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diff --git a/old/13623-8.txt b/old/13623-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb9951e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13623-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18378 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Library Of The World's Best Literature, +Ancient And Modern, Vol 6, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Library Of The World's Best Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 6 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: October 5, 2004 [EBook #13623] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +LIBRARY OF THE + +WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE + +ANCIENT AND MODERN + +CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER + +EDITOR + +HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE +LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE +GEORGE HENRY WARNER + +ASSOCIATE EDITORS + +Connoisseur Edition + +VOL. VI. + + + + +THE ADVISORY COUNCIL + + * * * * * + +CRAWFORD H. TOY, A.M., LL.D., + Professor of Hebrew, + HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass. + +THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D., + Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of + YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn. + +WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH.D., L.H.D., + Professor of History and Political Science, + PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N.J. + +BRANDER MATTHEWS, A.M., LL.B., + Professor of Literature, + COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City. + +JAMES B. ANGELL, LL.D., + President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich. + +WILLARD FISKE, A.M., PH.D., + Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages + and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N.Y. + +EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A.M., LL.D., + Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer, + UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal. + +ALCÉE FORTIER, LIT.D., + Professor of the Romance Languages, + TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La. + +WILLIAM P. TRENT, M.A., + Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of + English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn. + +PAUL SHOREY, PH.D., + Professor of Greek and Latin Literature, + UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill. + +WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D., + United States Commissioner of Education, + BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D.C. + +MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A.M., LL.D., + Professor of Literature in the + CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D.C. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +VOL. VI + + LIVED PAGE + +THE ABBÉ DE BRANTÔME (Pierre de Bourdeille) 1527-1614 2319 + The Dancing of Royalty ('Lives of Notable Women') + The Shadow of a Tomb ('Lives of Courtly Women') + M. le Constable Anne de Montmorency ('Lives of Distinguished Men and + Great Captains') + Two Famous Entertainments ('Lives of Courtly Women') + +FREDRIKA BREMER 1801-1865 2328 + A Home-Coming ('The Neighbors') + The Landed Proprietor ('The Home') + A Family Picture (same) + +CLEMENS BRENTANO 1778-1842 2343 + The Nurse's Watch + The Castle in Austria + +ELISABETH BRENTANO (Bettina von Arnim) 1785-1859 2348 + Dedication: To Goethe ('Goethe's Correspondence with a Child') + Letter to Goethe + Bettina's Last Meeting with Goethe (Letter to Her Niece) + In Goethe's Garden + +JOHN BRIGHT 1811-1889 2354 + From Speech on the Corn Laws (1843) + From Speech on Incendiarism in Ireland (1844) + From Speech on Non-Recognition of the Southern Confederacy (1861) + From Speech on the State of Ireland (1866) + From Speech on the Irish Established Church (1868) + +BRILLAT-SAVARIN 1755-1826 2365 + + From 'Physiology of Taste': The Privations; On the Love of Good + Living; On People Fond of Good Living + +CHARLOTTE BRONTÉ AND HER SISTERS 1816-1855 2381 + Jane Eyre's Wedding-Day ('Jane Eyre') + Madame Beck ('Villette') + A Yorkshire Landscape ('Shirley') + The End of Heathcliff (Emily Bronté's 'Wuthering Heights') + +PHILLIPS BROOKS 1835-1893 2417 + O Little Town of Bethlehem + Personal Character ('Essays and Addresses') + The Courage of Opinions (same) + Literature and Life (same) + +CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 1771-1810 2425 + Wieland's Statement ('Wieland') + +JOHN BROWN 1810-1882 2437 + Marjorie Fleming ('Spare Hours') + Death of Thackeray (same) + +CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE (Artemus Ward) 1834-1867 2461 + BY CHARLES F. JOHNSON + Edwin Forrest as Othello + High-Handed Outrage at Utica + Affairs Round the Village Green + Mr. Pepper ('Artemus Ward: His Travels') + Horace Greeley's Ride to Placerville (same) + +SIR THOMAS BROWNE 1605-1682 2473 + BY FRANCIS BACON + From the 'Religio Medici' + From 'Christian Morals' + From 'Hydriotaphia, or Urn-Burial' + From 'A Fragment on Mummies' + From 'A Letter to a Friend' + Some Relations Whose Truth We Fear ('Pseudoxia Epidemica') + +WILLIAM BROWNE 1591-1643 2511 + Circe's Charm ('Inner Temple Masque') + The Hunted Squirrel ('Britannia's Pastorals') + As Careful Merchants Do Expecting Stand (same) + Song of the Sirens ('Inner Temple Masque') + An Epistle on Parting + Sonnets to Cælia + +HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL 1820-1872 2519 + Annus Memorabilis + Words for the 'Hallelujah Chorus' + Coming + Psychaura + Suspiria Noctis + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 1809-1861 2523 + A Musical Instrument + My Heart and I + From 'Catarina to Camoens' + The Sleep + The Cry of the Children + Mother and Poet + A Court Lady + The Prospect + De Profundis + The Cry of the Human + Romance of the Swan's Nest + The Best Thing in the World + Sonnets from the Portuguese + A False Step + A Child's Thought of God + Cheerfulness Taught by Reason + +ROBERT BROWNING 1812-1889 2557 + BY E. L. BURLINGAME + Andrea del Sarto + A Toccata of Galuppi's + Confessions + Love among the Ruins + A Grammarian's Funeral + My Last Duchess + Up at a Villa--Down in the City + In Three Days + In a Year + Evelyn Hope + Prospice + The Patriot + One Word More + +ORESTES AUGUSTUS BROWNSON 1803-1876 2594 + Saint-Simonism ('The Convert') + +FERDINAND BRUNETIÈRE 1849- 2603 + BY ADOLPHE COHN + Taine and Prince Napoleon + The Literatures of France, England, and Germany + +GIORDANO BRUNO 1548-1600 2613 + A Discourse of Poets ('The Heroic Enthusiasts') + Canticle of the Shining Ones: A Tribute to English Women ('The Nolan') + Song of the Nine Singers + Of Immensity + Life Well Lost + Parnassus Within + Compensation + Life for Song + +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 1794-1878 2623 + BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP + Thanatopsis + The Crowded Street + Death of the Flowers + The Conqueror's Grave + The Battle-Field + To a Water-fowl + Robert of Lincoln + June + To the Fringed Gentian + The Future Life + To the Past + +JAMES BRYCE 1838- 2643 + Position of Women in the United States ('The American Commonwealth') + Ascent of Ararat ('Trans-Caucasia and Ararat') + The Work of the Roman Empire ('The Holy Roman Empire') + +FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND 1826-1880 2661 + A Hunt in a Horse-Pond ('Curiosities of Natural History') + On Rats (same) + Snakes and their Poison (same) + My Monkey Jacko (same) + +HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE 1821-1862 2673 + Moral versus Intellectual Principles in Human Progress ('History of + Civilization in England') + Mythical Origin of History (same) + +GEORGE LOUIS LE CLERC BUFFON 1707-1788 2689 + BY SPENCER TROTTER + Nature ('Natural History') + The Humming-Bird (same) + +EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON 1803-1873 2697 + BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE + The Amphitheatre ('The Last Days of Pompeii') + Kenelm and Lily ('Kenelm Chillingly') + + + + +FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS + +VOLUME VI + + PAGE + +"Les Satyres" (Colored Plate) Frontispiece +Charlotte Bronté (Portrait) 2382 +Phillips Brooks (Portrait) 2418 +"The Holy Child of Bethlehem" (Photogravure) 2420 +"Circe" (Photogravure) 2514 +Robert Browning (Portrait) 2558 +William Cullen Bryant (Portrait) 2624 +Edward Bulwer-Lytton (Portrait) 2698 +"In the Arena" (Photogravure) 2718 +"Nydia" (Photogravure) 2720 + + +VIGNETTE PORTRAITS + +Abbé de Brantôme +Fredrika Bremer +Elisabeth Brentano +John Bright +Brillat-Savarin +Charles Brockden Brown +John Brown +Charles Farrar Browne +Sir Thomas Browne +Elizabeth Barrett Browning +Orestes Augustus Brownson +Ferdinand Brunetière +James Bryce +George Louis le Clere Buffon + + + +THE ABBÉ DE BRANTÔME + +(PIERRE DE BOURDEILLE) + +(1527-1614) + +Every 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. + +[Illustration: ABBÉ DE BRANTÔME] + +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. + +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). + +What Brantôme thought of himself may be seen by glancing at that portion +of the "testament mystique" which relates to his writings:-- + + "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." + +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." + +Brantôme writes like a "gentleman of the sword," with dash and _élan_, +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." + +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. + +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!" + +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." + +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 _good_ King Louis, +calling women whose adventures could hardly have been written by any pen +save his own, _honnêtes dames_." + +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. + + * * * * * + +THE DANCING OF ROYALTY + +From 'Lives of Notable Women' + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +THE SHADOW OF A TOMB + +From 'Lives of Courtly Women' + +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 _gentilhomme de France_ 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. + +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 _esprit_ to +the other ladies of the court. + +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?" + +"No, Madame," he replied. + +"But reflect again, my cousin," she insisted. + +My brother answered, "Madame, I feel nothing move. I stand upon a solid +stone." + +"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." + + * * * * * + +M. LE CONSTABLE ANNE DE MONTMORENCY + +From 'Lives of Distinguished Men and Great Captains' + +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! + + * * * * * + +TWO FAMOUS ENTERTAINMENTS + +From 'Lives of Courtly Women' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + + + +FREDRIKA BREMER + +(1801-1865) + +Fredrika 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. + +[Illustration: FREDRIKA BREMER] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _milieu_. 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. + +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.' + + * * * * * + +A HOME-COMING + +From 'The Neighbors' + +LETTER I.--FRANCISCA W. TO MARIA M. + +ROSENVIK, 1st June, 18. + +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 _Bear_ +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--_my cows_--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. + +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. + +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, "_Here_ is the residence of +_ma chère mère_," and the carriage drove into a courtyard, and stopped +before a large and fine stone house. + +"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 _mal àpropos_ to me, but Bear has his own ideas, and I +perceived from his manner that it was not expedient then to offer any +resistance. + +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. + +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, _ma chère mère!