny his +doctrine; and the extent of his persecution will be regulated by +the extent of his sincerity. Diminish the sincerity, and you will +diminish the persecution; in other words, by weakening the virtue +you may check the evil. This is a truth of which history furnishes +such innumerable examples, that to deny it would be not only to +reject the plainest and most conclusive arguments, but to refuse +the concurrent testimony of every age. I will merely select two +cases, which, from the entire difference in their circumstances, +are very apposite as illustrations: the first being from the +history of Paganism, the other from the history of Christianity; +and both proving the inability of moral feelings to control +religious persecution.</p> +<p>I. The Roman emperors, as is well known, subjected the early +Christians to persecutions which, though they have been +exaggerated, were frequent and very grievous. But what to some +persons must appear extremely strange, is, that among the active +authors of these cruelties we find the names of the best men who +ever sat on the throne; while the worst and most infamous princes +were precisely those who spared the Christians, and took no heed of +their increase. The two most thoroughly depraved of all the +emperors were certainly Commodus and Elagabalus; neither of whom +persecuted the new religion, or indeed adopted any measures against +it. They were too reckless of the future, too selfish, too absorbed +in their own infamous pleasures, to mind whether truth or error +prevailed; and being thus indifferent to the welfare of their +subjects, they cared nothing about the progress of a creed which +they, as Pagan emperors, were bound to regard as a fatal and +impious delusion. They therefore allowed Christianity to run its +course, unchecked by those penal laws which more honest but more +mistaken rulers would assuredly have enacted. We find, accordingly, +that the great enemy of Christianity was Marcus Aurelius; a man of +kindly temper, and of fearless, unflinching honesty, but whose +reign was characterized by a persecution from which he would have +refrained had he been less in earnest about the religion of his +fathers. And to complete the argument, it may be added that the +last and one of the most strenuous opponents of Christianity who +occupied the throne of the Cæsars was Julian; a prince of +eminent probity, whose opinions are often attacked, but against +whose moral conduct even calumny itself has hardly breathed a +suspicion.</p> +<p>II. The second illustration is supplied by Spain; a country of +which it must be confessed, that in no other have religiuos +feelings exercised such sway over the affairs of men. No other +European nation has produced so many ardent and disinterested +missionaries, zealous self-denying martyrs, who have cheerfully +sacrificed their lives in order to propagate truths which they +thought necessary to be known. Nowhere else have the spiritual +classes been so long in the ascendant; nowhere else are the people +so devout, the churches so crowded, the clergy so numerous. But the +sincerity and honesty of purpose by which the Spanish people, taken +as a whole, have always been marked, have not only been unable to +prevent religious persecution, but have proved the means of +encouraging it. If the nation had been more lukewarm, it would have +been more tolerant. As it was, the preservation of the faith became +the first consideration; and everything being sacrificed to this +one object, it naturally happened that zeal begat cruelty, and the +soil was prepared in which the Inquisition took root and +flourished. The supporters of that barbarous institution were not +hypocrites, but enthusiasts. Hypocrites are for the most part too +supple to be cruel. For cruelty is a stern and unbending passion; +while hypocrisy is a fawning and flexible art, which accommodates +itself to human feelings, and flatters the weakness of men in order +that it may gain its own ends. In Spain, the earnestness of the +nation, being concentrated on a single topic, carried everything +before it; and hatred of heresy becoming a habit, persecution of +heresy was thought a duty. The conscientious energy with which that +duty was fulfilled is seen in the history of the Spanish Church. +Indeed, that the inquisitors were remarkable for an undeviating and +uncorruptible integrity may be proved in a variety of ways, and +from different and independent sources of evidence. This is a +question to which I shall hereafter return; but there are two +testimonies which I cannot omit, because, from the circumstances +attending them, they are peculiarly unimpeachable. Llorente, the +great historian of the Inquisition, and its bitter enemy, had +access to its private papers: and yet, with the fullest means of +information, he does not even insinuate a charge against the moral +character of the inquisitors; but while execrating the cruelty of +their conduct, he cannot deny the purity of their intentions. +Thirty years earlier, Townsend, a clergyman of the Church of +England, published his valuable work on Spain: and though, as a +Protestant and an Englishman, he had every reason to be prejudiced +against the infamous system which he describes, he also can bring +no charge against those who upheld it; but having occasion to +mention its establishment at Barcelona, one of its most important +branches, he makes the remarkable admission that all its members +are men of worth, and that most of them are of distinguished +humanity.</p> +<p>These facts, startling as they are, form a very small part of +that vast mass of evidence which history contains, and which +decisively proves the utter inability of moral feelings to diminish +religious persecution. The way in which the diminution has been +really effected by the mere progress of intellectual acquirements +will be pointed out in another part of this volume; when we shall +see that the great antagonist of intolerance is not humanity, but +knowledge. It is to the diffusion of knowledge, and to that alone, +that we owe the comparative cessation of what is unquestionably the +greatest evil men have ever inflicted on their own species. For +that religious persecution is a greater evil than any other, is +apparent, not so much from the enormous and almost incredible +number of its known victims, as from the fact that the unknown must +be far more numerous, and that history gives no account of those +who have been spared in the body in order that they might suffer in +the mind. We hear much of martyrs and confessors--of those who were +slain by the sword, or consumed in the fire: but we know little of +that still larger number who by the mere threat of persecution have +been driven into an outward abandonment of their real opinions; and +who, thus forced into an apostasy the heart abhors, have passed the +remainder of their lives in the practice of a constant and +humiliating hypocrisy. It is this which is the real curse of +religious persecution. For in this way, men being constrained to +mask their thoughts, there arises a habit of securing safety by +falsehood, and of purchasing impunity with deceit. In this way +fraud becomes a necessary of life; insincerity is made a daily +custom; the whole tone of public feeling is vitiated, and the gross +amount of vice and of error fearfully increased. Surely, then, we +have reason to say that, compared to this, all other crimes are of +small account; and we may well be grateful for that increase of +intellectual pursuits which has destroyed an evil that some among +us would even now willingly restore.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUCKLE02"></a> +<h3>THE MYTHICAL ORIGIN OF HISTORY</h3> +<center>From the 'History of Civilization in England'</center> +<br> +<p>At a very early period in the progress of a people, and long +before they are acquainted with the use of letters, they feel the +want of some resource which in peace may amuse their leisure, and +in war may stimulate their courage. This is supplied to them by the +invention of ballads; which form the groundwork of all historical +knowledge, and which, in one shape or another, are found among some +of the rudest tribes of the earth. They are for the most part sung +by a class of men whose particular business it is thus to preserve +the stock of traditions. Indeed, so natural is this curiosity as to +past events that there are few nations to whom these bards or +minstrels are unknown. Thus, to select a few instances, it is they +who have preserved the popular traditions, not only of Europe, but +also of China, Tibet, and Tartary; likewise of India, of Scinde, of +Beloochistan, of Western Asia, of the islands of the Black Sea, of +Egypt, of Western Africa, of North America, of South America, and +of the islands in the Pacific.</p> +<p>In all these countries, letters were long unknown, and as a +people in that state have no means of perpetuating their history +except by oral tradition, they select the form best calculated to +assist their memory; and it will, I believe, be found that the +first rudiments of knowledge consist always of poetry, and often of +rhyme. The jingle pleases the ear of the barbarian, and affords a +security that he will hand it down to his children in the +unimpaired state in which he received it. This guarantee against +error increases still further the value of these ballads; and +instead of being considered as a mere amusement, they rise to the +dignity of judicial authorities. The allusions contained in them +are satisfactory proofs to decide the merits of rival families, or +even to fix the limits of those rude estates which such a society +can possess. We therefore find that the professed reciters and +composers of these songs are the recognized judges in all disputed +matters; and as they are often priests, and believed to be +inspired, it is probably in this way that the notion of the divine +origin of poetry first arose. These ballads will of course vary +according to the customs and temperaments of the different nations, +and according to the climate to which they are accustomed. In the +south they assume a passionate and voluptuous form; in the north +they are rather remarkable for their tragic and warlike character. +But notwithstanding these diversities, all such productions have +one feature in common: they are not only founded on truth, but +making allowance for the colorings of poetry, they are all strictly +true. Men who are constantly repeating songs which they constantly +hear, and who appeal to the authorized singers of them as final +umpires in disputed questions, are not likely to be mistaken on +matters in the accuracy of which they have so lively an +interest.</p> +<p>This is the earliest and most simple of the various stages +through which history is obliged to pass. But in the course of +time, unless unfavorable circumstances intervene, society advances; +and among other changes, there is one in particular of the greatest +importance. I mean the introduction of the art of writing, which, +before many generations are passed, must effect a complete +alteration in the character of the national traditions. The manner +in which, this occurs has, so far as I am aware, never been pointed +out; and it will therefore be interesting to attempt to trace some +of its details.</p> +<p>The first and perhaps the most obvious consideration is, that +the introduction of the art of writing gives permanence to the +national knowledge, and thus lessens the utility of that oral +information in which all the acquirements of an unlettered people +must be contained. Hence it is that as a country advances the +influence of tradition diminishes, and traditions themselves become +less trustworthy. Besides this, the preservers of these traditions +lose in this stage of society much of their former reputation. +Among a perfectly unlettered people, the singers of ballads are, as +we have already seen, the sole depositaries of those historical +facts on which the fame, and often the property, of their +chieftains principally depend. But when this same nation becomes +acquainted with the art of writing, it grows unwilling to intrust +these matters to the memory of itinerant singers, and avails itself +of its new art to preserve them in a fixed and material form. As +soon as this is effected, the importance of those who repeat the +national traditions is sensibly diminished. They gradually sink +into an inferior class, which, having lost its old reputation, no +longer consists of those superior men to whose abilities it owed +its former fame. Thus we see that although without letters there +can be no knowledge of much importance, it is nevertheless true +that their introduction is injurious to historical traditions in +two distinct ways: first by weakening the traditions, and secondly +by weakening the class of men whose occupation it is to preserve +them.</p> +<p>But this is not all. Not only does the art of writing lessen the +number of traditionary truths, but it directly encourages the +propagation of falsehoods. This is effected by what may be termed a +principle of accumulation, to which all systems of belief have been +deeply indebted. In ancient times, for example, the name of +Hercules was given to several of those great public robbers who +scourged mankind, and who, if their crimes were successful as well +as enormous, were sure after their death to be worshiped as heroes. +How this appellation originated is uncertain; but it was probably +bestowed at first on a single man, and afterwards on those who +resembled him in the character of their achievements. This mode of +extending the use of a single name is natural to a barbarous +people, and would cause little or no confusion, as long as the +tradition of the country remained local and unconnected. But as +soon as these traditions became fixed by a written language, the +collectors of them, deceived by the similarity of name, assembled +the scattered facts, and ascribing to a single man these +accumulated exploits, degraded history to the level of a miraculous +mythology. In the same way, soon after the use of letters was known +in the North of Europe, there was drawn up by Saxo Grammaticus the +life of the celebrated Ragnar Lodbrok. Either from accident or +design, this great warrior of Scandinavia, who had taught England +to tremble, had received the same name as another Ragnar, who was +prince of Jutland about a hundred years earlier. This coincidence +would have caused no confusion as long as each district preserved a +distinct and independent account of its own Ragnar. But by +possessing the resource of writing, men became able to consolidate +the separate trains of events, and as it were, fuse two truths into +one error. And this was what actually happened. The credulous Saxo +put together the different exploits of both Ragnars, and ascribing +the whole of them to his favorite hero, has involved in obscurity +one of the most interesting parts of the early history of +Europe.</p> +<p>The annals of the North afford another curious instance of this +source of error. A tribe of Finns called Quæns occupied a +considerable part of the eastern coast of the Gulf of Bothnia. +Their country was known as Quænland; and this name gave rise +to a belief that to the north of the Baltic there was a nation of +Amazons. This would easily have been corrected by local knowledge: +but by the use of writing, the flying rumor was at once fixed; and +the existence of such a people is positively affirmed in some of +the earliest European histories. Thus too Åbo, the ancient +capital of Finland, was called Turku, which in the Swedish language +means a market-place. Adam of Bremen, having occasion to treat of +the countries adjoining the Baltic, was so misled by the word Turku +that this celebrated historian assures his readers that there were +Turks in Finland.