_ + +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 _ma chère mère's_ +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 _ma +chère mère_ right respectfully; she however offered him her cheek, and +they appeared very friendly. "Be welcome, my dear friends!" said _ma +chère mère_, 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 _ma chère mère_. + +"Well, very good, well, very good!" said _ma chère mère_, 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 _ma chère mère_ 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." + +While a murmur of exultation and congratulations went through the +assembly, _ma chère mère_ 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 _ma chère mère's_ review embarrassed me, broached the subject of +the harvest or rural affairs. _Ma chère mère_ 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.'" + +I laughed, so did _ma chère mère_ 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 +_ma chère mère_ 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." + +We went into the dancing-room with full glasses, _ma chère mère_ leading +the way as herald. They were awaiting us with bumpers, and _ma chère +mère_ 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!" + +"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, _ma chère mère_ 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. + +THE LANDED PROPRIETOR + +From 'The Home' + +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. + +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 _Landed +Proprietor_, as he was chiefly remarkable for the possession of a large +estate in the vicinity of the town. + +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 + +STRANGE QUESTIONS + +"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. + +"Oh, yes! bream is a very good fish," answered she, phlegmatically, +without looking up. + +"Oh, with red-wine sauce, delicious! I have splendid fishing on my +estate, Oestanvik. Big fellows of bream! I fish for them myself." + +"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?" + +"Because then she might like him too, _mon cher_! 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?" + +"What is that which--" + +"Yes, what is it? I shall lose my head over that riddle. Mamma dear, +come and help your stupid son!" + +"No, no! Mamma knows it already. She must not say it!" exclaimed +Gabrielle with fear. + +"What king do you place above all other kings, Magister?" asked Petrea +for the second time,--having this evening her "raptus" of questioning. + +"Charles the Thirteenth," answered the Candidate, and listened for what +Louise was going to reply to the Landed Proprietor. + +"Do you like birds, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed Proprietor. + +"Oh yes, particularly the throstle," answered Louise. + +"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." + +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?" + +"Oh, much, much better," answered the Candidate. + +"Are you fond of roasted hare, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor. + +"Are you fond of roasted hare, Magister?" whispered Petrea waggishly to +Jacobi. + +"Brava, Petrea!" whispered her brother to her. + +"Are you fond of cold meat, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor, as he was handing Louise to the supper-table. + +"Are you fond of Landed Proprietor?" whispered Henrik to her as she left +it. + +Louise answered just as a cathedral would have answered: she looked very +solemn and was silent. + +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. + +"Dear Petrea!" said Louise, "what use can there be in asking those +questions?" + +It was an evening for questions; they did not end even when the company +had broken up. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes, yes, there is certainly something uncommon in her. Her liveliness +and the many games and schemes which she invents--" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well, well! you are not so far wrong; and even our cousin Thure of +Oestanvik,--have you perceived anything there?" + +"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." + +"Yes, a pity; because, as he is at present, I am almost sure Louise +would find it impossible to give him her hand." + +"You do not believe that her inclination is toward Jacobi?" + +"To tell the truth, I fancy that this is the case." + +"Nay, that would be very unpleasant and very unwise: I am very fond of +Jacobi, but he has nothing and is nothing." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Ernst, you are so kind!" + +"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?" + + * * * * * + +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 _doux propos_ 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. + +"That may be!" answered Louise calmly. + +One day she was told that a gentleman had said, "I will not stand up for +any girl who is not a little coquettish!" + +"Then he may remain sitting!" answered Louise, with a great deal of +dignity. + +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. + +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." + +The evening after this explanation took place, Elise was engaged with +Jacobi in a lively conversation in the balcony. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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--!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +A FAMILY PICTURE + +From 'The Home' + +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." + +_Landed Proprietor_--Very cold this evening; I think we shall have +frost. + +_Elise_--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. + +_Landed Proprietor_--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. + +The Landed Proprietor seats himself on the other side of Louise. The +Candidate is seized with a fit of curious shrugs. + +_Louise_--This is not Patience, but a little conjuring by means of which +I can tell future things. Shall I tell your fortune, Cousin Thure? + +_Landed Proprietor_--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. + +_The Candidate (with an expression in his eyes as if he would send the +Landed Proprietor head-over-heels to Oestanvik)_--I don't know whether +Miss Louise likes flattery. + +_Landed Proprietor (who takes no notice of his rival)_--Cousin Louise, +are you fond of blue? + +_Louise_--Blue? It is a pretty color; but I almost like green better. + +_Landed Proprietor_--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-- + +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. + + + +CLEMENS BRENTANO + +(1778-1842) + +The 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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + + THE NURSE'S WATCH + + From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn' + + + The moon it shines, + My darling whines; + The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer + The sick both far and near. + God knoweth all; + Mousy nibbles in the wall; + The clock strikes one:--like day, + Dreams o'er thy pillow play. + The matin-bell + Wakes the nun in convent cell; + The clock strikes two:--they go + To choir in a row. + The wind it blows, + The cock he crows; + The clock strikes three:--the wagoner + In his straw bed begins to stir. + The steed he paws the floor, + Creaks the stable door; + The clock strikes four:--'tis plain + The coachman sifts his grain. + The swallow's laugh the still air shakes, + The sun awakes; + The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone, + He puts his stockings on. + The hen is clacking, + The ducks are quacking; + The clock strikes six:--awake, arise, + Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes. + Quick to the baker's run; + The rolls are done; + The clock strikes seven:-- + 'Tis time the milk were in the oven. + Put in some butter, do, + And some fine sugar, too; + The clock strikes eight:-- + Now bring my baby's porridge straight. + + Englished by Charles T. Brooks. + + THE CASTLE IN AUSTRIA + + From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn' + + + There lies a castle in Austria, + Right goodly to behold, + Walled tip with marble stones so fair, + With silver and with red gold. + + Therein lies captive a young boy, + For life and death he lies bound, + Full forty fathoms under the earth, + 'Midst vipers and snakes around. + + His father came from Rosenberg, + Before the tower he went:-- + "My son, my dearest son, how hard + Is thy imprisonment!" + + "O father, dearest father mine, + So hardly I am bound, + Full forty fathoms under the earth, + 'Midst vipers and snakes around!" + + His father went before the lord:-- + "Let loose thy captive to me! + I have at home three casks of gold, + And these for the boy I'll gi'e." + + "Three casks of gold, they help you not: + That boy, and he must die! + He wears round his neck a golden chain; + Therein doth his ruin lie." + + "And if he thus wear a golden chain, + He hath not stolen it; nay! + A maiden good gave it to him + For true love, did she say." + + They led the boy forth from the tower, + And the sacrament took he:-- + "Help thou, rich Christ, from heaven high, + It's come to an end with me!" + + They led him to the scaffold place, + Up the ladder he must go:-- + "O headsman, dearest headsman, do + But a short respite allow!" + + "A short respite I must not grant; + Thou wouldst escape and fly: + Reach me a silken handkerchief + Around his eyes to tie." + + "Oh, do not, do not bind mine eyes! + I must look on the world so fine; + I see it to-day, then never more, + With these weeping eyes of mine." + + His father near the scaffold stood, + And his heart, it almost rends:-- + "O son, O thou my dearest son, + Thy death I will avenge!" + + "O father, dearest father mine! + My death thou shalt not avenge: + 'Twould bring to my soul but heavy pains; + Let me die in innocence. + + "It is not for this life of mine, + Nor for my body proud; + 'Tis but for my dear mother's sake: + At home she weeps aloud." + + Not yet three days had passed away, + When an angel from heaven came down: + "Take ye the boy from the scaffold away; + Else the city shall sink under ground!" + + And not six months had passed away, + Ere his death was avenged amain; + And upwards of three hundred men + For the boy's life were slain. + + Who is it that hath made this lay, + Hath sung it, and so on? + That, in Vienna in Austria, + Three maidens fair have done. + + + +ELISABETH BRENTANO (BETTINA VON ARNIM) + +(1785-1859) + +No 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. + +[Illustration: ELISABETH BRENTANO] + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +DEDICATION: TO GOETHE + +From 'Goethe's Correspondence with a Child' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +TO GOETHE + +CASSEL, August 13th, 1807. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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 _tone_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +BETTINA'S LAST MEETING WITH GOETHE + +From a Letter to her Niece in 1824, first published in 1896 + +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. + + + IN GOETHE'S GARDEN + + I from this hillock all my world survey! + Yon vale, bedecked by nature's fairy fingers, + Where the still by-road picturesquely lingers, + The cottage white whose quaint charms grace the way-- + These are the scenes that o'er my heart hold sway. + + I from this hillock all my world survey! + Though I ascend to heights fair lands dividing, + Where stately ships I see the ocean riding, + While cities gird the view in proud array, + Naught prompts my heart's impulses to obey. + + I from this hillock all my world survey! + And could I stand while Paradise descrying, + Still for these verdant meads should I be sighing, + Where thy dear roof-peaks skirt the verdant way: + Beyond these bounds my heart longs not to stray. + + + +JOHN BRIGHT + +(1811-1889) + +John 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. + +[Illustration: JOHN BRIGHT] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FROM THE SPEECH ON THE CORN LAWS (1843) + +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. + +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? + +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.... + +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. + + "Bread-taxed weaver, all can see + What the tax hath done for thee, + And thy children, vilely led, + Singing hymns for shameful bread, + Till the stones of every street + Know their little naked feet." + +This is what the Corn Law does for the weavers of my neighborhood, and +for the weavers and artisans of yours.... + +FROM THE SPEECH ON INCENDIARISM IN IRELAND (1844) + +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. + +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.... + +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? + +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. + +FROM THE SPEECH ON NON-RECOGNITION OF THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY (1861) + +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. + +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. + +FROM THE SPEECH ON THE STATE OF IRELAND (1866) + +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. + +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.... + +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.... + +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:-- + + "This, too, for certain know, that underneath + The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs + Into these bubbles make the surface heave, + As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn." + +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?" + +FROM THE SPEECH ON THE IRISH ESTABLISHED CHURCH + +(1868) + +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. + + + +BRILLAT-SAVARIN + +(1755-1826) + +Brillat-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 _vin bourru_" + +[Illustration: Brillat-Savarin] + +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 _fricassée_ 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." + +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!" + +Natural scenery did not appeal to Savarin; to him Switzerland meant the +restaurant of the Lion d'Argent, at Lausanne, where "for only 15 _batz_ +we passed in review three complete courses;" the _table d'hôte_ of the +Rue de Rosny; and the little village of Moudon, where the cheese +_fondue_ 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. + +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 _olla podrida_ 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. + +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 _Poularde fine de Bresse_, the +pheasant, "an enigma of which the key-word is known only to the adepts," +a _sauté_ 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 _Rue du Bac_, "a bonbon +which I have put into the reader's mouth to recompense him for his +kindness in having read me with pleasure"? + +'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. + + + +FROM THE 'PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE' + +THE PRIVATIONS + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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 +_matelote_ and the delights of a fricassée of chicken. + +How I pity you! + +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 _à la vanille_ or _à +la rose_; hardly did you rise to the height of a spice-cake. + +How I pity you! + +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! + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + + + +ON THE LOVE OF GOOD LIVING + +I have consulted the dictionaries under the word _gourmandise_, 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. + +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. + +_Gourmandise_, 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. _Gourmandise_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +What is the power that came to our assistance? Who is the divinity that +worked this miracle? The love of good living. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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 _gourmande_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +ON PEOPLE FOND OF GOOD LIVING + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 +_fermiers-généraux_, 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_corpus delicti_ 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!" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHARLOTTE BRONTÉ AND HER SISTERS + +(1816-1855) + +The 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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +[Illustration: Charlotte Bronté] + +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." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _real_ 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. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +JANE EYRE'S WEDDING DAY + +From 'Jane Eyre' + +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. + +"Stop!" she cried in French, "Look at yourself in the mirror; you have +not taken one peep." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Is John getting the carriage ready?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Is the luggage brought down?" + +"They are bringing it down, sir." + +"Go you to the church; see if Mr. Wood" (the clergyman) "and the clerk +are there; return and tell me." + +The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; the +footman soon returned. + +"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice." + +"And the carriage?" + +"The horses are harnessing." + +"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." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Jane, are you ready?" + +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. + +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. + +At the churchyard wicket he stopped; he discovered I was quite out of +breath. + +"Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant; lean on me, Jane." + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +"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." + +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." + +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!" + +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." + +"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." + +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! + +Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the impediment?" he +asked. "Perhaps it may be got over--explained away?" + +"Hardly," was the answer: "I have called it insuperable, and I speak +advisedly." + +The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, uttering +each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly. + +"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. +Rochester has a wife now living." + +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. + +"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder. + +"My name is Briggs, a solicitor of ---- Street, London." + +"And you would thrust on me a wife?" + +"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law +recognizes if you do not." + +"Favor me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, her +place of abode." + +"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and read +out in a sort of official, nasal voice:-- + +"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." + +"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." + +"She was living three months ago," returned the lawyer. + +"How do you know?" + +"I have a witness to the fact whose testimony even you, sir, will +scarcely controvert." + +"Produce him--or go to hell!" + +"I will produce him first--he is on the spot: Mr. Mason, have the +goodness to step forward." + +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. + +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 _you_ to say?" + +An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips. + +"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again demand, +what have _you_ to say?" + +"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?" + +"Courage," urged the lawyer; "speak out." + +"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in more articulate +tones. "I saw her there last April. I am her brother." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 _my wife_! 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." + +Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen came +after. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage. + +"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester, coolly: "it +will not be wanted to-day." + +At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adèle, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet and +greet us. + +"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master: "away with your +congratulations! Who wants them? Not I! they are fifteen years +too late!" + +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. + +"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and stabbed you +here." + +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. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Poole," said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how is +your charge to-day?" + +"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the boiling +mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not 'rageous." + +A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favorable report: the clothed +hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet. + +"Ah, sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not stay." + +"Only a few moments, Grace; you must allow me a few moments." + +"Take care then, sir! for God's sake, take care!" + +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. + +"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside; "she has +no knife now, I suppose? and I'm on my guard." + +"One never knows what she has, sir, she is so cunning; it is not in +mortal discretion to fathom her craft." + +"We had better leave her," whispered Mason. + +"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation. + +"'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. + +"That is _my wife_," 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 _this_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"My uncle? What of him? Do you know him?" + +"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. + +"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. + +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 _now I thought_. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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; +_that_ 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! + +MADAME BECK + +(From 'Villette') + +"You ayre Engliss?" said a voice at my elbow. I almost bounded, so +unexpected was the sound; so certain had I been of solitude. + +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. + +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. + +"Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises," said she: +"sont-elles done intrépides, ces femmes-là!" + +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.... + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. +_Surveillance, espionnage_, these were her watchwords. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _feelings_ 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 _poor man_, +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. + +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? + + + + + +A YORKSHIRE LANDSCAPE + +From 'Shirley' + +"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunneley dale and +wood." + +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. + +"Our England is a bonnie island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire is one of +her bonniest nooks." + +"You are a Yorkshire girl too?" + +"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." + +Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and +shaken. "We are compatriots," said she. + +"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod. + +"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is +Nunnwood?" + +"It is." + +"Were you ever there?" + +"Many a time." + +"In the heart of it?