</p> +<p>To these illustrations many others might be added, showing how +mere names deceived the early historians, and gave rise to +relations which were entirely false, and might have been rectified +on the spot; but which, owing to the art of writing, were carried +into distant countries and thus placed beyond the reach of +contradiction. Of such cases, one more may be mentioned, as it +concerns the history of England. Richard I., the most barbarous of +our princes, was known to his contemporaries as the Lion; an +appellation conferred upon him on account of his fearlessness and +the ferocity of his temper. Hence it was said that he had the heart +of a lion; and the title Coeur de Lion not only became indissolubly +connected with his name, but actually gave rise to a story, +repeated by innumerable writers, according to which he slew a lion +in a single combat. The name gave rise to the story; the story +confirmed the name: and another fiction was added to that long +series of falsehoods of which history mainly consisted during the +Middle Ages.</p> +<p>The corruptions of history, thus naturally brought about by the +mere introduction of letters, were in Europe aided by an additional +cause. With the art of writing, there was in most cases also +communicated a knowledge of Christianity; and the new religion not +only destroyed many of the Pagan traditions, but falsified the +remainder by amalgamating them with monastic legends. The extent to +which this was carried would form a curious subject for inquiry; +but one or two instances of it will perhaps be sufficient to +satisfy the generality of readers.</p> +<p>Of the earliest state of the great Northern nations we have +little positive evidence; but several of the lays in which the +Scandinavian poets related the feats of their ancestors or of their +contemporaries are still preserved; and notwithstanding their +subsequent corruption, it is admitted by the most competent judges +that they embody real and historical events. But in the ninth and +tenth centuries, Christian missionaries found their way across the +Baltic, and introduced a knowledge of their religion among the +inhabitants of Northern Europe. Scarcely was this effected when the +sources of history began to be poisoned. At the end of the eleventh +century Saemund Sigfusson, a Christian priest, gathered the popular +and hitherto unwritten histories of the North into what is called +the "Elder Edda"; and he was satisfied with adding to his +compilation the corrective of a Christian hymn. A hundred years +later there was made another collection of the native histories; +but the principle which I have mentioned, having had a longer time +to operate, now displayed its effects still more clearly. In this +second collection, which is known by the name of the 'Younger +Edda,' there is an agreeable mixture of Greek, Jewish, and +Christian fables; and for the first time in the Scandinavian +annals, we meet with the widely diffused fiction of a Trojan +descent.</p> +<p>If by way of further illustration we turn to other parts of the +world, we shall find a series of facts confirming this view. We +shall find that in those countries where there has been no change +of religion, history is more trustworthy and connected than in +those countries where such a change has taken place. In India, +Brahmanism, which is still supreme, was established at so early a +period that its origin is lost in the remotest antiquity. The +consequence is that the native annals have never been corrupted by +any new superstition, and the Hindus are possessed of historic +traditions more ancient than can be found among any other Asiatic +people. In the same way, the Chinese have for upwards of two +thousand years preserved the religion of Fo, which is a form of +Buddhism. In China, therefore, though the civilization has never +been equal to that of India, there is a history, not indeed as old +as the natives would wish us to believe, but still stretching back +to several centuries before the Christian era, from whence it has +been brought down to our own times in an uninterrupted succession. +On the other hand, the Persians, whose intellectual development was +certainly superior to that of the Chinese, are nevertheless without +any authentic information respecting the early transactions of +their ancient monarchy. For this I can see no possible reason +except the fact that Persia, soon after the promulgation of the +Koran, was conquered by the Mohammedans, who completely subverted +the Parsee religion and thus interrupted the stream of the national +traditions. Hence it is that, putting aside the myths of the +Zendavesta, we have no native authorities for Persian history of +any value, until the appearance in the eleventh century of the Shah +Nameh; in which, however, Firdusi has mingled the miraculous +relations of those two religions by which his country had been +successively subjected. The result is, that if it were not for the +various discoveries which have been made, of monuments, +inscriptions, and coins, we should be compelled to rely on the +scanty and inaccurate details in the Greek writers for our +knowledge of the history of one of the most important of the +Asiatic monarchies.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BUFFON"></a> +<h2>GEORGE LOUIS LE CLERC BUFFON</h2> +<h3>(1707-1788)</h3> +<center>BY SPENCER TROTTER</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-a.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>science becomes part of the general stock of knowledge only +after it has entered into the literature of a people. The bare +skeleton of facts must be clothed with the flesh and blood of +imagination, through the humanizing influence of literary +expression, before it can be assimilated by the average +intellectual being. The scientific investigator is rarely endowed +with the gift of weaving the facts into a story that will charm, +and the man of letters is too often devoid of that patience which +is the chief virtue of the scientist. These gifts of the gods are +bestowed upon mankind under the guiding genius of the division of +labor. The name of Buffon will always be associated with natural +history, though in the man himself the spirit of science was +conspicuously absent. In this respect he was in marked contrast +with his contemporary Linnæus, whose intellect and labor laid +the foundations of much of the scientific knowledge of to-day.</p> +<p class="rgt"><img src="images/buffon.jpg" width="45%" alt=""><br> +<b>Buffon</b></p> +<p>George Louis le Clerc Buffon was born on the 7th of September, +1707, at Montbar, in Burgundy. His father, Benjamin le Clerc, who +was possessed of a fortune, appears to have bestowed great care and +liberality on the education of his son. While a youth Buffon made +the acquaintance of a young English nobleman, the Duke of Kingston, +whose tutor, a man well versed in the knowledge of physical +science, exerted a profound influence on the future career of the +young Frenchman. At twenty-one Buffon came into his mother's +estate, a fortune yielding an annual income of £12,000. But +this wealth did not change his purpose to gain knowledge. He +traveled through Italy, and after living for a short period in +England returned to France and devoted his time to literary work. +His first efforts were translations of two English works of +science--Hale's 'Vegetable Statics' and Newton's 'Fluxions'; and he +followed these with various studies in the different branches of +physical science.</p> +<p>The determining event in his life, which led him to devote the +rest of his years to the study of natural history, was the death of +his friend Du Fay, the Intendant of the Jardin du Roi (now the +Jardin des Plantes), who on his death-bed recommended Buffon as his +successor. A man of letters, Buffon saw before him the opportunity +to write a natural history of the earth and its inhabitants; and he +set to work with a zeal that lasted until his death in 1788, at the +age of eighty-one. His great work, 'L'Histoire Naturelle,' was the +outcome of these years of labor, the first edition being complete +in thirty-six quarto volumes.</p> +<p>The first fifteen volumes of this great work, published between +the years 1749 and 1767, treated of the theory of the earth, the +nature of animals, and the history of man and viviparous +quadrupeds; and was the joint work of Buffon and Daubenton, a +physician of Buffon's native village. The scientific portion of the +work was done by Daubenton, who possessed considerable anatomical +knowledge, and who wrote accurate descriptions of the various +animals mentioned. Buffon, however, affected to ignore the work of +his co-laborer and reaped the entire glory, so that Daubenton +withdrew his services. Later appeared the nine volumes on birds, in +which Buffon was aided by the Abbé Sexon. Then followed the +'History of Minerals' in five volumes, and seven volumes of +'Supplements,' the last one of which was published the year after +Buffon's death.</p> +<p>One can hardly admire the personal character of Buffon. He was +vain and superficial, and given to extravagant speculations. He is +reported to have said, "I know but five great geniuses--Newton, +Bacon, Leibnitz, Montesquieu, and myself." His natural vanity was +undoubtedly fostered by the adulation which he received from those +in authority. He saw his own statue placed in the cabinet of Louis +XVI., with the inscription "Majestati Naturæ par ingenium." +Louis XV. bestowed upon him a title of nobility, and crowned heads +"addressed him in language of the most exaggerated compliment." +Buffon's conduct and conversation were marked throughout by a +certain coarseness and vulgarity that constantly appear in his +writings. He was foppish and trifling, and affected religion though +at heart a disbeliever.</p> +<p>The chief value of Buffon's work lies in the fact that it first +brought the subject of natural history into popular literature. +Probably no writer of the time, with the exception of Voltaire and +Rousseau, was so widely read and quoted as Buffon. But the gross +inaccuracy which pervaded his writings, and the visionary theories +in which he constantly indulged, gave the work a less permanent +value than it might otherwise have attained. Buffon detested the +scientific method, preferring literary finish to accuracy of +statement. Although the work was widely translated, and was the +only popular natural history of the time, there is little of it +that is worthy of a place in the world's best literature. It is +chiefly as a relic of a past literary epoch, and as the pioneer +work in a new literary field, that Buffon's writings appeal to us. +They awakened for the first time a wide interest in natural +history, though their author was distinctly <i>not</i> a +naturalist.</p> +<p>Arabella Buckley has said of Buffon and his writings that though +"he often made great mistakes and arrived at false conclusions, +still he had so much genius and knowledge that a great part of his +work will always remain true." Cuvier has left us a good memoir of +Buffon in the 'Biographic Universelle.'</p> +<p class="sign"><img src="images/sign-403.jpg" width="60%" alt= +""></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUFFON01"></a> +<h3>NATURE</h3> +<center>From the 'Natural History'</center> +<br> +<p>So with what magnificence Nature shines upon the earth! A pure +light extending from east to west gilds successively the +hemispheres of the globe. An airy transparent element surrounds it; +a warm and fruitful heat animates and develops all its germs of +life; living and salutary waters tend to their support and +increase; high points scattered over the lands, by arresting the +airy vapors, render these sources inexhaustible and always fresh; +gathered into immense hollows, they divide the continents. The +extent of the sea is as great as that of the land. It is not a cold +and sterile element, but another empire as rich and populated as +the first. The finger of God has marked the boundaries. When the +waters encroach upon the beaches of the west, they leave bare those +of the east. This enormous mass of water, itself inert, follows the +guidance of heavenly movements. Balanced by the regular +oscillations of ebb and flow, it rises and falls with the planet of +night; rising still higher when concurrent with the planet of day, +the two uniting their forces during the equinoxes cause the great +tides. Our connection with the heavens is nowhere more clearly +indicated. From these constant and general movements result others +variable and particular: removals of earth, deposits at the bottom +of water forming elevations like those upon the earth's surface, +currents which, following the direction of these mountain ranges, +shape them to corresponding angles; and rolling in the midst of the +waves, as waters upon the earth, are in truth the rivers of the +sea.</p> +<p>The air, too, lighter and more fluid than water, obeys many +forces: the distant action of sun and moon, the immediate action of +the sea, that of rarefying heat and of condensing cold, produce in +it continual agitations. The winds are its currents, driving before +them and collecting the clouds. They produce meteors; transport the +humid vapors of maritime beaches to the land surfaces of the +continents; determine the storms; distribute the fruitful rains and +kindly dews; stir the sea; agitate the mobile waters, arrest or +hasten the currents; raise floods; excite tempests. The angry sea +rises toward heaven and breaks roaring against immovable dikes, +which it can neither destroy nor surmount.</p> +<p>The land elevated above sea-level is safe from these irruptions. +Its surface, enameled with flowers, adorned with ever fresh +verdure, peopled with thousands and thousands of differing species +of animals, is a place of repose; an abode of delights, where man, +placed to aid nature, dominates all other things, the only one who +can know and admire. God has made him spectator of the universe and +witness of his marvels. He is animated by a divine spark which +renders him a participant in the divine mysteries; and by whose +light he thinks and reflects, sees and reads in the book of the +world as in a copy of divinity.</p> +<p>Nature is the exterior throne of God's glory. The man who +studies and contemplates it rises gradually towards the interior +throne of omniscience. Made to adore the Creator, he commands all +the creatures. Vassal of heaven, king of earth, which he ennobles +and enriches, he establishes order, harmony, and subordination +among living beings. He embellishes Nature itself; cultivates, +extends, and refines it; suppresses its thistles and brambles, and +multiplies its grapes and roses.</p> +<p>Look upon the solitary beaches and sad lands where man has never +dwelt: covered--or rather bristling--with thick black woods on all +their rising ground, stunted barkless trees, bent, twisted, falling +from age; near by, others even more numerous, rotting upon heaps +already rotten,--stifling, burying the germs ready to burst forth. +Nature, young everywhere else, is here decrepit. The land +surmounted by the ruins of these productions offers, instead of +flourishing verdure, only an incumbered space pierced by aged +trees, loaded with parasitic plants, lichens, agarics--impure +fruits of corruption. In the low parts is water, dead and stagnant +because undirected; or swampy soil neither solid nor liquid, hence +unapproachable and useless to the habitants both of land and of +water. Here are swamps covered with rank aquatic plants nourishing +only venomous insects and haunted by unclean animals. Between these +low infectious marshes and these higher ancient forests extend +plains having nothing in common with our meadows, upon which weeds +smother useful plants. There is none of that fine turf which seems +like down upon the earth, or of that enameled lawn which announces +a brilliant fertility; but instead an interlacement of hard and +thorny herbs which seem to cling to each other rather than to the +soil, and which, successively withering and impeding each other, +form a coarse mat several feet thick. There are no roads, no +communications, no vestiges of intelligence in these wild places. +Man, obliged to follow the paths of savage beasts and to watch +constantly lest he become their prey, terrified by their roars, +thrilled by the very silence of these profound solitudes, turns +back and says:--</p> +<p>Primitive nature is hideous and dying; I, I alone, can make it +living and agreeable. Let us dry these swamps; converting into +streams and canals, animate these dead waters by setting them in +motion. Let us use the active and devouring element once hidden +from us, and which we ourselves have discovered; and set fire to +this superfluous mat, to these aged forests already half consumed, +and finish with iron what fire cannot destroy! Soon, instead of +rush and water-lily from which the toad compounds his venom, we +shall see buttercups and clover, sweet and salutary herbs. Herds of +bounding animals will tread this once impracticable soil and find +abundant, constantly renewed pasture. They will multiply, to +multiply again. Let us employ the new aid to complete our work; and +let the ox, submissive to the yoke, exercise his strength in +furrowing the land. Then it will grow young again with cultivation, +and a new nature shall spring up under our hands.</p> +<p>How beautiful is cultivated Nature when by the cares of man she +is brilliantly and pompously adorned! He himself is the chief +ornament, the most noble production; in multiplying himself he +multiplies her most precious gem. She seems to multiply herself +with him, for his art brings to light all that her bosom conceals. +What treasures hitherto ignored! What new riches! Flowers, fruits, +perfected grains infinitely multiplied; useful species of animals +transported, propagated, endlessly increased; harmful species +destroyed, confined, banished; gold, and iron more necessary than +gold, drawn from the bowels of the earth; torrents confined; rivers +directed and restrained; the sea, submissive and comprehended, +crossed from one hemisphere to the other; the earth everywhere +accessible, everywhere living and fertile; in the valleys, laughing +prairies; in the plains, rich pastures or richer harvests; the +hills loaded with vines and fruits, their summits crowned by useful +trees and young forests; deserts changed to cities inhabited by a +great people, who, ceaselessly circulating, scatter themselves from +centres to extremities; frequent open roads and communications +established everywhere like so many witnesses of the force and +union of society; a thousand other monuments of power and glory: +proving that man, master of the world, has transformed it, renewed +its whole surface, and that he shares his empire with Nature.</p> +<p>However, he rules only by right of conquest, and enjoys rather +than possesses. He can only retain by ever-renewed efforts. If +these cease, everything languishes, changes, grows disordered, +enters again into the hands of Nature. She retakes her rights; +effaces man's work; covers his most sumptuous monuments with dust +and moss; destroys them in time, leaving him only the regret that +he has lost by his own fault the conquests of his ancestors. These +periods during which man loses his domain, ages of barbarism when +everything perishes, are always prepared by wars and arrive with +famine and depopulation. Man, who can do nothing except in numbers, +and is only strong in union, only happy in peace, has the madness +to arm himself for his unhappiness and to fight for his own ruin. +Incited by insatiable greed, blinded by still more insatiable +ambition, he renounces the sentiments of humanity, turns all his +forces against himself, and seeking to destroy his fellow, does +indeed destroy himself. And after these days of blood and carnage, +when the smoke of glory has passed away, he sees with sadness that +the earth is devastated, the arts buried, the nations dispersed, +the races enfeebled, his own happiness ruined, and his power +annihilated.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BUFFON02"></a> +<h3>THE HUMMING-BIRD</h3> +<center>From the 'Natural History'</center> +<br> +<p>Of all animated beings this is the most elegant in form and the +most brilliant in colors. The stones and metals polished by our +arts are not comparable to this jewel of Nature. She has placed it +least in size of the order of birds, <i>maxime miranda in +minimis</i>. Her masterpiece is the little humming-bird, and upon +it she has heaped all the gifts which the other birds may only +share. Lightness, rapidity, nimbleness, grace, and rich apparel all +belong to this little favorite. The emerald, the ruby, and the +topaz gleam upon its dress. It never soils them with the dust of +earth, and in its aërial life scarcely touches the turf an +instant. Always in the air, flying from flower to flower, it has +their freshness as well as their brightness. It lives upon their +nectar, and dwells only in the climates where they perennially +bloom.</p> +<p>All kinds of humming-birds are found in the hottest countries of +the New World. They are quite numerous and seem to be confined +between the two tropics, for those which penetrate the temperate +zones in summer only stay there a short time. They seem to follow +the sun in its advance and retreat; and to fly on the wing of +zephyrs after an eternal spring.</p> +<p>The smaller species of the humming-birds are less in size than +the great fly wasp, and more slender than the drone. Their beak is +a fine needle and their tongue a slender thread. Their little black +eyes are like two shining points, and the feathers of their wings +so delicate that they seem transparent. Their short feet, which +they use very little, are so tiny one can scarcely see them. They +alight only at night, resting in the air during the day. They have +a swift continual humming flight. The movement of their wings is so +rapid that when pausing in the air, the bird seems quite +motionless. One sees him stop before a blossom, then dart like a +flash to another, visiting all, plunging his tongue into their +hearts, flattening them with his wings, never settling anywhere, +but neglecting none. He hastens his inconstancies only to pursue +his loves more eagerly and to multiply his innocent joys. For this +light lover of flowers lives at their expense without ever +blighting them. He only pumps their honey, and to this alone his +tongue seems destined.</p> +<p>The vivacity of these small birds is only equaled by their +courage, or rather their audacity. Sometimes they may be seen +chasing furiously birds twenty times their size, fastening upon +their bodies, letting themselves be carried along in their flight, +while they peck them fiercely until their tiny rage is satisfied. +Sometimes they fight each other vigorously. Impatience seems their +very essence. If they approach a blossom and find it faded, they +mark their spite by hasty rending of the petals. Their only voice +is a weak cry, "<i>screp, screp</i>," frequent and repeated, which +they utter in the woods from dawn, until at the first rays of the +sun they all take flight and scatter over the country.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 35%;"> +<br> +<br> +<a name="BULWER"></a> +<h2>EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON</h2> +<h3>(1803-1873)</h3> +<center>BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE</center> +<br> +<p class="par"><img src="images/letter-t.jpg" width="30%" alt= +""></p> +<p>he patrician in literature is always an interesting spectacle. +We are prone to regard his performance as a test of the worth of +long descent and high breeding. If he does well, he vindicates the +claims of his caste; if ill, we infer that inherited estates and +blue blood are but surface advantages, leaving the effective brain +unimproved, or even causing deterioration. But the argument is +still open; and whether genius be the creature of circumstance or +divinely independent, is a question which prejudice rather than +evidence commonly decides.</p> +<p>Certainly literature tries men's souls. The charlatan must +betray himself. Genius shines through all cerements. On the other +hand, genius may be nourished, and the charlatan permeates all +classes. The truth probably is that an aristocrat is quite as apt +as a plebeian to be a good writer. Only since there are fewer of +the former than of the latter, and since, unlike the last, the +first are seldom forced to live by their brains, there are more +plebeian than aristocratic names on the literary roll of honor. +Admitting this, the instance of the writer known as "Bulwer" proves +nothing one way or the other. At all events, not, Was he a genius +because he was a, patrician? but, Was he a genius at all? is the +inquiry most germane to our present purpose.</p> +<p>An aristocrat of aristocrats undoubtedly he was, though it +concerns us not to determine whether the blood of Plantagenet kings +and Norman conquerors really flowed in his veins. On both father's +and mother's side he was thoroughly well connected. Heydon Hall in +Norfolk was the hereditary home of the Norman Bulwers; the Saxon +Lyttons had since the Conquest lived at Knebworth in Derbyshire. +The historic background of each family was honorable, and when the +marriage of William Earle Bulwer with Elizabeth Barbara Lytton +united them, it might be said that in their offspring England found +her type.</p> +<p>Edward, being the youngest son, had little money, but he +happened to have brains. He began existence delicate and +precocious. Culture, with him, set in almost with what he would +have termed the "consciousness of his own identity," and the +process never intermitted: in fact, appearances to the contrary +notwithstanding, his spiritual and intellectual emancipation was +hindered by many obstacles; for, an ailing child, he was petted by +his mother, and such germs of intelligence (verses at seven years +old, and the like) as he betrayed were trumpeted as prodigies. He +was spoilt so long before he was ripe that it is a marvel he ever +ripened at all. Many years must pass before vanity could be +replaced in him by manly ambition; a vein of silliness is traceable +through his career almost to the end. He expatiated in the falsetto +key; almost never do we hear in his voice that hearty bass note so +dear to plain humanity. In his pilgrimage toward freedom he had to +wrestle not only with flesh-and-blood mothers, uncles, and wives, +<i>et id genus omne</i>, but with the more subtle and vital ideas, +superstitions, and prejudices appertaining to his social station. +His worst foes were not those of his household merely, but of his +heart. The more arduous achievement of such a man is to see his +real self and believe in it. There are so many misleading +purple-velvet waistcoats, gold chains, superfine sentiments, and +blue-blooded affiliations in the way, that the true nucleus of so +much decoration becomes less accessible than the needle in the +hay-stack. It is greatly to Bulwer's credit that he stuck valiantly +to his quest, and nearly, if not quite, ran down his game at last. +His intellectual record is one of constant progress, from childhood +to age.</p> +<p>Whether his advance in other respects was as uniform does not +much concern us. He was unhappy with his wife, and perhaps they +even threw things at each other at table, the servants looking on. +Nothing in his matrimonial relations so much became him as his +conduct after their severance: he held his tongue like a man, in +spite of the poor lady's shrieks and clapper-clawings. His +whimsical, hair-splitting conscientiousness is less admirable. A +healthy conscience does not whine--it creates. No one cares to know +what a man thinks of his own actions. No one is interested to learn +that Bulwer meant 'Paul Clifford' to be an edifying work, or that +he married his wife from the highest motives. We do not take him so +seriously: we are satisfied that he wrote the story first and +discovered its morality afterwards; and that lofty motives would +not have united him to Miss Rosina Doyle Wheeler had she not been +pretty and clever. His hectic letters to his mamma; his Byronic +struttings and mouthings over the grave of his schoolgirl +lady-love; his eighteenth-century comedy-scene with Caroline Lamb; +his starched-frill participation in the Fred Villiers duel at +Boulogne,--how silly and artificial is all this! There is no +genuine feeling in it: he attires himself in tawdry sentiment as in +a flowered waistcoat. What a difference between him, at this +period, and his contemporary Benjamin Disraeli, who indeed +committed similar inanities, but with a saturnine sense of humor +cropping out at every turn which altered the whole complexion of +the performance. We laugh at the one, but with the other.</p> +<br> +<a name="bulwer.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/bulwer.jpg"><img src= +"images/bulwer.jpg" width="45%" alt=""></a></p> +<br> +<p>Of course, however, there was a man hidden somewhere in Edward +Bulwer's perfumed clothes and mincing attitudes, else the world had +long since forgotten him. Amidst his dandyism, he learned how to +speak well in debate and how to use his hands to guard his head; he +paid his debts by honest hard work, and would not be dishonorably +beholden to his mother or any one else. He posed as a blighted +being, and invented black evening-dress; but he lived down the +scorn of such men as Tennyson and Thackeray, and won their respect +and friendship at last. He aimed high, according to his lights, +meant well, and in the long run did well too.</p> +<p>The main activities of his life--and from start to finish his +energy was great--were in politics and in literature. His political +career covers about forty years, from the time he took his degree +at Cambridge till Lord Derby made him a peer in 1866. He +accomplished nothing of serious importance, but his course was +always creditable: he began as a sentimental Radical and ended as a +liberal Conservative; he advocated the Crimean War; the Corn Laws +found him in a compromising humor; his record as Colonial Secretary +offers nothing memorable in statesmanship. The extraordinary +brilliancy of his brother Henry's diplomatic life throws Edward's +achievements into the shade. There is nothing to be ashamed of, but +had he done nothing else he would have been unknown. But +literature, first seriously cultivated as a means of livelihood, +outlasted his political ambitions, and his books are to-day his +only claim to remembrance. They made a strong impression at the +time they were written, and many are still read as much as ever, by +a generation born after his death. Their popularity is not of the +catchpenny sort; thoughtful people read them, as well as the great +drove of the undiscriminating. For they are the product of thought: +they show workmanship; they have quality; they are carefully made. +If the literary critic never finds occasion to put off the shoes +from his feet as in the sacred presence of genius, he is constantly +moved to recognize with a friendly nod the presence of sterling +talent. He is even inclined to think that nobody else ever had so +much talent as this little red-haired, blue-eyed, high-nosed, +dandified Edward Bulwer; the mere mass of it lifts him at times to +the levels where genius dwells, though he never quite shares their +nectar and ambrosia. He as it were catches echoes of the talk of +the Immortals,--the turn of their phrase, the intonation of their +utterance,--and straightway reproduces it with the fidelity of the +phonograph. But, as in the phonograph, we find something lacking; +our mind accepts the report as genuine, but our ear affirms an +unreality; this is reproduction, indeed, but not creation. Bulwer +himself, when his fit is past, and his critical faculty re-awakens, +probably knows as well as another that these labored and +meritorious pages of his are not graven on the eternal adamant. But +they are the best he can do, and perhaps there is none better of +their kind. They have a right to be; for while genius may do harm +as well as good, Bulwer never does harm, and in spite of sickly +sentiment and sham philosophy, is uniformly instructive, amusing, +and edifying.