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it like?" + +"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." + +"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?" + +"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?" + +"Yes, distinctly." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +THE END OF HEATHCLIFF + +From Emily Bronté's 'Wuthering Heights' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"And he spoke to me," she added with a perplexed look. + +"What did he say?" asked Hareton. + +"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." + +"How?" he inquired. + +"Why, almost bright and cheerful--no, almost nothing--_very much_ +excited, and wild, and glad!" she replied. + +"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. + +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. + +"Will you have some breakfast?" I said. "You must be hungry, rambling +about all night!" + +I wanted to discover where he had been; but I did not like to ask +directly. + +"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. + +I felt perplexed--I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity +to offer a bit of admonition. + +"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!" + +"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." + +I obeyed; and in passing, I saw he breathed as fast as a cat. + +"Yes!" I reflected to myself, "we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot +conceive what he has been doing!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well, is he coming?" cried Catherine, when he returned. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Where should good news come from to me?" he said. "I'm animated with +hunger; and seemingly I must not eat." + +"Your dinner is here," I returned: "why won't you get it?" + +"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." + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, and +commenced shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his. + +"Must I close this?" I asked, in order to rouse him, for he would not +stir. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"He has staid at home," I thought, "and he'll be all right to-day!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He didn't notice me, and yet he smiled. I'd rather have seen him gnash +his teeth than smile so. + +"Mr. Heathcliff! master!" I cried. "Don't, for God's sake, stare as if +you saw an unearthly vision." + +"Don't, for God's sake, shout so loud," he replied. "Turn round and tell +me, are we by ourselves?" + +"Of course," was my answer, "of course we are!" + +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. + +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. + +The fancied object was not fixed either; his eyes pursued it with +unwearied vigilance, and even in speaking to me, were never weaned away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +"Nelly, come here--is it morning? Come in with your light." + +"It is striking four," I answered; "you want a candle to take +upstairs--you might have lighted one at this fire." + +"No, I don't wish to go upstairs," he said. "Come in, and kindle _me_ a +fire, and do anything there is to do about the room." + +"I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any," I replied, +getting a chair and the bellows. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Happy, master?" I cried. "Strange happiness! If you would hear me +without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make +you happier." + +"What is that?" he asked. "Give it." + +"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?" + +"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 _my_ +heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me!" + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I believe you think me a fiend!" he said, with his dismal laugh; +"something too horrible to live under a decent roof!" + +Then turning to Catherine, who was there, and who drew behind me at his +approach, he added, half sneeringly:-- + +"Will _you_ come, chuck? I'll not hurt you. No! to you I've made myself +worse than the devil. Well, there is _one_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _walks_. 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. + +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. + +"What is the matter, my little man?" I asked. + +"They's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t' nab," he blubbered, "un' +aw darnut pass 'em." + +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! + + * * * * * + +"They are going to the Grange, then?" I said. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Dean, "as soon as they are married; and that will +be on New Year's day." + +"And who will live here then?" + +"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." + +"For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it," I observed. + +"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." + +At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning. + +"_They_ are afraid of nothing," I grumbled, watching their approach +through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and all +his legions." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +PHILLIPS BROOKS + +(1835-1893) + +Phillips 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: PHILIPS BROOKS.] + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + + + + + O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM + + + O little town of Bethlehem, + How still we see thee lie! + Above thy deep and dreamless sleep + The silent stars go by. + Yet in thy dark streets shineth + The everlasting Light; + The hopes and fears of all the years + Are met in thee to-night. + + O morning stars, together + Proclaim the holy birth! + And praises sing to God the King, + And peace to men on earth. + For Christ is born of Mary, + And gathered all above; + While mortals sleep the angels keep + Their watch of wondering love. + + How silently, how silently, + The wondrous gift is given! + So God imparts to human hearts + The blessings of his heaven. + No ear may hear his coming; + But in this world of sin, + Where meek souls will receive him still, + The dear Christ enters in. + +Where children pure and happy + Pray to the blessèd Child, + Where Misery cries out to thee, + Son of the Mother mild; + Where Charity stands watching, + And Faith holds wide the door, + The dark night wakes; the glory breaks, + And Christmas comes once more. + + O holy Child of Bethlehem, + Descend to us, we pray! + Cast out our sin and enter in; + Be born in us to-day. + We hear the Christmas angels + The great glad tidings tell; + O come to us, abide with us, + Our Lord Emmanuel! + + Copyrighted by E.P. Dutton and Company, New York. +[Illustration] + +_THE HOLY CHILD OF BETHLEHEM_. + +Photogravure from a Painting by H. Havenith. + +"Where children pure and happy Pray to the blessed Child." + + + +PERSONAL CHARACTER + +From 'Essays and Addresses' + +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. + +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. + +Copyrighted by E.P. Dutton and Company, New York. + + + +THE COURAGE OF OPINIONS + +From 'Essays and Addresses' + +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. + +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? ... + +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. + + + +LITERATURE AND LIFE + +From 'Essays and Addresses' + +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. + +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. + + + +CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN (1771-1810) + +Not 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. + +[Illustration: CHARLES B. BROWN] + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_American_ letters. + + + +WIELAND'S STATEMENT + +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:-- + +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! + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +"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!" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +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. + +I looked away from her, and, again exerting my force, drew her toward +the door. "You must go with me; indeed you must." + +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?" + +"Follow me and you will see," I answered, still urging her reluctant +steps forward. + +"What frenzy has seized you? Something must needs have happened. Is she +sick? Have you found her?" + +"Come and see. Follow me and know for yourself." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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:-- + +"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?" + +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:--- + +"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:-- + +"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!" + +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?" + +"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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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! + +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 _mere +man_. 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. + +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 _was calm_. 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 _be comforted_. + +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!--" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + + +JOHN BROWN + +(1810-1882) + +John 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. + +[Illustration: JOHN BROWN] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.'" + + * * * * * + +MARJORIE FLEMING + +From 'Spare Hours' + +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. + +The three friends sought the _bield_ of the low wall old Edinburgh boys +remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stout +west wind.... + +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? + +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. + +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,-- + + "'My spinnin' wheel is auld and stiff, + The rock o't wunna stand, sir; + To keep the temper-pin in tiff + Employs ower aft my hand, sir.' + +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 _maud_ (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 +_cleanliness_ and freshness of mind and body, made old age lovely and +desirable." + +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 _on-ding o' snaw_!" 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 _cul-de-sac_]. "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. + +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,-- + + "Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven; + Alibi, crackaby, ten and eleven; + Pin, pan, musky dan; + Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, twenty-wan; + Eerie, orie, ourie, + You, are, out." + +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. + +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.... + +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." + +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. + +There she is, looking straight at us as she did at him,--fearless and +full of love, passionate, wild, willful, fancy's child. + + * * * * * + +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 _nieve_ +(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 _dust_, ye thrawn deevil?" with a cuff from the opened hand, was the +as inevitable rejoinder. + +Here is Maidie's first letter, before she was six, the spelling +unaltered, and there are no "commoes." + +"MY DEAR ISA--I now sit down to answer all your kind and 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." + +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 _be_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:-- + +"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." + +"I am at Ravelston enjoying nature's fresh air. The birds are singing +sweetly--the calf doth frisk and nature shows her glorious face." + +Here is a confession: + +"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." + +Our poor little wifie, _she_ 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." + +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" (_pauvre petite_!) "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. + +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; _but then Jesus was not +then come to teach us to be merciful_." 