</p> +<p>"To love her," wrote Dick Steele of a certain great dame, "is a +liberal education;" and we might almost say the same of the reading +of Bulwer's romances. He was learned, and he put into his books all +his learning, as well as all else that was his. They represent +artistically grouped, ingeniously lighted, with suitable +acompaniments of music and illusion--the acquisitions of his +intellect, the sympathies of his nature, and the achievements of +his character.</p> +<p>He wrote in various styles, making deliberate experiments in one +after another, and often hiding himself completely in anonymity. He +was versatile, not deep. Robert Louis Stevenson also employs +various styles; but with him the changes are intuitive--they are +the subtle variations in touch and timbre which genius makes, in +harmony with the subject treated. Stevenson could not have written +'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' in the same tune and key as 'Treasure +Island'; and the music of 'Marxheim' differs from both. The reason +is organic: the writer is inspired by his theme, and it passes +through his mind with a lilt and measure of its own. It makes its +own style, just as a human spirit makes its own features and gait; +and we know Stevenson through all his transformations only by dint +of the exquisite distinction and felicity of word and phrase that +always characterize him. Now, with Bulwer there is none of this +lovely inevitable spontaneity. He costumes his tale arbitrarily, +like a stage-haberdasher, and invents a voice to deliver it withal. +'The Last Days of Pompeii' shall be mouthed out grandiloquently; +the incredibilities of 'The Coming Race' shall wear the guise of +naïve and artless narrative; the humors of 'The Caxtons' and +'What Will He Do with It?' shall reflect the mood of the sagacious, +affable man of the world, gossiping over the nuts and wine; the +marvels of 'Zanoni' and 'A Strange Story' must be portrayed with a +resonance and exaltation of diction fitted to their transcendental +claims. But between the stark mechanism of the Englishman and the +lithe, inspired felicity of the Scot, what a difference!</p> +<p>Bulwer's work may be classified according to subject, though not +chronologically. He wrote novels of society, of history, of +mystery, and of romance. In all he was successful, and perhaps felt +as much interest in one as in another. In his own life the study of +the occult played a part; he was familiar with the contemporary +fads in mystery and acquainted with their professors. "Ancient" +history also attracted him, and he even wrote a couple of volumes +of a 'History of Athens.' In all his writing there is a tendency to +lapse into a discussion of the "Ideal and the Real," aiming always +at the conclusion that the only true Real is the Ideal. It was this +tendency which chiefly aroused the ridicule of his critics, and +from the 'Sredwardlyttonbulwig' of Thackeray to the 'Condensed +Novels' burlesque of Bret Harte, they harp upon that facile string, +The thing satirized is after all not cheaper than the satire. The +ideal <i>is</i> the true real; the only absurdity lies in the pomp +and circumstance wherewith that simple truth is introduced. There +<i>is</i> a 'Dweller on the Threshold,' but it, or he, is nothing +more than that doubt concerning the truth of spiritual things which +assails all beginners in higher speculation, and there was no need +to call it or him by so formidable a name. A sense of humor would +have saved Bulwer from almost all his faults, and have endowed him +with several valuable virtues into the bargain; but it was not born +in him, and with all his diligence he never could beget it.</p> +<p>The domestic series, of which 'The Caxtons' is the type, are the +most generally popular of his works, and are likely to be so +longest. The romantic vein ('Ernest Maltravers,' 'Alice, or the +Mysteries,' etc.) are in his worst style, and are now only in +existence as books because they are members of "the edition," It is +doubtful if any human being has read one of them through in twenty +years. Such historical books as 'The Last Days of Pompeii' are not +only well constructed dramatically, but are painfully accurate in +details, and may still be read for information as well as for +pleasure. The 'Zanoni' species is undeniably interesting. The weird +traditions of the 'Philosopher's Stone' and the 'Elixir of Life' +can never cease to fascinate human souls, and all the paraphernalia +of magic are charming to minds weary of the matter-of-factitude of +current existence. The stories are put together with Bulwer's +unfailing cleverness, and in all external respects neither Dumas +nor Balzac has done anything better in this kind: the trouble is +that these authors compel our belief, while Bulwer does not. For, +once more, he lacks the magic of genius and the spirit of style +which are immortally and incommunicably theirs, without which no +other magic can be made literarily effective.</p> +<p>'Pelham,' written at twenty-five years of age, is a creditable +boy's book; it aims to portray character as well as to develop +incidents, and in spite of the dreadful silliness of its +melodramatic passages it has merit. Conventionally it is more +nearly a work of art than that other famous boy's book, Disraeli's +'Vivian Grey,' though the latter is alive and blooming with the +original literary charm which is denied to the other. Other +characteristic novels of his are 'The Last Days of Pompeii,' +'Ernest Maltravers,' 'Zanoni,' 'The Caxtons,' 'My Novel,' 'What +Will He Do with It?' 'A Strange Story,' 'The Coming Race,' and +'Kenelm Chillingly,' the last of which appeared in the year of the +author's death, 1873. The student who has read these books will +know all that is worth knowing of Bulwer's work. He wrote upwards +of fifty substantial volumes, and left a mass of posthumous +material besides. Of all that he did, the most nearly satisfactory +thing is one of the last, 'Kenelm Chillingly.' In style, persons, +and incidents it is alike charming: it subsides somewhat into the +inevitable Bulwer sentimentality towards the end--a silk purse +cannot be made out of a sow's ear; but the miracle was never nearer +being accomplished than in this instance. Here we see the +thoroughly equipped man of letters doing with apparent ease what +scarce five of his contemporaries could have done at all. The book +is lightsome and graceful, yet it touches serious thoughts: most +remarkable of all, it shows a suppleness of mind and freshness of +feeling more to be expected in a youth of thirty than in a veteran +of threescore and ten. Bulwer never ceased to grow; and what is +better still, to grow away from his faults and towards +improvement.</p> +<p>But in comparing him with others, we must admit that he had +better opportunities than most. His social station brought him in +contact with the best people and most pregnant events of his time; +and the driving poverty of youth having established him in the +novel-writing habit, he thereafter had leisure to polish and expand +his faculty to the utmost. No talent of his was folded up in a +napkin: he did his best and utmost with all he had. Whereas the +path of genius is commonly tortuous and hard-beset: and while we +are always saying of Shakespeare, or Thackeray, or Shelley, or +Keats, or Poe, "What wonders they would have done had life been +longer or fate kinder to them!"--of Bulwer we say, "No help was +wanting to him, and he profited by all; he got out of the egg more +than we had believed was in it!" Instead of a great faculty hobbled +by circumstance, we have a small faculty magnified by occasion and +enriched by time.</p> +<p>Certainly, as men of letters go, Bulwer must be accounted +fortunate. The long inflamed row of his domestic life apart, all +things went his way. He received large sums for his books; at the +age of forty, his mother dying, he succeeded to the Knebworth +estate; three-and-twenty years later his old age (if such a man +could be called old) was consoled by the title of Lord Lytton. His +health was never robust, and occasionally failed; but he seems to +have been able to accomplish after a fashion everything that he +undertook; he was "thorough," as the English say. He lived in the +midst of events; he was a friend of the men who made the age, and +saw them make it, lending a hand himself too when and where he +could. He lived long enough to see the hostility which had opposed +him in youth die away, and honor and kindness take its place. Let +it be repeated, his aims were good. He would have been candid and +un-selfconscious had that been possible for him; and perhaps the +failure was one of manner rather than of heart.--Yes, he was a +fortunate man.</p> +<p>His most conspicuous success was as a play-writer. In view of +his essentially dramatic and historic temperament, it is surprising +that he did not altogether devote himself to this branch of art; +but all his dramas were produced between his thirty-third and his +thirty-eighth years. The first--'La Duchesse de la Valliere' was +not to the public liking; but 'The Lady of Lyons,' written in two +weeks, is in undiminished favor after near sixty years; and so are +'Richelieu' and 'Money.' There is no apparent reason why Bulwer +should not have been as prolific a stage-author as Molière +or even Lope de Vega. But we often value our best faculties +least.</p> +<p>'The Coming Race,' published anonymously and never acknowledged +during his life, was an unexpected product of his mind, but is +useful to mark his limitations. It is a forecast of the future, and +proves, as nothing else could so well do, the utter absence in +Bulwer of the creative imagination. It is an invention, cleverly +conceived, mechanically and rather tediously worked out, and +written in a style astonishingly commonplace. The man who wrote +that book (one would say) had no heaven in his soul, nor any +pinions whereon to soar heavenward. Yet it is full of thought and +ingenuity, and the central conception of "vrii" has been much +commended. But the whole concoction is tainted with the deadness of +stark materialism, and we should be unjust, after all, to deny +Bulwer something loftier and broader than is discoverable here. In +inventing the narrative he depended upon the weakest element in his +mental make-up, and the result could not but be dismal. We like to +believe that there was better stuff in him than he himself ever +found; and that when he left this world for the next, he had +sloughed off more dross than most men have time to accumulate.</p> +<p class="sign"><img src="images/sign-417.jpg" width="60%" alt= +""></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BULWER01"></a> +<h3>THE AMPHITHEATRE</h3> +<center>From 'The Last Days of Pompeii'</center> +<br> +<p>On the upper tier (but apart from the male spectators) sat the +women, their gay dresses resembling some gaudy flowerbed; it is +needless to add that they were the most talkative part of the +assembly; and many were the looks directed up to them, especially +from the benches appropriated to the young and the unmarried men. +On the lower seats round the arena sat the more high-born and +wealthy visitors--the magistrates and those of senatorial or +equestrian dignity: the passages which, by corridors at the right +and left, gave access to these seats, at either end of the oval +arena, were also the entrances for the combatants. Strong palings +at these passages prevented any unwelcome eccentricity in the +movements of the beasts, and confined them to their appointed prey. +Around the parapet which was raised above the arena, and from which +the seats gradually rose, were gladiatorial inscriptions, and +paintings wrought in fresco, typical of the entertainments for +which the place was designed. Throughout the whole building wound +invisible pipes, from which, as the day advanced, cooling and +fragrant showers were to be sprinkled over the spectators. The +officers of the amphitheatre were still employed in the task of +fixing the vast awning (or <i>velaria</i>) which covered the whole, +and which luxurious invention the Campanians arrogated to +themselves: it was woven of the whitest Apulian wool, and +variegated with broad stripes of crimson. Owing either to some +inexperience on the part of the workmen or to some defect in the +machinery, the awning, however, was not arranged that day so +happily as usual; indeed, from the immense space of the +circumference, the task was always one of great difficulty and +art--so much so that it could seldom be adventured in rough or +windy weather. But the present day was so remarkably still that +there seemed to the spectators no excuse for the awkwardness of the +artificers; and when a large gap in the back of the awning was +still visible, from the obstinate refusal of one part of the +velaria to ally itself with the rest, the murmurs of discontent +were loud and general.</p> +<p>The sedile Pansa, at whose expense the exhibition was given, +looked particularly annoyed at the defect, and vowed bitter +vengeance on the head of the chief officer of the show, who, +fretting, puffing, perspiring, busied himself in idle orders and +unavailing threats.</p> +<p>The hubbub ceased suddenly--the operators desisted--the crowd +were stilled--the gap was forgotten--for now, with a loud and +warlike flourish of trumpets, the gladiators, marshaled in +ceremonious procession, entered the arena. They swept round the +oval space very slowly and deliberately, in order to give the +spectators full leisure to admire their stern serenity of +feature--their brawny limbs and various arms, as well as to form +such wagers as the excitement of the moment might suggest.</p> +<p>"Oh!" cried the widow Fulvia to the wife of Pansa, as they +leaned down from their lofty bench, "do you see that gigantic +gladiator? how drolly he is dressed!"</p> +<p>"Yes," said the aedile's wife with complacent importance, for +she knew all the names and qualities of each combatant: "he is a +retiarius or netter; he is armed only, you see, with a +three-pronged spear like a trident, and a net; he wears no armor, +only the fillet and the tunic. He is a mighty man, and is to fight +with Sporus, yon thick-set gladiator, with the round shield and +drawn sword but without body armor; he has not his helmet on now, +in order that you may see his face--how fearless it is! By-and-by +he will fight with his visor down."