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. + +"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." + +This amount of meditation and thankfulness seems to have been all she +was able for. + +"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." + +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 _splore_; and when George the +Fourth came to Edinburgh, this ceremony was performed in silver +at Holyrood. + +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 _Now_ and _Then_. 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 _deaved_ the dove. Everything about the +place is old and fresh. + +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"!] + +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." + +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"! + +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." + +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"--_(Blandula! Vagula! coelum et animum mutas quoe trans mare_ +[i.e., _trans Bodotriam] curris!_)--"my native town." + +"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!" + +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." (!) + +"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." + +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, _clacked_". "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! + +She seems now, when still about six, to have broken out into song:-- + + EPHIBOL [EPIGRAM OR EPITAPH--WHO KNOWS WHICH?] ON MY DEAR + LOVE ISABELLA. + + "Here lies sweet Isabel in bed, + With a night-cap on her head; + Her skin is soft, her face is fair, + And she has very pretty hair; + She and I in bed lies nice, + And undisturbed by rats or mice. + She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan, + Though he plays upon the organ. + Her nails are neat, her teeth are white, + Her eyes are very, very bright. + In a conspicuous town she lives, + And to the poor her money gives. + Here ends sweet Isabella's story, + And may it be much to her glory." + +Here are some bits at random:-- + + "Of summer I am very fond, + And love to bathe into a pond: + The look of sunshine dies away, + And will not let me out to play; + I love the morning's sun to spy + Glittering through the casement's eye; + The rays of light are very sweet, + And puts away the taste of meat; + The balmy breeze comes down from heaven, + And makes us like for to be living." + +"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! + +"Braehead is extremely pleasant to me by the companie of swine, geese, +cocks, etc., and they are the delight of my soul." + +"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." + +"Queen Street is a very gay one, and so is Princes Street, for all the +lads and lasses, besides bucks and beggars, parade there" + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"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? + +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." + +She begins thus loftily,-- + + "Death the righteous love to see, + But from it doth the wicked flee." + +Then suddenly breaks off [as if with laughter],-- + +"I am sure they fly as fast as their legs can carry them!" + + "There is a thing I love to see, + That is our monkey catch a flee." + + "I love in Isa's bed to lie, + Oh, such a joy and luxury! + The bottom of the bed I sleep, + And with great care within I creep; + Oft I embrace her feet of lillys, + But she has goton all the pillys. + Her neck I never can embrace, + But I do hug her feet in place." + +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." + +Here is one of her swains:-- + + "Very soft and white his cheeks, + His hair is red, and gray his breeks; + His tooth is like the daisy fair, + His only fault is in his hair." + +This is a higher flight:-- + + DEDICATED TO MRS. H. CRAWFORD BY THE AUTHOR, M. F. + + "Three turkeys fair their last have breathed, + And now this world forever leaved; + Their father, and their mother too, + They sigh and weep as well as you; + Indeed, the rats their bones have crunched, + Into eternity theire laanched. + A direful death indeed they had, + As wad put any parent mad; + But she was more than usual calm: + She did not give a single dam." + +This last word is saved from all sin by its tender age, not to speak of +the want of the _n_. We fear "she" is the abandoned mother, in spite of +her previous sighs and tears. + +"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." + +She has a long poem on Mary Queen of Scots:-- + + "Queen Mary was much loved by all, + Both by the great and by the small, + But hark! her soul to heaven doth rise? + And I suppose she has gained a prize; + For I do think she would not go + Into the _awful_ place below. + There is a thing that I must tell-- + Elizabeth went to fire and hell! + He who would teach her to be civil, + It must be her great friend, the divil!" + +She hits off Darnley well:-- + + "A noble's son,--a handsome lad,-- + By some queer way or other, had + Got quite the better of her heart; + With him she always talked apart: + Silly he was, but very fair; + A greater buck was not found there." + +"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! + + SONNET TO A MONKEY + + O lively, O most charming pug: + Thy graceful air and heavenly mug! + The beauties of his mind do shine, + And every bit is shaped and fine. + Your teeth are whiter than the snow; + Your a great buck, your a great beau; + Your eyes are of so nice a shape, + More like a Christian's than an ape; + Your cheek is like the rose's blume; + Your hair is like the raven's plume; + His nose's cast is of the Roman: + He is a very pretty woman. + I could not get a rhyme for Roman, + So was obliged to call him woman. + +This last joke is good. She repeats it when writing of James the Second +being killed at Roxburgh:-- + + He was killed by a cannon splinter, + Quite in the middle of the winter; + Perhaps it was not at that time, + But I can get no other rhyme. + +Here is one of her last letters, dated Kirkcaldy, 12th October, 1811. +You can see how her nature is deepening and enriching:-- + + 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 + + MARJORY FLEMING. + + P.S.--An old pack of cards (!) would be very exceptible. + +This other is a month earlier:-- + + "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 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_, + + M. FLEMING." + +What rich involution of love in the words marked! Here are some lines to +her beloved Isabella, in July, 1811:-- + + "There is a thing that I do want-- + With you these beauteous walks to haunt; + We would be happy if you would + Try to come over if you could. + Then I would all quite happy be + _Now and for all eternity_. + My mother is so very sweet, + _And checks my appetite to eat_; + My father shows us what to do; + But O I'm sure that I want you. + I have no more of poetry; + O Isa do remember me, + And try to love your Marjory." + +In a letter from "Isa" to + + "Miss Muff Maidie Marjory Fleming, + favored by Rare Rear-Admiral Fleming," + +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?" + +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:-- + + Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene + +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.... + +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!'" + +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 +_animosa infans_ 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.... + +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 _not_ Mrs. Murray Keith, although very intimately +acquainted with that old lady.... + +"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." + +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.... + +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 _think_, 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:-- + + 'Oh! Isa, pain did visit me, + I was at the last extremity; + How often did I think of you, + I wished your graceful form to view, + To clasp you in my weak embrace, + Indeed I thought I'd run my race: + Good care, I'm sure, was of me taken, + But still indeed I was much shaken. + At last I daily strength did gain, + And oh! at last, away went pain; + At length the doctor thought I might + Stay in the parlor all the night; + I now continue so to do; + Farewell to Nancy and to you.' + +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." + + "Soft, silken primrose, fading timelessly!" + +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,--_moriens canit_,--and that love which is so soon to +be her everlasting light, is her song's burden to the end. + + "She set as sets the morning star, which goes + Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides + Obscured among the tempests of the sky, + But melts away into the light of heaven." + +THE DEATH OF THACKERAY + +From 'Spare Hours' + +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. + +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? +_It is I who ought to be angry and unforgiving, for I was in the +wrong_.'" _Odisse quem læseris_ 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:-- + +"Oh, the sad old pages, the dull old pages; oh, the cares, the _ennui_, +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." + + * * * * * + +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-- + + "That happy morn + Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, + Of wedded maid and virgin-mother born, + Our great redemption from above did bring." + +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? + +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:-- + + "Who knows the inscrutable design? + Blest He who took and He who gave! + Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, + Be weeping at her darling's grave? + We bow to heaven that willed it so, + That darkly rules the fate of all, + That sends the respite or the blow, + That's free to give or to recall." + + + +CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE (ARTEMUS WARD) + +(1834-1867) + +BY CHARLES F. JOHNSON + +Charles 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. + +[Illustration: Charles F. Browne] + +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. + +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. + +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 _reductio ad +absurdum_ 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. + +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 _ab extra_. 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 _qua flunky_, as a +naturalist might study an animal, and hardly ranks him _sub specie +humanitatis_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + + + +EDWIN FORREST AS OTHELLO + +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?" + +"No," sez he. + +"Wall," sez I, "I'd appint your funeral to-morrow arternoon, & the +_korps should be ready_. You're too smart to live on this yerth." + +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. + +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! + +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! + +Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company, New York. + +HIGH-HANDED OUTRAGE AT UTICA + +In the fall of 1856 I showed my show in Utiky, a trooly grate sitty in +the State of New York. + +The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The press was loud in her +prases. + +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. + +"What under the son are you abowt?" cried I. + +Sez he, "What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?" & he hit +the wax figger another tremenjus blow on the hed. + +Sez I, "You egrejus ass that air's a wax figger--a representashun of the +false 'Postle." + +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. + +Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company, New York. + +AFFAIRS ROUND THE VILLAGE GREEN + +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, _he_ 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. + +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. + +Copyrighted by G. W. Dillingham and Company. + +MR. PEPPER + +From 'Artemus Ward: His Travels' + +My arrival at Virginia City was signalized by the following incident:-- + +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: + +"What name?" + +"Wait!" he said, and went out. + +I heard him pacing unsteadily up and down the hall outside. + +In ten minutes he returned, and said, "Pepper!" + +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. + +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. + +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 _a dissipated air!