</p> +<p>"But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against a shield and +sword?"</p> +<p>"That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia: the retiarius +has generally the best of it."</p> +<p>"But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked--is it not +quite improper? By Venus! but his limbs are beautifully +shaped!"</p> +<p>"It is Lydon, a young untried man! he has the rashness to fight +yon other gladiator similarly dressed, or rather +undressed--Tetraides. They fight first in the Greek fashion, with +the cestus; afterward they put on armor, and try sword and +shield."</p> +<p>"He is a proper man, this Lydon; and the women, I am sure, are +on his side."</p> +<p>"So are not the experienced bettors: Clodius offers three to one +against him."</p> +<p>"Oh, Jove! how beautiful!" exclaimed the widow, as two +gladiators, armed <i>cap-à-pie,</i> rode round the arena on +light and prancing steeds. Resembling much the combatants in the +tilts of the middle age, they bore lances and round shields +beautifully inlaid; their armor was woven intricately with bands of +iron, but it covered only the thighs and the right arms; short +cloaks extending to the seat gave a picturesque and graceful air to +their costume; their legs were naked with the exception of sandals, +which were fastened a little above the ankle. "Oh, beautiful! Who +are these?" asked the widow.</p> +<p>"The one is named Berbix: he has conquered twelve times. The +other assumes the arrogant Nobilior. They are both Gauls."</p> +<p>While thus conversing, the first formalities of the show were +over. To these succeeded a feigned combat with wooden swords +between the various gladiators matched against each other. Among +these the skill of two Roman gladiators, hired for the occasion, +was the most admired; and next to them the most graceful combatant +was Lydon. This sham contest did not last above an hour, nor did it +attract any very lively interest except among those connoisseurs of +the arena to whom art was preferable to more coarse excitement; the +body of the spectators were rejoiced when it was over, and when the +sympathy rose to terror. The combatants were now arranged in pairs, +as agreed beforehand; their weapons examined; and the grave sports +of the day commenced amid the deepest silence--broken only by an +exciting and preliminary blast of warlike music.</p> +<p>It was often customary to begin the sports by the most cruel of +all; and some bestiarius, or gladiator appointed to the beasts, was +slain first as an initiatory sacrifice. But in the present instance +the experienced Pansa thought better that the sanguinary drama +should advance, not decrease, in interest; and accordingly the +execution of Olinthus and Glaucus was reserved for the last. It was +arranged that the two horsemen should first occupy the arena; that +the foot gladiators, paired off, should then be loosed +indiscriminately on the stage; that Glaucus and the lion should +next perform their part in the bloody spectacle; and the tiger and +the Nazarene be the grand finale. And in the spectacles of Pompeii, +the reader of Roman history must limit his imagination, nor expect +to find those vast and wholesale exhibitions of magnificent +slaughter with which a Nero or a Caligula regaled the inhabitants +of the Imperial City. The Roman shows, which absorbed the more +celebrated gladiators and the chief proportion of foreign beasts, +were indeed the very reason why in the lesser towns of the empire +the sports of the amphitheatre were comparatively humane and rare; +and in this as in other respects, Pompeii was the miniature, the +microcosm of Rome. Still, it was an awful and imposing spectacle, +with which modern times have, happily, nothing to compare; a vast +theatre, rising row upon row, and swarming with human beings, from +fifteen to eighteen thousand in number, intent upon no fictitious +representation--no tragedy of the stage--but the actual victory or +defeat, the exultant life or the bloody death, of each and all who +entered the arena!</p> +<p>The two horsemen were now at either extremity of the lists (if +so they might be called), and at a given signal from Pansa the +combatants started simultaneously as in full collision, each +advancing his round buckler, each poising on high his sturdy +javelin; but just when within three paces of his opponent, the +steed of Berbix suddenly halted, wheeled round, and, as Nobilior +was borne rapidly by, his antagonist spurred upon him. The buckler +of Nobilior, quickly and skillfully extended, received a blow which +otherwise would have been fatal.</p> +<p>"Well done, Nobilior!" cried the prætor, giving the first +vent to the popular excitement.</p> +<p>"Bravely struck, my Berbix!" answered Clodius from his seat.</p> +<p>And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shout, echoed from side +to side.</p> +<p>The visors of both the horsemen were completely closed (like +those of the knights in after times), but the head was nevertheless +the great point of assault; and Nobilior, now wheeling his charger +with no less adroitness than his opponent, directed his spear full +on the helmet of his foe. Berbix raised his buckler to shield +himself, and his quick-eyed antagonist, suddenly lowering his +weapon, pierced him through the breast. Berbix reeled and fell.</p> +<p>"Nobilior! Nobilior!" shouted the populace.</p> +<p>"I have lost ten sestertia," said Clodius, between his +teeth.</p> +<p>"<i>Habet</i>!" (He has it) said Pansa deliberately.</p> +<p>The populace, not yet hardened into cruelty, made the signal of +mercy: but as the attendants of the arena approached, they found +the kindness came too late; the heart of the Gaul had been pierced, +and his eyes were set in death. It was his life's blood that flowed +so darkly over the sand and sawdust of the arena.</p> +<p>"It is a pity it was so soon over--there was little enough for +one's trouble," said the widow Fulvia.</p> +<p>"Yes--I have no compassion for Berbix. Any one might have seen +that Nobilior did but feint. Mark, they fix the fatal hook to the +body--they drag him away to the spoliarium--they scatter new sand +over the stage! Pansa regrets nothing more than that he is not rich +enough to strew the arena with borax and cinnabar, as Nero used to +do."</p> +<p>"Well, if it has been a brief battle, it is quickly succeeded. +See my handsome Lydon on the arena--ay, and the net-bearer too, and +the swordsmen! Oh, charming!"</p> +<p>There were now on the arena six combatants: Niger and his net, +matched against Sporus with his shield and his short broad-sword; +Lydon and Tetraides, naked save by a cincture round the waist, each +armed only with a heavy Greek cestus; and two gladiators from Rome, +clad in complete steel, and evenly matched with immense bucklers +and pointed swords.</p> +<p>The initiatory contest between Lydon and Tetraides being less +deadly than that between the other combatants, no sooner had they +advanced to the middle of the arena than as by common consent the +rest held back, to see how that contest should be decided, and wait +till fiercer weapons might replace the cestus ere they themselves +commenced hostilities. They stood leaning on their arms and apart +from each other, gazing on the show, which, if not bloody enough +thoroughly to please the populace, they were still inclined to +admire because its origin was of their ancestral Greece.</p> +<p>No persons could at first glance have seemed less evenly matched +than the two antagonists. Tetraides, though no taller than Lydon, +weighed considerably more; the natural size of his muscles was +increased, to the eyes of the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh; +for, as it was a notion that the contest of the cestus fared +easiest with him who was plumpest, Tetraides had encouraged to the +utmost his hereditary predisposition to the portly. His shoulders +were vast, and his lower limbs thick-set, double-jointed, and +slightly curved outward, in that formation which takes so much from +beauty to give so largely to strength. But Lydon, except that he +was slender even almost to meagreness, was beautifully and +delicately proportioned; and the skillful might have perceived that +with much less compass of muscle than his foe, that which he had +was more seasoned--iron and compact. In proportion, too, as he +wanted flesh, he was likely to possess activity; and a haughty +smile on his resolute face, which strongly contrasted with the +solid heaviness of his enemy's, gave assurance to those who beheld +it and united their hope to their pity; so that despite the +disparity of their seeming strength, the cry of the multitude was +nearly as loud for Lydon as for Tetraides.</p> +<p>Whoever is acquainted with the modern prize-ring--whoever has +witnessed the heavy and disabling strokes which the human fist, +skillfully directed, hath the power to bestow--may easily +understand how much that happy facility would be increased by a +band carried by thongs of leather round the arm as high as the +elbow, and terribly strengthened about the knuckles by a plate of +iron, and sometimes a plummet of lead. Yet this, which was meant to +increase, perhaps rather diminished, the interest of the fray; for +it necessarily shortened its duration. A very few blows, +successfully and scientifically planted, might suffice to bring the +contest to a close; and the battle did not, therefore, often allow +full scope for the energy, fortitude, and dogged perseverance that +we technically style <i>pluck</i>, which not unusually wins the day +against superior science, and which heightens to so painful a +delight the interest in the battle and the sympathy for the +brave.</p> +<p>"Guard thyself!" growled Tetraides, moving nearer and nearer to +his foe, who rather shifted round him than receded.</p> +<p>Lydon did not answer, save by a scornful glance of his quick, +vigilant eye. Tetraides struck--it was as the blow of a smith on a +vise; Lydon sank suddenly on one knee--the blow passed over his +head. Not so harmless was Lydon's retaliation; he quickly sprang to +his feet, and aimed his cestus full on the broad chest of his +antagonist. Tetraides reeled--the populace shouted.</p> +<p>"You are unlucky to-day," said Lepidus to Clodius: "you have +lost one bet; you will lose another."</p> +<p>"By the gods! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if that is the +case. I have no less than a hundred sestertia upon Tetraides. Ha, +ha! see how he rallies! That was a home stroke: he has cut open +Lydon's shoulder.--A Tetraides!--a Tetraides!"</p> +<p>"But Lydon is not disheartened. By Pollux! how well he keeps his +temper! See how dextrously he avoids those hammer-like +hands!--dodging now here, now there--circling round and round. Ah, +poor Lydon! he has it again."</p> +<p>"Three to one still on Tetraides! What say you, Lepidus?"</p> +<p>"Well--nine sestertia to three--be it so! What! again Lydon. He +stops--he gasps for breath. By the gods, he is down! No--he is +again on his legs. Brave Lydon! Tetraides is encouraged--he laughs +loud--he rushes on him."</p> +<p>"Fool--success blinds him--he should be cautious. Lydon's eye is +like a lynx's!" said Clodius, between his teeth.</p> +<p>"Ha, Clodius! saw you that? Your man totters! Another blow--he +falls--he falls!"</p> +<p>"Earth revives him then. He is once more up; but the blood rolls +down his face."</p> +<p>"By the Thunderer! Lydon wins it. See how he presses on him! +That blow on the temple would have crushed an ox! it <i>has</i> +crushed Tetraides. He falls again--he cannot +move--<i>habet</i>!--<i>habet</i>!"</p> +<p>"<i>Habet</i>!" repeated Pansa. "Take them out and give them the +armor and swords." ...</p> +<p>While the contest in the amphitheatre had thus commenced, there +was one in the loftier benches for whom it had assumed indeed a +poignant, a stifling interest. The aged father of Lydon, despite +his Christian horror of the spectacle, in his agonized anxiety for +his son had not been able to resist being the spectator of his +fate. Once amid a fierce crowd of strangers, the lowest rabble of +the populace, the old man saw, felt nothing but the form, the +presence of his brave son! Not a sound had escaped his lips when +twice he had seen him fall to the earth; only he had turned paler, +and his limbs trembled. But he had uttered one low cry when he saw +him victorious; unconscious, alas! of the more fearful battle to +which that victory was but a prelude.</p> +<p>"My gallant boy!" said he, and wiped his eyes.</p> +<p>"Is he thy son?" said a brawny fellow to the right of the +Nazarene: "he has fought well; let us see how he does by-and-by. +Hark! he is to fight the first victor. Now, old boy, pray the gods +that that victor be neither of the Romans! nor, next to them, the +giant Niger."</p> +<p>The old man sat down again and covered his face. The fray for +the moment was indifferent to him--Lydon was not one of the +combatants. Yet, yet, the thought flashed across him--the fray was +indeed of deadly interest--the first who fell was to make way for +Lydon! He started, and bent down, with straining eyes and clasped +hands, to view the encounter.</p> +<p>The first interest was attracted toward the combat of Niger with +Sporus; for this spectacle of contest, from the fatal result which +usually attended it, and from the great science it required in +either antagonist, was always peculiarly inviting to the +spectators.</p> +<p>They stood at a considerable distance from each other. The +singular helmet which Sporus wore (the visor of which was down) +concealed his face; but the features of Niger attracted a fearful +and universal interest from their compressed and vigilant ferocity. +Thus they stood for some moments, each eying each, until Sporus +began slowly and with great caution to advance, holding his sword +pointed, like a modern fencer's, at the breast of his foe. Niger +retreated as his antagonist advanced, gathering up his net with his +right hand and never taking his small, glittering eye from the +movements of the swordsman. Suddenly, when Sporus had approached +nearly at arm's length, the retiarius threw himself forward and +cast his net. A quick inflection of body saved the gladiator from +the deadly snare; he uttered a sharp cry of joy and rage and rushed +upon Niger; but Niger had already drawn in his net, thrown it +across his shoulders, and now fled around the lists with a +swiftness which the <i>secutor</i><a name="FNanchor6"></a><a href= +"#Footnote_6">[6]</a> in vain endeavored to equal. The people +laughed and shouted aloud to see the ineffectual efforts of the +broad-shouldered gladiator to overtake the flying giant; when at +that moment their attention was turned from these to the two Roman +combatants.</p> +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor6">[6]</a> +So called from the office of that tribe of gladiators in +<i>following</i> the foe the moment the net was cast, in order to +smite him ere he could have time to re-arrange it.</blockquote> +<p>They had placed themselves at the onset face to face, at the +distance of modern fencers from each other; but the extreme caution +which both evinced at first had prevented any warmth of engagement, +and allowed the spectators full leisure to interest themselves in +the battle between Sporus and his foe. But the Romans were now +heated into full and fierce encounter: they +pushed--returned--advanced on--retreated from each other, with all +that careful yet scarcely perceptible caution which characterizes +men well experienced and equally matched. But at this moment +Eumolpus, the older gladiator, by that dextrous back-stroke which +was considered in the arena so difficult to avoid, had wounded +Nepimus in the side. The people shouted; Lepidus turned pale.