_ + +HORACE GREELEY'S RIDE TO PLACERVILLE + +From 'Artemus Ward: His Travels' + +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. + +At one town the enthusiastic populace tore his celebrated white coat to +pieces and carried the pieces home to remember him by. + +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." + +The roads were in an awful state, and during the first few miles out of +Folsom slow progress was made. + +"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "are you aware that I must be in Placerville at +seven o'clock to-night?" + +"I've got my orders!" laconically replied Henry Monk. + +Still the coach dragged slowly forward. + +"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter. I _must_ be +there at seven!" + +Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!" + +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. + +"That is right, my good fellow," said Mr. Greeley. "I'll give you ten +dollars when we get to Placerville. Now we are going!" + +They were indeed, and at a terrible speed. + +Crack, crack! went the whip, and again "that voice" split the air, "Get +up! Hi-yi! G'long! Yip-yip." + +And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a rate of +speed never before achieved by stage horses. + +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:-- + +"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?" + +"I've got my orders!" That was all Henry Monk said. And on tore the +coach. + +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." + +"Sir," he said, "I don't care-care-air if we _don't_ get there at +seven." + +"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. + +"See here!" shrieked Mr. Greeley, "I don't care if we don't get there at +all." + +"I've got my orders! I work fer the California Stage Company, I do. +That's wot I _work_ fer. They said, 'Get this man through by seving.' +An' this man's goin' through, you bet! Gerlong! Whoo-ep!" + +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. + +"Stop, you--maniac!" he roared. + +Again answered Henry Monk:-- + +"I've got my orders! _Keep your seat, Horace!_" + +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. + +The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of Mud Springs, and Mr. Monk +reined in his foam-covered steeds. + +"Is Mr. Greeley on board?" asked the chairman of the committee. + +"_He was, a few miles back_!" 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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"_I've got my orders_!" 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +SIR THOMAS BROWNE + +(1605-1682) + +BY FRANCIS BACON + +When 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." + +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. + +[Illustration: SIR THOMAS BROWNE] + +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. + +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. + +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" (_generosa familia_, 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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _mæstissima +conjux_, as her husband's stately epitaph, rich with many an _issimus_, +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _horæ subsecivæ_ 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.' + +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[1]. + +[Footnote 1: 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.] + +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[2]." +Here we have the right background and accessories for Whitefoot's +portrait of the central figure:-- + + "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." + +[Footnote 2: 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.] + +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. + +He was buried in the church of St. Peter Mancroft, where his monument +still claims regard as chief among the _memorabilia_ of that noble +sanctuary[3]. + +[Footnote 3: 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."] + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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 + + "Those thoughts that wander through eternity," + +he means that we too shall "have a glimpse of incomprehensibles, and +thoughts of things which thoughts but tenderly touch." + +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. + +"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. + +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 [_sc._ 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 _fluctus decumanus_ gathering in the tide of +Puritanism, the likeness would have been closer. + +"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? + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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 _amicus curiæ_, 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. + +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." + +[Illustration: Signature: Fr's. Bacon] + + + +FROM THE 'RELIGIO MEDICI' + +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. + +As for those wingy mysteries in divinity, and airy subtleties in +religion, which have unhinged the brains of better heads, they never +stretched the _pia mater_ 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 _O altitudo!_ '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. + +In my solitary and retired imagination, + + "Neque enim cum lectulus aut me + Porticus excepit, desum mihi"-- + +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 am that I am_, 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 _predestination_, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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 _utinam_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 _ubi_, 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. + +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. + +That which is the cause of my election I hold to be the cause of my +salvation, which was the mercy and _beneplacit_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _à la volée_, 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. + +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. + +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 +_the music of the spheres_; 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. + +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. + +FROM 'CHRISTIAN MORALS' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FROM 'HYDRIOTAPHIA, OR URN-BURIAL' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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[4]; +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. + +[Footnote 4: According to the custom of the Jews, who placed a lighted +wax candle in a pot of ashes by the corpse.] + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FROM 'A FRAGMENT ON MUMMIES' + +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. + +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 _ubi_ 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.... + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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 _mortua_, or be elbowed +by mummies. + +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 _hospitia_, 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. + +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. + + + +FROM 'A LETTER TO A FRIEND' + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Although he attained not unto the years of his predecessors, yet he +wanted not those preserving virtues which confirm the thread of weaker +constitutions. _Cautelous_ chastity and _crafty_ sobriety were far from +him; those jewels were _paragon_, without flaw, hair, ice, or cloud in +him: which affords me a hint to proceed in these good wishes and few +mementos unto you. + + + +SOME RELATIONS WHOSE TRUTH WE FEAR + +From 'Pseudoxia Epidemica' + +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. + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE + +(1591-1643) + +Among 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." + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "I truly know + How men are born and whither they shall go; + I know that like to silkworms of one year, + Or like a kind and wronged lover's tear, + Or on the pathless waves a rudder's dint, + Or like the little sparkles of a flint, + Or like to thin round cakes with cost perfum'd, + Or fireworks only made to be consum'd: + I know that such is man, and all that trust + In that weak piece of animated dust. + The silkworm droops, the lover's tears soon shed, + The ship's way quickly lost, the sparkle dead; + The cake burns out in haste, the firework's done, + And man as soon as these as quickly gone." + +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:-- + + "Hail, thou my native soil! thou blessèd plot + Whose equal all the world affordeth not! + Show me who can, so many crystal rills, + Such sweet-cloth'd valleys or aspiring hills; + Such wood-ground, pastures, quarries, wealthy mines; + Such rocks in whom the diamond fairly shines." + +And in another place he says:-- + + "And Tavy in my rhymes + Challenge a due; let it thy glory be + That famous Drake and I were born by thee." + +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). + +"In the third song of the Second Book," says Mr. Bullen in his +preface,-- + + "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 + + 'that you are fain + Where you last walked to turn and walk again.' + + 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." + +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:-- + + "Drayton and Browne,--with smiles they drew + From outward Nature, still kept new + From their own inward nature true." + +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. + + + + CIRCE'S CHARM + + Song from the 'Inner Temple Masque' + + + Son of Erebus and night, + Hie away; and aim thy flight + Where consort none other fowl + Than the bat and sullen owl; + Where upon thy limber grass, + Poppy and mandragoras, + With like simples not a few, + Hang forever drops of dew; + Where flows Lethe without coil + Softly like a stream of oil. + Hie thee hither, gentle sleep: + With this Greek no longer keep. + Thrice I charge thee by my wand, + Thrice with moly from my hand + Do I touch Ulysses's eyes, + And with the jaspis: then arise, + Sagest Greek! + +_CIRCE_. + +Photogravure from a Painting by E Burne-Jones. + +[Illustration] + + + + THE HUNTED SQUIRREL + + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + + + Then as a nimble squirrel from the wood + Ranging the hedges for his filbert food + Sits pertly on a bough, his brown nuts cracking, + And from the shell the sweet white kernel taking; + Till with their crooks and bags a sort of boys + To share with him come with so great a noise + That he is forced to leave a nut nigh broke, + And for his life leap to a neighbor oak, + Thence to a beach, thence to a row of ashes; + Whilst through the quagmires and red water plashes + The boys run dabbling through thick and thin; + One tears his hose, another breaks his shin; + This, torn and tattered, hath with much ado + Got by the briars; and that hath lost his shoe; + This drops his band; that headlong falls for haste; + Another cries behind for being last: + With sticks and stones and many a sounding holloa + The little fool with no small sport they follow, + Whilst he from tree to tree, from spray to spray + Gets to the woods and hides him in his dray. + + + + + AS CAREFUL MERCHANTS DO EXPECTING STAND + + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + + + As careful merchants do expecting stand, + After long time and merry gales of wind, + Upon the place where their brave ships must land, + So wait I for the vessel of my mind. + + Upon a great adventure is it bound, + Whose safe return will valued be at more + Than all the wealthy prizes which have crowned + The golden wishes of an age before. + + Out of the East jewels of worth she brings; + The unvalued diamond of her sparkling eye + Wants in the treasures of all Europe's kings; + And were it mine, they nor their crowns should buy. + + The sapphires ringèd on her panting breast + Run as rich veins of ore about the mold, + And are in sickness with a pale possessed; + So true for them I should disvalue gold. + + The melting rubies on her cherry lip + Are of such power to hold, that as one day + Cupid flew thirsty by, he stooped to sip: + And, fastened there, could never get away. + + The sweets of Candy are no sweets to me + Where hers I taste: nor the perfumes of price, + Robbed from the happy shrubs of Araby, + As her sweet breath so powerful to entice. + + O hasten then! and if thou be not gone + Unto that wicked traffic through the main, + My powerful sigh shall quickly drive thee on, + And then begin to draw thee back again. + + If, in the mean, rude waves have it opprest, + It shall suffice, I ventured at the best. + + + + + SONG OF THE SIRENS + + From 'The Inner Temple Masque' + + + Steer hither, steer your wingèd pines, + All beaten mariners! + Here lie love's undiscovered mines, + A prey to passengers: + Perfumes far sweeter than the best + Which make the Phoenix's urn and nest. + Fear not your ships, + Nor any to oppose you save our lips, + But come on shore, + Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. + + For swelling waves our panting breasts, + Where never storms arise, + Exchange, and be awhile our guests: + For stars, gaze on our eyes. + The compass love shall hourly sing, + And as he goes about the ring, + We will not miss + To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. + Then come on shore, + Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. + + + + AN EPISTLE ON PARTING + + From 'Epistles' + + + Dear soul, the time is come, and we must part; + Yet, ere I go, in these lines read my heart: + A heart so just, so loving, and so true, + So full of sorrow and so full of you, + That all I speak or write or pray or mean,-- + And, which is all I can, all that I dream,-- + Is not without a sigh, a thought of you, + And as your beauties are, so are they true. + Seven summers now are fully spent and gone, + Since first I loved, loved you, and you alone; + And should mine eyes as many hundreds see, + Yet none but you should claim a right in me; + A right so placed that time shall never hear + Of one so vowed, or any loved so dear. + When I am gone, if ever prayers moved you, + Relate to none that I so well have loved you: + For all that know your beauty and desert, + Would swear he never loved that knew to part. + Why part we then? That spring, which but this day + Met some sweet river, in his bed can play, + And with a dimpled cheek smile at their bliss, + Who never know what separation is. + The amorous vine with wanton interlaces + Clips still the rough elm in her kind embraces: + Doves with their doves sit billing in the groves, + And woo the lesser birds to sing their loves: + Whilst hapless we in griefful absence sit, + Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen it. + + + + + SONNETS TO CÆLIA + + + Fairest, when by the rules of palmistry, + You took my hand to try if you could guess, + By lines therein, if any wight there be + Ordained to make me know some happiness: + I wished that those charácters could explain, + Whom I will never wrong with hope to win; + Or that by them a copy might be ta'en, + By you alone what thoughts I have within. + But since the hand of nature did not set + (As providently loath to have it known) + The means to find that hidden alphabet, + Mine eyes shall be the interpreters alone: + By them conceive my thoughts, and tell me, fair, + If now you see her that doth love me, there. + + Were't not for you, here should my pen have rest, + And take a long leave of sweet poesy; + Britannia's swains, and rivers far by west, + Should hear no more my oaten melody. + Yet shall the song I sung of them awhile + Unperfect lie, and make no further known + The happy loves of this our pleasant Isle, + Till I have left some record of mine own. + You are the subject now, and, writing you, + I well may versify, not poetize: + Here needs no fiction; for the graces true + And virtues clip not with base flatteries. + Here should I write what you deserve of praise; + Others might wear, but I should win, the bays. + + Fairest, when I am gone, as now the glass + Of Time is marked how long I have to stay, + Let me entreat you, ere from hence I pass, + Perhaps from you for ever more away,-- + Think that no common love hath fired my breast, + No base desire, but virtue truly known, + Which I may love, and wish to have possessed, + Were you the highest as fairest of any one. + 'Tis not your lovely eye enforcing flames, + Nor beauteous red beneath a snowy skin, + That so much binds me yours, or makes your fame's, + As the pure light and beauty shrined within: + Yet outward parts I must affect of duty, + As for the smell we like the rose's beauty. + + + +HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL + +(1820-1872) + +This 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 _par excellence_, the vigorous +chronicler of great actions. + +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. + +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. + + + ANNUS MEMORABILIS + + (CONGRESS, 1860-61) + + + Stand strong and calm as Fate! not a breath of scorn or hate-- + Of taunt for the base, or of menace for the strong-- + Since our fortunes must be sealed on that old and famous Field + Where the Right is set in battle with the Wrong. + 'Tis coming, with the loom of Khamsin or Simoom, + The tempest that shall try if we are of God or no-- + Its roar is in the sky,--and they there be which cry, + "Let us cower, and the storm may over-blow." + Now, nay! stand firm and fast! (that was a spiteful blast!) + This is not a war of men, but of Angels Good and Ill-- + 'Tis hell that storms at heaven--'tis the black and deadly Seven, + Sworn 'gainst the Shining Ones to work their damnèd will! + How the Ether glooms and burns, as the tide of combat turns, + And the smoke and dust above it whirl and float! + It eddies and it streams--and, certes, oft it seems + As the Sins had the Seraphs fairly by the throat. + But we all have read (in that Legend grand and dread), + How Michael and his host met the Serpent and his crew-- + Naught has reached us of the Fight--but if I have dreamed aright, + 'Twas a loud one and a long, as ever thundered through! + Right stiffly, past a doubt, the Dragon fought it out, + And his Angels, each and all, did for Tophet their devoir-- + There was creak of iron wings, and whirl of scorpion stings, + Hiss of bifid tongues, and the Pit in full uproar! + But, naught thereof enscrolled, in one brief line 'tis told + (Calm as dew the Apocalyptic Pen), + That on the Infinite Shore their place was found no more. + God send the like on this our earth! Amen. + + Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin and Company, Boston. + + + WORDS FOR THE 'HALLELUJAH CHORUS' + + Old John Brown lies a-moldering in the grave, + Old John Brown lies slumbering in his grave-- + But John Brown's soul is marching with the brave, + His soul is marching on. + + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + His soul is marching on. + + He has gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord; + He is sworn as a private in the ranks of the Lord,-- + He shall stand at Armageddon with his brave old sword, + When Heaven is marching on. + + He shall file in front where the lines of battle form, + He shall face to front when the squares of battle form-- + Time with the column, and charge in the storm, + Where men are marching on. + + Ah, foul Tyrants! do ye hear him where he comes? + Ah, black traitors! do ye know him as he comes, + In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums, + As we go marching on? + + Men may die, and molder in the dust-- + Men may die, and arise again from dust, + Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of the Just, + When Heaven is marching on. + + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + His soul is marching on. + + + COMING + + (APRIL, 1861) + + + World, are thou 'ware of a storm? + Hark to the ominous sound; + How the far-off gales their battle form, + And the great sea-swells feel ground! + + It comes, the Typhoon of Death-- + Nearer and nearer it comes! + The horizon thunder of cannon-breath + And the roar of angry drums! + + Hurtle, Terror sublime! + Swoop o'er the Land to-day-- + So the mist of wrong and crime, + The breath of our Evil Time + Be swept, as by fire, away! + + + + PSYCHAURA + + The wind of an autumn midnight + Is moaning around my door-- + The curtains wave at the window, + The carpet lifts on the floor. + + There are sounds like startled footfalls + In the distant chambers now, + And the touching of airy ringers + Is busy on hand and brow. + + 'Tis thus, in the Soul's dark dwelling-- + By the moody host unsought-- + Through the chambers of memory wander + The invisible airs of thought. + + For it bloweth where it listeth, + With a murmur loud or low; + Whence it cometh--whither it goeth-- + None tell us, and none may know. + + Now wearying round the portals + Of the vacant, desolate mind-- + As the doors of a ruined mansion, + That creak in the cold night wind. + + And anon an awful memory + Sweeps over it fierce and high-- + Like the roar of a mountain forest + When the midnight gale goes by. + + Then its voice subsides in wailing, + And, ere the dawning of day, + Murmuring fainter and fainter, + In the distance dies away. + + + SUSPIRIA NOCTIS + + + Reading, and reading--little is the gain + Long dwelling with the minds of dead men leaves. + List rather to the melancholy rain, + Drop--dropping from the eaves. + + Still the old tale--how hardly worth the telling! + Hark to the wind!