</p> +<p>"Ho!" said Clodius, "the game is nearly over. If Eumolpus rights +now the quiet fight, the other will gradually bleed himself +away."</p> +<p>"But, thank the gods! he does <i>not</i> fight the backward +fight. See!--he presses hard upon Nepimus. By Mars! but Nepimus had +him there! the helmet rang again!--Clodius, I shall win!"</p> +<p>"Why do I ever bet but at the dice?" groaned Clodius to +himself;--"or why cannot one cog a gladiator?"</p> +<p>"A Sporus!--a Sporus!" shouted the populace, as Niger, now +having suddenly paused, had again cast his net, and again +unsuccessfully. He had not retreated this time with sufficient +agility--the sword of Sporus had inflicted a severe wound upon his +right leg; and, incapacitated to fly, he was pressed hard by the +fierce swordsman. His great height and length of arm still +continued, however, to give him no despicable advantages; and +steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, he repelled +him successfully for several minutes.</p> +<p>Sporus now tried by great rapidity of evolution to get round his +antagonist, who necessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so +doing he lost his caution--he advanced too near to the +giant--raised his arm to strike, and received the three points of +the fatal spear full in his breast! He sank on his knee. In a +moment more the deadly net was cast over him,--he struggled against +its meshes in vain; again--again--again he writhed mutely beneath +the fresh strokes of the trident--his blood flowed fast through the +net and redly over the sand. He lowered his arms in acknowledgment +of defeat.</p> +<p>The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning on his +spear, looked to the audience for their judgment. Slowly, too, at +the same moment, the vanquished gladiator rolled his dim and +despairing eyes around the theatre. From row to row, from bench to +bench, there glared upon him but merciless and unpitying eyes.</p> +<p>Hushed was the roar--the murmur! The silence was dread, for in +it was no sympathy; not a hand--no, not even a woman's hand--gave +the signal of charity and life! Sporus had never been popular in +the arena; and lately the interest of the combat had been excited +on behalf of the wounded Niger. The people were warmed into +blood--the <i>mimic</i> fight had ceased to charm; the interest had +mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the thirst of death!</p> +<p>The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed; he uttered no +prayer--no groan. The people gave the signal of death! In dogged +but agonized submission he bent his neck to receive the fatal +stroke. And now, as the spear of the retiarius was not a weapon to +inflict instant and certain death, there stalked into the arena a +grim and fatal form, brandishing a short, sharp sword, and with +features utterly concealed beneath its visor. With slow and +measured step this dismal headsman approached the gladiator, still +kneeling--laid the left hand on his humbled crest--drew the edge of +the blade across his neck--turned round to the assembly, lest, in +the last moment, remorse should come upon them; the dread signal +continued the same; the blade glittered brightly in the +air--fell--and the gladiator rolled upon the sand: his limbs +quivered--were still--he was a corpse.</p> +<p>His body was dragged at once from the arena through the gate of +death, and thrown into the gloomy den termed technically the +"spoliarium." And ere it had well reached that destination the +strife between the remaining combatants was decided. The sword of +Eumolpus had inflicted the death-wound upon the less experienced +combatant. A new victim was added to the receptacle of the +slain.</p> +<p>Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal +movement; the people breathed more freely and settled themselves in +their seats. A grateful shower was cast over every row from the +concealed conduits. In cool and luxurious pleasure they talked over +the late spectacle of blood. Eumolpus removed his helmet and wiped +his brows; his close-curled hair and short beard, his noble Roman +features and bright dark eye, attracted the general admiration. He +was fresh, unwounded, unfatigued.</p> +<p>The ædile paused, and proclaimed aloud that as Niger's +wound disabled him from again entering the arena, Lydon was to be +the successor to the slaughtered Nepimus and the new combatant of +Eumolpus.</p> +<p>"Yet, Lydon," added he, "if thou wouldst decline the combat with +one so brave and tried, thou mayst have full liberty to do so. +Eumolpus is not the antagonist that was originally decreed for +thee. Thou knowest best how far thou canst cope with him. If thou +failest, thy doom is honorable death; if thou conquerest, out of my +own purse I will double the stipulated prize."</p> +<p>The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the lists; he gazed +around; high above he beheld the pale face, the straining eyes of +his father. He turned away irresolute for a moment. No! the +conquest of the cestus was not sufficient--he had not yet won the +prize of victory--his father was still a slave!</p> +<p>"Noble ædile!" he replied, in a firm and deep tone, "I +shrink not from this combat. For the honor of Pompeii, I demand +that one trained by its long-celebrated lanista shall do battle +with this Roman."</p> +<p>The people shouted louder than before.</p> +<p>"Four to one against Lydon!" said Clodius to Lepidus.</p> +<p>"I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very +Achilles, and this poor fellow is but a tyro!"</p> +<p>Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon: he smiled; yet the +smile was followed by a slight and scarce audible sigh--a touch of +compassionate emotion, which custom conquered the moment the heart +acknowledged it.</p> +<p>And now both, clad in complete armor, the sword drawn, the visor +closed, the two last combatants of the arena (ere man, at least, +was matched with beast) stood opposed to each other.</p> +<p>It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the +prætor by one of the attendants of the arena; he removed the +cincture--glanced over it for a moment--his countenance betrayed +surprise and embarrassment. He re-read the letter, and then +muttering,--"Tush! it is impossible!--the man must be drunk, even +in the morning, to dream of such follies!"--threw it carelessly +aside and gravely settled himself once more in the attitude of +attention to the sports.</p> +<p>The interest of the public was wound up very high. Eumolpus had +at first won their favor; but the gallantry of Lydon, and his +well-timed allusion to the honor of the Pompeiian lanista, had +afterward given the latter the preference in their eyes.</p> +<p>"Holla, old fellow!" said Medon's neighbor to him. "Your son is +hardly matched; but never fear, the editor will not permit him to +be slain--no, nor the people neither: he has behaved too bravely +for that. Ha! that was a home thrust!--well averted by Pollux! At +him again, Lydon!--they stop to breathe! What art thou muttering, +old boy?"</p> +<p>"Prayers!" answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful mien +than he had yet maintained.</p> +<p>"Prayers!--trifles! The time for gods to carry a man away in a +cloud is gone now. Ha! Jupiter, what a blow! Thy side--thy +side!--take care of thy side, Lydon!"</p> +<p>There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A fierce +blow from Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon to his +knee.</p> +<p>"<i>Habet</i>!--he has it!" cried a shrill female voice; "he has +it!"</p> +<p>It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated +the sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts.</p> +<p>"Be silent, child!" said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. "<i>Non +habet!</i>--he is <i>not</i> wounded!"</p> +<p>"I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon," muttered the +girl.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto defended himself with great +skill and valor, began to give way before the vigorous assaults of +the practiced Roman; his arm grew tired, his eye dizzy, he breathed +hard and painfully. The combatants paused again for breath.</p> +<p>"Young man," said Eumolpus, in a low voice, "desist; I will +wound thee slightly--then lower thy arm; thou hast propitiated the +editor and the mob--thou wilt be honorably saved!"</p> +<p>"And my father still enslaved!" groaned Lydon to himself. "No! +death or his freedom."</p> +<p>At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not being equal +to the endurance of the Roman, everything depended on a sudden and +desperate effort, he threw himself fiercely on Eumolpus; the Roman +warily retreated--Lydon thrust again--Eumolpus drew himself +aside--the sword grazed his cuirass--Lydon's breast was +exposed--the Roman plunged his sword through the joints of the +armor, not meaning however to inflict a deep wound; Lydon, weak and +exhausted, fell forward, fell right on the point; it passed through +and through, even to the back. Eumolpus drew forth his blade; Lydon +still made an effort to regain his balance--his sword left his +grasp--he struck mechanically at the gladiator with his naked hand +and fell prostrate on the arena. With one accord, ædile and +assembly made the signal of mercy; the officers of the arena +approached, they took off the helmet of the vanquished. He still +breathed; his eyes rolled fiercely on his foe; the savageness he +had acquired in his calling glared from his gaze and lowered upon +the brow, darkened already with the shades of death; then with a +convulsive groan, with a half-start, he lifted his eyes above. They +rested not on the face of the ædile nor on the pitying brows +of the relenting judges. He saw them not; they were as if the vast +space was desolate and bare; one pale agonizing face alone was all +he recognized--one cry of a broken heart was all that, amid the +murmurs and the shouts of the populace, reached his ear. The +ferocity vanished from his brow; a soft, tender expression of +sanctifying but despairing filial love played over his +features--played--waned--darkened! His face suddenly became locked +and rigid, resuming its former fierceness. He fell upon the +earth.</p> +<p>"Look to him," said the ædile; "he has done his duty!"</p> +<p>The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium.</p> +<p>"A true type of glory, and of its fate!" murmured Arbaces to +himself; and his eye, glancing around the amphitheatre, betrayed so +much of disdain and scorn that whoever encountered it felt his +breath suddenly arrested, and his emotions frozen into one +sensation of abasement and of awe.</p> +<p>Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the +attendants sprinkled fresh sand over the arena.</p> +<p>"Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian," said the +ædile.</p> +<p>And a deep and breathless hush of overwrought interest and +intense (yet strange to say not unpleasing) terror lay like a +mighty and awful dream over the assembly.</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<p>The door swung gratingly back--the gleam of spears shot along +the wall.</p> +<p>"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a loud and clear +voice; "the lion awaits thee."</p> +<p>"I am ready," said the Athenian. "Brother and co-mate, one last +embrace! Bless me--and farewell!"</p> +<p>The Christian opened his arms; he clasped the young heathen to +his breast; he kissed his forehead and cheek; he sobbed aloud; his +tears flowed fast and hot over the features of his new friend.</p> +<p>"Oh! could I have converted thee, I had not wept. Oh that I +might say to thee, 'We two shall sup this night in Paradise!'"</p> +<p>"It may be so yet," answered the Greek with a tremulous voice, +"They whom death parts now may yet meet beyond the grave; on the +earth--oh! the beautiful, the beloved earth, farewell for ever! +Worthy officer, I attend you."</p> +<p>Glaucus tore himself away; and when he came forth into the air, +its breath, which though sunless was hot and arid, smote +witheringly upon him. His frame, not yet restored from the effects +of the deadly draught, shrank and trembled. The officers supported +him.</p> +<p>"Courage!" said one; "thou art young, active, well knit. They +give thee a weapon! despair not, and thou mayst yet conquer."</p> +<p>Glaucus did not reply; but ashamed of his infirmity, he made a +desperate and convulsive effort and regained the firmness of his +nerves. They anointed his body, completely naked save by a cincture +round the loins, placed the stilus (vain weapon!) in his hand, and +led him into the arena.</p> +<p>And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands and tens of +thousands upon him, he no longer felt that he was mortal. All +evidence of fear, all fear itself, was gone. A red and haughty +flush spread over the paleness of his features; he towered aloft to +the full of his glorious stature. In the elastic beauty of his +limbs and form; in his intent but unfrowning brow; in the high +disdain and in the indomitable soul which breathed visibly, which +spoke audibly, from his attitude, his lip, his eye,--he seemed the +very incarnation, vivid and corporeal, of the valor of his land; of +the divinity of its worship: at once a hero and a god!</p> +<p>The murmur of hatred and horror at his crime which had greeted +his entrance died into the silence of involuntary admiration and +half-compassionate respect; and with a quick and convulsive sigh, +that seemed to move the whole mass of life as if it were one body, +the gaze of the spectators turned from the Athenian to a dark +uncouth object in the centre of the arena. It was the grated den of +the lion.</p> +<p>"By Venus, how warm it is!" said Fulvia, "yet there is no sun. +Would that those stupid sailors could have fastened up that gap in +the awning!"</p> +<p>"Oh, it is warm indeed. I turn sick--I faint!" said the wife of +Pansa; even her experienced stoicism giving way at the struggle +about to take place.</p> +<p>The lion had been kept without food for twenty-four hours, and +the animal had, during the whole morning, testified a singular and +restless uneasiness, which the keeper had attributed to the pangs +of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather that of fear than of rage; +its roar was painful and distressed; it hung its head--snuffed the +air through the bars--then lay down--started again--and again +uttered its wild and far-resounding cries. And now in its den it +lay utterly dumb and mute, with distended nostrils forced hard +against the grating, and disturbing, with a heaving breath, the +sand below on the arena.</p> +<p>The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale; he looked +anxiously around--hesitated--delayed; the crowd became impatient. +Slowly he gave the sign; the keeper, who was behind the den, +cautiously removed the grating, and the lion leaped forth with a +mighty and glad roar of release. The keeper hastily retreated +through the grated passage leading from the arena, and left the +lord of the forest--and his prey.</p> +<p>Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest +posture at the expected rush of the lion, with his small and +shining weapon raised on high, in the faint hope that <i>one</i> +well-directed thrust (for he knew that he should have time but for +<i>one</i>) might penetrate through the eye to the brain of his +grim foe.</p> +<p>But to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast seemed not +even aware of the presence of the criminal.</p> +<p>At the first moment of its release it halted abruptly in the +arena, raised itself half on end, snuffing the upward air with +impatient signs, then suddenly it sprang forward, but not on the +Athenian. At half-speed it circled round and round the space, +turning its vast head from side to side with an anxious and +perturbed gaze, as if seeking only some avenue of escape; once or +twice it endeavored to leap up the parapet that divided it from the +audience, and on falling, uttered rather a baffled howl than its +deep-toned and kingly roar. It evinced no sign either of wrath or +hunger; its tail drooped along the sand, instead of lashing its +gaunt sides; and its eye, though it wandered at times to Glaucus, +rolled again listlessly from him. At length, as if tired of +attempting to escape, it crept with a moan into its cage, and once +more laid itself down to rest.</p> +<p>The first surprise of the assembly at the apathy of the lion +soon grew converted into resentment at its cowardice; and the +populace already merged their pity for the fate of Glaucus into +angry compassion for their own disappointment.</p> +<p>The editor called to the keeper:--"How is this? Take the goad, +prick him forth, and then close the door of the den."</p> +<p>As the keeper, with some fear but more astonishment, was +preparing to obey, a loud cry was heard at one of the entrances of +the arena; there was a confusion, a bustle--voices of remonstrance +suddenly breaking forth, and suddenly silenced at the reply. All +eyes turned in wonder at the interruption, toward the quarter of +the disturbance; the crowd gave way, and suddenly Sallust appeared +on the senatorial benches, his hair +disheveled--breathless--heated--half exhausted. He cast his eyes +hastily round the ring. "Remove the Athenian!" he cried; "haste--he +is innocent! Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian--HE is the murderer of +Apæcides!"</p> +<br> +<a name="illus-2718.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/illus-2718.jpg"><img src= +"images/illus-2718.jpg" width="45%" alt=""></a></p> +<center><b><i>In The Arena,</i></b><br> +Photogravure from a Drawing by Frank Kirchbach.<br> +<br> +"Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest +posture at<br> +the expected rush of the lion, with his small and shining +weapon<br> +raised on high, in the faint hope that <i>one</i> well-directed +thrust<br> +(for he knew that he should have time but for <i>one</i>)<br> +might penetrate through the eye to the brain of<br> +his grim foe. But to the unutterable astonishment<br> +of all, the beast seemed not<br> +even aware of the presence of the<br> +criminal."</center> +<p>"Art thou mad, O Sallust!" said the prætor, rising from +his seat. "What means this raving?"</p> +<p>"Remove the Athenian!--Quick! or his blood be on your head. +Prætor, delay, and you answer with your own life to the +Emperor! I bring with me the eye-witness to the death of the priest +Apæcides. Room there, stand back, give way. People of +Pompeii, fix every eye upon Arbaces; there he sits! Room there for +the priest Calenus!"</p> +<p>Pale, haggard, fresh from the jaws of famine and of death, his +face fallen, his eyes dull as a vulture's, his broad frame gaunt as +a skeleton, Calenus was supported into the very row in which +Arbaces sat. His releasers had given him sparingly of food; but the +chief sustenance that nerved his feeble limbs was revenge!</p> +<p>"The priest Calenus--Calenus!" cried the mob. "It is he? No--it +is a dead man!"</p> +<p>"It is the priest Calenus," said the prætor, gravely. +"What hast thou to say?"</p> +<p>"Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apæcides, the priest +of Isis; these eyes saw him deal the blow. It is from the dungeon +into which he plunged me--it is from the darkness and horror of a +death by famine--that the gods have raised me to proclaim his +crime! Release the Athenian--<i>he</i> is innocent!"</p> +<p>"It is for this, then, that the lion spared him, A miracle! a +miracle!" cried Pansa.</p> +<p>"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people; "remove the +Athenian--<i>Arbaces to the lion</i>."</p> +<p>And that shout echoed from hill to vale--from coast to +sea--<i>Arbaces to the lion</i>.</p> +<p>"Officers, remove the accused Glaucus--remove, but guard him +yet," said the prætor. "The gods lavish their wonders upon +this day."</p> +<p>As the prætor gave the word of release, there was a cry of +joy: a female voice, a child's voice; and it was of joy! It rang +through the heart of the assembly with electric force; it was +touching, it was holy, that child's voice. And the populace echoed +it back with sympathizing congratulation.</p> +<p>"Silence!" said the grave prætor; "who is there?"</p> +<p>"The blind girl--Nydia," answered Sallust; "it is her hand that +has raised Calenus from the grave, and delivered Glaucus from the +lion."</p> +<p>"Of this hereafter," said the prætor. "Calenus, priest of +Isis, thou accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apæcides?"</p> +<p>"I do!"</p> +<p>"Thou didst behold the deed?"</p> +<p>"Prætor--with these eyes--"</p> +<p>"Enough at present--the details must be reserved for more +suiting time and place. Arbaces of Egypt, thou hearest the charge +against thee--thou hast not yet spoken--what hast thou to say?"</p> +<p>The gaze of the crowd had been long riveted on Arbaces; but not +until the confusion which he had betrayed at the first charge of +Sallust and the entrance of Calenus had subsided. At the shout, +"Arbaces to the lion!" he had indeed trembled, and the dark bronze +of his cheek had taken a paler hue. But he had soon recovered his +haughtiness and self-control. Proudly he returned the angry glare +of the countless eyes around him; and replying now to the question +of the prætor, he said, in that accent so peculiarly tranquil +and commanding which characterized his tones:--</p> +<p>"Prætor, this charge is so mad that it scarcely deserves +reply. My first accuser is the noble Sallust--the most intimate +friend of Glaucus! My second is a priest: I revere his garb and +calling--but, people of Pompeii! ye know somewhat of the character +of Calenus--he is griping and gold-thirsty to a proverb; the +witness of such men is to be bought! Prætor, I am +innocent!"</p> +<p>"Sallust," said the magistrate, "where found you Calenus?"</p> +<p>"In the dungeons of Arbaces."</p> +<p>"Egyptian," said the prætor, frowning, "thou didst, then, +dare to imprison a priest of the gods--and wherefore?"</p> +<br> +<a name="illus-2720.jpg"></a> +<p class="ctr"><a href="images/illus-2720.jpg"><img src= +"images/illus-2720.jpg" width="40%" alt=""></a><br> +<b>Nydia</b><br> +The blind flower-girl of Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii.<br> +Photogravure from a Painting by C. Von Bodenhausen.</p> +<br> +<p>"Hear me," answered Arbaces, rising calmly, but with agitation +visible in his face. "This man came to threaten that he would make +against me the charge he has now made, unless I would purchase his +silence with half my fortune; I remonstrated--in vain. Peace +there--let not the priest interrupt me! Noble prætor--and ye, +O people! I was a stranger in the land--I knew myself innocent of +crime--but the witness of a priest against me might yet destroy me. +In my perplexity I decoyed him to the cell whence he has been +released, on pretense that it was the coffer-house of my gold. I +resolved to detain him there until the fate of the true criminal +was sealed and his threats could avail no longer; but I meant no +worse. I may have erred--but who among ye will not acknowledge the +equity of self-preservation? Were I guilty, why was the witness of +this priest silent at the trial?--<i>then</i> I had not detained or +concealed him. Why did he not proclaim my guilt when I proclaimed +that of Glaucus? Prætor, this needs an answer. For the rest, +I throw myself on your laws. I demand their protection. Remove +hence the accused and the accuser. I will willingly meet, and +cheerfully abide by the decision of, the legitimate tribunal. This +is no place for further parley."</p> +<p>"He says right." said the prætor. "Ho! guards--remove +Arbaces--guard Calenus! Sallust, we hold you responsible for your +accusation. Let the sports be resumed."</p> +<p>"What!" cried Calenus, turning round to the people, "shall Isis +be thus contemned? Shall the blood of Apæcides yet cry for +vengeance? Shall justice be delayed now, that it may be frustrated +hereafter? Shall the lion be cheated of his lawful prey? A god! a +god!--I feel the god rush to my lips! <i>To the lion--to the lion +with Arbaces</i>!"</p> +<p>His exhausted frame could support no longer the ferocious malice +of the priest; he sank on the ground in strong convulsions; the +foam gathered to his mouth; he was as a man, indeed, whom a +supernatural power had entered! The people saw, and shuddered.</p> +<p>"It is a god that inspires the holy man! <i>To the lion with the +Egyptian</i>!"</p> +<p>With that cry up sprang, on moved, thousands upon thousands. +They rushed from the heights; they poured down in the direction of +the Egyptian. In vain did the ædile command; in vain did the +prætor lift his voice and proclaim the law. The people had +been already rendered savage by the exhibition of blood; they +thirsted for more; their superstition was aided by their ferocity. +Aroused, inflamed by the spectacle of their victims, they forgot +the authority of their rulers. It was one of those dread popular +convulsions common to crowds wholly ignorant, half free and half +servile, and which the peculiar constitution of the Roman provinces +so frequently exhibited. The power of the prætor was a reed +beneath the whirlwind; still, at his word the guards had drawn +themselves along the lower benches, on which the upper classes sat +separate from the vulgar. They made but a feeble barrier; the waves +of the human sea halted for a moment, to enable Arbaces to count +the exact moment of his doom! In despair, and in a terror which +beat down even pride, he glanced his eye over the rolling and +rushing crowd; when, right above them, through the wide chasm which +had been left in the velaria, he beheld a strange and awful +apparition; he beheld, and his craft restored his courage!</p> +<p>He stretched his hand on high; over his lofty brow and royal +features there came an expression, of unutterable solemnity and +command.</p> +<p>"Behold!" he shouted with a voice of thunder, which stilled the +roar of the crowd: "behold how the gods protect the guiltless! The +fires of the avenging Orcus burst forth against the false witness +of my accusers!"</p> +<p>The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian, and +beheld with dismay a vast vapor shooting from the summit of +Vesuvius in the form of a gigantic pine-tree; the trunk, +blackness--the branches fire!--a fire that shifted and wavered in +its hues with every moment, now fiercely luminous, now of a dull +and dying red, that again blazed terrifically forth with +intolerable glare!</p> +<p>There was a dead, heart-sunken silence; through which there +suddenly broke the roar of the lion, which was echoed back from +within the building by the sharper and fiercer yells of its +fellow-beast. Dread seers were they of the Burden of the +Atmosphere, and wild prophets of the wrath to come!</p> +<p>Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women; the men +stared at each other, but were dumb. At that moment they felt the +earth shake under their feet; the walls of the theatre trembled; +and beyond in the distance they heard the crash of falling roofs; +an instant more, and the mountain cloud seemed to roll toward them, +dark and rapid, like a torrent; at the same time it cast forth from +its bosom a shower of ashes mixed with vast fragments of burning +stone! over the crushing vines, over the desolate streets, over the +amphitheatre itself; far and wide, with many a mighty splash in the +agitated sea, fell that awful shower!</p> +<p>No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces; safety for +themselves was their sole thought. Each turned to fly--each +dashing, pressing, crushing against the other. Trampling recklessly +over the fallen, amid groans and oaths and prayers and sudden +shrieks, the enormous crowd vomited itself forth through the +numerous passages. Whither should they fly? Some, anticipating a +second earthquake, hastened to their homes to load themselves with +their more costly goods and escape while it was yet time; others, +dreading the showers of ashes that now fell fast, torrent upon +torrent, over the streets, rushed under the roofs of the nearest +houses, or temples, or sheds--shelter of any kind--for protection +from the terrors of the open air. But darker, and larger, and +mightier, spread the cloud above them. It was a sudden and more +ghastly Night rushing upon the realm of Noon!</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<a name="BULWER02"></a> +<h3>KENELM AND LILY</h3> +<center>From 'Kenelm Chillingly'</center> +<br> +<p>The children have come,--some thirty of them, pretty as English +children generally are, happy in the joy of the summer sunshine, +and the flower lawns, and the feast under cover of an awning +suspended between chestnut-trees and carpeted with sward.</p> +<p>No doubt Kenelm held his own at the banquet, and did his best to +increase the general gayety, for whenever he spoke the children +listened eagerly, and when he had done they laughed mirthfully.</p> +<p>"The fair face I promised you," whispered Mrs. Braefield, "is +not here yet. I have a little note from the young lady to say that +Mrs. Cameron does not feel very well this morning, but hopes to +recover sufficiently to come later in the afternoon."</p> +<p>"And pray who is Mrs. Cameron?"</p> +<p>"Ah! I forgot that you are a stranger to the place. Mrs. Cameron +is the aunt with whom Lily resides. Is it not a pretty name, +Lily?"</p> +<p>"Very! emblematic of a spinster that does not spin, with a white +head and a thin stalk."</p> +<p>"Then the name belies my Lily; as you will see."</p> +<p>The children now finished their feast and betook themselves to +dancing, in an alley smoothed for a croquet-ground and to the sound +of a violin played by the old grandfather of one of the party. +While Mrs. Braefield was busying herself with forming the dance, +Kenelm seized the occasion to escape from a young nymph of the age +of twelve, who had sat next to him at the banquet and taken so +great a fancy to him that he began to fear she would vow never to +forsake his side,--and stole away undetected.</p> +<p>There are times when the mirth of others only saddens us, +especially the mirth of children with high spirits, that jar on our +own quiet mood. Gliding through a dense shrubbery, in which, though +the lilacs were faded, the laburnum still retained here and there +the waning gold of its clusters, Kenelm came into a recess which +bounded his steps and invited him to repose. It was a circle, so +formed artificially by slight trellises, to which clung parasite +roses heavy with leaves and flowers. In the midst played a tiny +fountain with a silvery murmuring sound; at the background, +dominating the place, rose the crests of stately trees, on which +the sunlight shimmered, but which rampired out all horizon beyond. +Even as in life do the great dominant passions--love, ambition, +desire of power, or gold, or fame, or knowledge--form the proud +background to the brief-lived flowerets of our youth, lift our eyes +beyond the smile of their bloom, catch the glint of a loftier +sunbeam, and yet--and yet--exclude our sight from the lengths and +the widths of the space which extends behind and beyond them.</p> +<p>Kenelm threw himself on the turf beside the fountain. From afar +came the whoop and the laugh of the children in their sports or +their dance. At the distance their joy did not sadden him--he +marveled why; and thus, in musing reverie, thought to explain the +why to himself.</p> +<p>"The poet," so ran his lazy thinking, "has told us that +'distance lends enchantment to the view,' and thus compares to the +charm of distance the illusion of hope. But the poet narrows the +scope of his own illustration. Distance lends enchantment to the +ear as well as to the sight; nor to these bodily senses alone. +Memory, no less than hope, owes its charm to 'the far away.'</p> +<p>"I cannot imagine myself again a child when I am in the midst of +yon noisy children. But as their noise reaches me here, subdued and +mellowed; and knowing, thank Heaven! that the urchins are not +within reach of me, I could readily dream myself back into +childhood and into sympathy with the lost playfields of school.</p> +<p>"So surely it must be with grief: how different the terrible +agony for a beloved one just gone from earth, to the soft regret +for one who disappeared into heaven years ago! So with the art of +poetry: how imperatively, when it deals with the great emotions of +tragedy, it must remove the actors from us, in proportion as the +emotions are to elevate, and the tragedy is to please us by the +tears it draws! Imagine our shock if a poet were to place on the +stage some wise gentleman with whom we dined yesterday, and who was +discovered to have killed his father and married his mother. But +when Oedipus commits those unhappy mistakes nobody is shocked. +Oxford in the nineteenth century is a long way off from Thebes +three thousand or four thousand years ago.</p> +<p>"And," continued Kenelm, plunging deeper into the maze of +metaphysical criticism, "even where the poet deals with persons and +things close upon our daily sight--if he would give them poetic +charm he must resort to a sort of moral or psychological distance; +the nearer they are to us in external circumstance, the farther +they must be in some internal peculiarities. Werter and Clarissa +Harlowe are described as contemporaries of their artistic creation, +and with the minutest details of an apparent realism; yet they are +at once removed from our daily lives by their idiosyncrasies and +their fates. We know that while Werter and Clarissa are so near to +us in much that we sympathize with them as friends and kinsfolk, +they are yet as much remote from us in the poetic and idealized +side of their natures as if they belonged to the age of Homer; and +this it is that invests with charm the very pain which their fate +inflicts on us. Thus, I suppose, it must be in love. If the love we +feel is to have the glamor of poetry, it must be love for some one +morally at a distance from our ordinary habitual selves; in short, +differing from us in attributes which, however near we draw to the +possessor, we can never approach, never blend, in attributes of our +own; so that there is something in the loved one that always +remains an ideal--a mystery--'a sun-bright summit mingling with the +sky!'" ...</p> +<p>From this state, half comatose, half unconscious, Kenelm was +roused slowly, reluctantly. Something struck softly on his +cheek--again a little less softly; he opened his eyes--they fell +first upon two tiny rosebuds, which, on striking his face, had +fallen on his breast; and then looking up, he saw before him, in an +opening of the trellised circle, a female child's laughing face. +Her hand was still uplifted, charged with another rosebud; but +behind the child's figure, looking over her shoulder and holding +back the menacing arm, was a face as innocent but lovelier far--the +face of a girl in her first youth, framed round with the blossoms +that festooned the trellis. How the face became the flowers! It +seemed the fairy spirit of them.</p> +<p>Kenelm started and rose to his feet. The child, the one whom he +had so ungallantly escaped from, ran towards him through a wicket +in the circle. Her companion disappeared.</p> +<p>"Is it you?" said Kenelm to the child--"you who pelted me so +cruelly? Ungrateful creature! Did I not give you the best +strawberries in the dish, and all my own cream?"</p> +<p>"But why did you run away and hide yourself when you ought to be +dancing with me?" replied the young lady, evading, with the +instinct of her sex, all answer to the reproach she had +deserved.</p> +<p>"I did not run away; and it is clear that I did not mean to hide +myself, since you so easily found me out. But who was the young +lady with you? I suspect she pelted me too, for <i>she</i> seems to +have run away to hide herself."</p> +<p>"No, she did not pelt you; she wanted to stop me, and you would +have had another rosebud--oh, so much bigger!--if she had not held +back my arm. Don't you know her--don't you know Lily?"</p> +<p>"No; so that is Lily? You shall introduce me to her."</p> +<p>By this time they had passed out of the circle through the +little wicket opposite the path by which Kenelm had entered, and +opening at once on the lawn. Here at some distance the children +were grouped; some reclined on the grass, some walking to and fro, +in the interval of the dance....</p> +<p>Before he had reached the place, Mrs. Braefield met him.</p> +<p>"Lily is come!"</p> +<p>"I know it--I have seen her."</p> +<p>"Is not she beautiful?"</p> +<p>"I must see more of her if I am to answer critically; but before +you introduce me, may I be permitted to ask who and what is +Lily?"</p> +<p>Mrs. Braefield paused a moment before she answered, and yet the +answer was brief enough not to need much consideration She is a +Miss Mordaunt, an orphan; and as I before told you, resides with +her aunt, Mrs. Cameron, a widow. They have the prettiest cottage +you ever saw on the banks of the river, or rather rivulet, about a +mile from this place. Mrs. Cameron is a very good, simple-hearted +woman. As to Lily, I can praise her beauty only with safe +conscience, for as yet she is a mere child--her mind quite +unformed."</p> +<p>"Did you ever meet any man, much less any woman, whose mind was +formed?" muttered Kenelm. "I am sure mine is not, and never will be +on this earth."</p> +<p>Mrs. Braefield did not hear this low-voiced observation. She was +looking about for Lily; and perceiving her at last as the children +who surrounded her were dispersing to renew the dance, she took +Kenelm's arm, led him to the young lady, and a formal introduction +took place.</p> +<p>Formal as it could be on those sunlit swards, amidst the joy of +summer and the laugh of children. In such scene and such +circumstance, formality does not last long. I know not how it was, +but in a very few minutes Kenelm and Lily had ceased to be +strangers to each other. They found themselves seated apart from +the rest of the merry-makers, on the bank shadowed by lime-trees; +the man listening with downcast eyes, the girl with mobile shifting +glances, now on earth, now on heaven, and talking freely, +gayly--like the babble of a happy stream, with a silvery dulcet +voice and a sparkle of rippling smiles.</p> +<p>No doubt this is a reversal of the formalities of well-bred life +and conventional narrating thereof. According to them, no doubt, it +is for the man to talk and the maid to listen; but I state the +facts as they were, honestly. And Lily knew no more of the +formalities of drawing-room life than a skylark fresh from its nest +knows of the song-teacher and the cage. She was still so much of a +child. Mrs. Braefield was right--her mind was still so +unformed.</p> +<p>What she did talk about in that first talk between them that +could make the meditative Kenelm listen so mutely, so intently, I +know not; at least I could not jot it down on paper. I fear it was +very egotistical, as the talk of children generally is--about +herself and her aunt and her home and her friends--all her friends +seemed children like herself, though younger--Clemmy the chief of +them. Clemmy was the one who had taken a fancy to Kenelm. And +amidst all the ingenuous prattle there came flashes of a quick +intellect, a lively fancy--nay, even a poetry of expression or of +sentiment. It might be the talk of a child, but certainly not of a +silly child.</p> +<p>But as soon as the dance was over, the little ones again +gathered round Lily. Evidently she was the prime favorite of them +all; and as her companions had now become tired of dancing, new +sports were proposed, and Lily was carried off to "Prisoner's +Base."</p> +<p>"I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Chillingly," +said a frank, pleasant voice; and a well-dressed, good-looking man +held out his hand to Kenelm.</p> +<p>"My husband," said Mrs. Braefield with a certain pride in her +look.</p> +<p>Kenelm responded cordially to the civilities of the master of +the house, who had just returned from his city office, and left all +its cares behind him. You had only to look at him to see that he +was prosperous and deserved to be so. There were in his countenance +the signs of strong sense, of good-humor--above all, of an active, +energetic temperament. A man of broad smooth forehead, keen hazel +eyes, firm lips and jaw; with a happy contentment in himself, his +house, the world in general, mantling over his genial smile, and +outspoken in the metallic ring of his voice.</p> +<p>"You will stay and dine with us, of course," said Mr. Braefield; +"and unless you want very much to be in town to-night, I hope you +will take a bed here."</p> +<p>Kenelm hesitated.</p> +<p>"Do stay at least till to-morrow," said Mrs. Braefield. Kenelm +hesitated still; and while hesitating, his eyes rested on Lily, +leaning on the arm of a middle-aged lady, and approaching the +hostess--evidently to take leave.</p> +<p>"I cannot resist so tempting an invitation," said Kenelm, and he +fell back a little behind Lily and her companion.</p> +<p>"Thank you much for so pleasant a day," said Mrs. Cameron to the +hostess. "Lily has enjoyed herself extremely. I only regret we +could not come earlier."</p> +<p>"If you are walking home," said Mr. Braefield, "let me accompany +you. I want to speak to your gardener about his heart's-ease--it is +much finer than mine."</p> +<p>"If so," said Kenelm to Lily, "may I come too? Of all flowers +that grow, heart's-ease is the one I most prize."</p> +<p>A few minutes afterward Kenelm was walking by the side of Lily +along the banks of a little stream tributary to the Thames; Mrs. +Cameron and Mr. Braefield in advance, for the path only held two +abreast.</p> +<p>Suddenly Lily left his side, allured by a rare butterfly--I +think it is called the Emperor of Morocco--that was sunning its +yellow wings upon a group of wild reeds. She succeeded in capturing +this wanderer in her straw hat, over which she drew her sun-veil. +After this notable capture she returned demurely to Kenelm's +side.</p> +<p>"Do you collect insects?" said that philosopher, as much +surprised as it was his nature to be at anything.</p> +<p>"Only butterflies," answered Lily; "they are not insects, you +know; they are souls."</p> +<p>"Emblems of souls, you mean--at least so the Greeks prettily +represented them to be."</p> +<p>"No, real souls--the souls of infants that die in their cradles +unbaptized; and if they are taken care of, and not eaten by birds, +and live a year, then they pass into fairies."</p> +<p>"It is a very poetical idea, Miss Mordaunt, and founded on +evidence quite as rational as other assertions of the metamorphosis +of one creature into another. Perhaps you can do what the +philosophers cannot--tell me how you learned a new idea to be an +incontestable fact?"</p> +<p>"I don't know," replied Lily, looking very much puzzled: +"perhaps I learned it in a book, or perhaps I dreamed it."</p> +<p>"You could not make a wiser answer if you were a philosopher. +But you talk of taking care of butterflies: how do you do that? Do +you impale them on pins stuck into a glass case?"</p> +<p>"Impale them! How can you talk so cruelly? You deserve to be +pinched by the fairies."</p> +<p>"I am afraid," thought Kenelm, compassionately, "that my +companion has no mind to be formed; what is euphoniously called 'an +innocent.'"</p> +<p>He shook his head and remained silent.</p> +<p>Lily resumed--"I will show you my collection when we get +home--they seem so happy. I am sure there are some of them who know +me--they will feed from my hand. I have only had one die since I +began to collect them last summer."</p> +<p>"Then you have kept them a year; they ought to have turned into +fairies."</p> +<p>"I suppose many of them have. Of course I let out all those that +had been with me twelve months--they don't turn to fairies in the +cage, you know. Now I have only those I caught this year, or last +autumn; the prettiest don't appear till the autumn."</p> +<p>The girl here bent her uncovered head over the straw hat, her +tresses shadowing it, and uttered loving words to the prisoner. +Then again she looked up and around her, and abruptly stopped and +exclaimed:--</p> +<p>"How can people live in towns--how can people say they are ever +dull in the country? Look," she continued, gravely and +earnestly--"look at that tall pine-tree, with its long branch +sweeping over the water; see how, as the breeze catches it, it +changes its shadow, and how the shadow changes the play of the +sunlight on the brook:--</p> + 'Wave your tops, ye pines;<br> + With every plant, in sign of worship +wave.'<br> +<p>What an interchange of music there must be between Nature and a +poet!"</p> +<p>Kenelm was startled. This "an innocent!"--this a girl who had no +mind to be formed! In that presence he could not be cynical; could +not speak of Nature as a mechanism, a lying humbug, as he had done +to the man poet. He replied gravely:--</p> +<p>"The Creator has gifted the whole universe with language, but +few are the hearts that can interpret it. Happy those to whom it is +no foreign tongue, acquired imperfectly with care and pain, but +rather a native language, learned unconsciously from the lips of +the great mother. To them the butterfly's wing may well buoy into +heaven a fairy's soul!"</p> +<p>When he had thus said, Lily turned, and for the first time +attentively looked into his dark soft eyes; then instinctively she +laid her light hand on his arm, and said in a low voice, "Talk +on--talk thus; I like to hear you."</p> +<p>But Kenelm did not talk on. They had now arrived at the +garden-gate of Mrs. Cameron's cottage, and the elder persons in +advance paused at the gate and walked with them to the house.</p> +<br> +<p>End of Volume VI.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13623 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/13623-h/images/brantome.jpg b/13623-h/images/brantome.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eb3c033 --- /dev/null +++ b/13623-h/images/brantome.jpg diff --git a/13623-h/images/bremer.jpg b/13623-h/images/bremer.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..91dc4cc --- /dev/null +++ b/13623-h/images/bremer.jpg diff --git a/13623-h/images/brentano.jpg b/13623-h/images/brentano.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d01c41c --- /dev/null +++ b/13623-h/images/brentano.jpg diff --git a/13623-h/images/bright.jpg b/13623-h/images/bright.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b65aea2 --- /dev/null +++ b/13623-h/images/bright.jpg diff --git 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