--again that mournful sound, + That all night long, around this lonely dwelling, + Moans like a dying hound. + + + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING + +(1809-1861) + +It is interesting to step back sixty years into the lives of Miss +Mitford and her "dear young friend Miss Barrett," when the _-esses_ 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." + +[Illustration: Mrs. Browning] + +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. + +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. + +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-- + + "If thou wilt love me, let it be for naught + Except for love's sake only--" + +does not fall far short of Shakespeare. + +'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:-- + + "For 'tis not in mere death that men die most: + And after our first girding of the loins + In youth's fine linen and fair broidery, + To run up-hill and meet the rising sun, + We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool, + While others gird us with the violent bands + Of social figments, feints, and formalisms, + Reversing our straight nature, lifting up + Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts, + Head downwards on the cross-sticks of the world. + Yet He can pluck us from that shameful cross. + God, set our feet low and our foreheads high, + And teach us how a man was made to walk!" + +Or this:-- + + "I've waked and slept through many nights and days + Since then--but still that day will catch my breath + Like a nightmare. There are fatal days, indeed, + In which the fibrous years have taken root + So deeply, that they quiver to their tops + Whene'er you stir the dust of such a day." + +Again:-- + + "Passion is + But something suffered after all-- + . . . . . While Art + + Sets action on the top of suffering." + +And this:-- + + "Nothing is small! + No lily-muffled hum of summer-bee + But finds some coupling with the spinning stars; + No pebble at your foot but proves a sphere: + . . . . . Earth's crammed with Heaven, + And every common bush afire with God; + But only he who sees, takes off his shoes." + +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. + +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, + + "And good for God, himself the essential Good! + We'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect, + Although our woman-hands should shake and fail." + +This was her achievement--her hands did not fail! + +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." + + + A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT + + WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, + Down in the reeds by the river? + Spreading ruin and scattering ban, + Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, + And breaking the golden lilies afloat + With the dragon-fly on the river. + + He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, + From the deep, cool bed of the river. + The limpid water turbidly ran, + And the broken lilies a-dying lay, + And the dragon-fly had fled away, + Ere he brought it out of the river. + + High on the shore sat the great god Pan, + While turbidly flowed the river, + And hacked and hewed as a great god can, + With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, + Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed + To prove it fresh from the river. + + He cut it short, did the great god Pan, + (How tall it stood in the river!) + Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, + Steadily from the outside ring, + And notched the poor, dry, empty thing + In holes as he sat by the river. + + "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, + (Laughed while he sat by the river,) + "The only way, since gods began + To make sweet music, they could succeed." + Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, + He blew in power by the river. + + Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan, + Piercing sweet by the river! + Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! + The sun on the hill forgot to die, + And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly + Came back to dream on the river. + + Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, + To laugh as he sits by the river, + Making a poet out of a man: + The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain,-- + For the reed which grows nevermore again + As a reed with the reeds in the river. + + + MY HEART AND I + + Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. + We sit beside the headstone thus, + And wish that name were carved for us. + The moss reprints more tenderly + The hard types of the mason's knife, + As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life + With which we're tired, my heart and I. + + You see we're tired, my heart and I. + We dealt with books, we trusted men, + And in our own blood drenched the pen, + As if such colors could not fly. + We walked too straight for fortune's end, + We loved too true to keep a friend: + At last we're tired, my heart and I. + + How tired we feel, my heart and I! + We seem of no use in the world; + Our fancies hang gray and uncurled + About men's eyes indifferently; + Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let + You sleep; our tears are only wet: + What do we here, my heart and I? + + So tired, so tired, my heart and I! + It was not thus in that old time + When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime + To watch the sunset from the sky. + "Dear love, you're looking tired," he said; + I, smiling at him, shook my head: + 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I. + + So tired, so tired, my heart and I! + Though now none takes me on his arm + To fold me close and kiss me warm + Till each quick breath end in a sigh + Of happy languor. Now, alone, + We lean upon this graveyard stone, + Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. + + Tired out we are, my heart and I. + Suppose the world brought diadems + To tempt us, crusted with loose gems + Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. + We scarcely care to look at even + A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, + We feel so tired, my heart and I. + + Yet who complains? My heart and I? + In this abundant earth, no doubt, + Is little room for things worn out: + Disdain them, break them, throw them by! + And if, before the days grew rough, + We _once_ were loved, used,--well enough + I think we've fared, my heart and I. + + + FROM 'CATARINA TO CAMOENS' + + [Dying in his absence abroad, and referring to the poem in which he + recorded the sweetness of her eyes.] + + On the door you will not enter + I have gazed too long: adieu! + Hope withdraws her "peradventure"; + Death is near me,--and not _you!_ + Come, O lover, + Close and cover + These poor eyes you called, I ween, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + When I heard you sing that burden + In my vernal days and bowers, + Other praises disregarding, + I but hearkened that of yours, + Only saying + In heart-playing, + "Blessed eyes mine eyes have been, + If the sweetest HIS have seen!" + + But all changes. At this vesper + Cold the sun shines down the door. + If you stood there, would you whisper, + "Love, I love you," as before,-- + Death pervading + Now and shading + Eyes you sang of, that yestreen, + As the sweetest ever seen? + + Yes, I think, were you beside them, + Near the bed I die upon, + Though their beauty you denied them, + As you stood there looking down, + You would truly + Call them duly, + For the love's sake found therein, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + And if _you_ looked down upon them, + And if _they_ looked up to _you_, + All the light which has foregone them + Would be gathered back anew; + They would truly + Be as duly + Love-transformed to beauty's sheen, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + But, ah me! you only see me, + In your thoughts of loving man, + Smiling soft, perhaps, and dreamy, + Through the wavings of my fan; + And unweeting + Go repeating + In your revery serene, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + O my poet, O my prophet! + When you praised their sweetness so, + Did you think, in singing of it, + That it might be near to go? + Had you fancies + From their glances, + That the grave would quickly screen + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen"? + + No reply. The fountain's warble + In the courtyard sounds alone. + As the water to the marble + So my heart falls with a moan + From love-sighing + To this dying. + Death forerunneth Love to win + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + _Will_ you come? When I'm departed + Where all sweetnesses are hid, + Where thy voice, my tender-hearted, + Will not lift up either lid, + Cry, O lover, + Love is over! + Cry, beneath the cypress green, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + When the Angelus is ringing, + Near the convent will you walk, + And recall the choral singing + Which brought angels down our talk? + Spirit-shriven + I viewed heaven, + Till you smiled--"Is earth unclean, + Sweetest eyes were ever seen?" + + When beneath the palace-lattice + You ride slow as you have done, + And you see a face there that is + Not the old familiar one, + Will you oftly + Murmur softly, + "Here ye watched me morn and e'en, + Sweetest eyes were ever seen"? + + When the palace-ladies, sitting + Round your gittern, shall have said, + "Poets, sing those verses written + For the lady who is dead," + Will you tremble, + Yet dissemble, + Or sing hoarse, with tears between, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen"? + + "Sweetest eyes!" How sweet in flowings + The repeated cadence is! + Though you sang a hundred poems, + Still the best one would be this. + I can hear it + 'Twixt my spirit + And the earth-noise intervene,-- + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + But--but _now_--yet unremovèd + Up to heaven they glisten fast; + You may cast away, beloved, + In your future all my past: + Such old phrases + May be praises + For some fairer bosom-queen-- + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + Eyes of mine, what are ye doing? + Faithless, faithless, praised amiss + If a tear be, on your showing, + Dropped for any hope of HIS! + Death has boldness + Besides coldness, + If unworthy tears demean + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + I will look out to his future; + I will bless it till it shine. + Should he ever be a suitor + Unto sweeter eyes than mine, + Sunshine gild them, + Angels shield them, + Whatsoever eyes terrene + _Be_ the sweetest HIS have seen. + + + THE SLEEP + + "He giveth his beloved sleep."--Ps. cxxvii. 2 + + OF ALL the thoughts of God that are + Borne inward into souls afar + Along the Psalmist's music deep, + Now tell me if that any is, + For gift or grace, surpassing this-- + "He giveth his beloved sleep." + + What would we give to our beloved? + The hero's heart to be unmoved. + The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep, + The patriot's voice to teach and rouse, + The monarch's crown to light the brows?-- + He giveth his belovèd sleep. + + What do we give to our beloved? + A little faith all undisproved, + A little dust to overweep, + And bitter memories to make + The whole earth blasted for our sake. + He giveth his beloved sleep. + + "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say, + Who have no tune to charm away + Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; + But never doleful dream again + Shall break the happy slumber when + He giveth his belovèd sleep. + + O earth, so full of dreary noises! + O men with wailing in your voices! + O delvèd gold the wailers heap! + O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall! + God strikes a silence through you all, + And giveth his beloved sleep. + + His dews drop mutely on the hill, + His cloud above it saileth still, + Though on its slope men sow and reap; + More softly than the dew is shed, + Or cloud is floated overhead, + He giveth his belovèd sleep. + + Ay, men may wonder while they scan + A living, thinking, feeling man + Confirmed in such a rest to keep; + But angels say,--and through the word + I think their happy smile is _heard_,-- + "He giveth his belovèd sleep." + + For me, my heart that erst did go + Most like a tired child at a show, + That sees through tears the mummers leap, + Would now its wearied vision close, + Would childlike on His love repose + Who giveth his belovèd sleep. + + And friends, dear friends, when it shall be + That this low breath is gone from me, + And round my bier ye come to weep, + Let one most loving of you all + Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall! + He giveth his belovèd sleep." + + + THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN + + I + + Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, + Ere the sorrow comes with years? + They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, + And _that_ cannot stop their tears. + The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; + The young birds are chirping in the nest; + The young fawns are playing with the shadows; + The young flowers are blowing toward the west: + But the young, young children, O my brothers! + They are weeping bitterly. + They are weeping in the playtime of the others, + In the country of the free. + + II + + Do you question the young children in their sorrow, + Why their tears are falling so? + The old man may weep for his To-morrow + Which is lost in Long-Ago; + The old tree is leafless in the forest; + The old year is ending in the frost; + The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest; + The old hope is hardest to be lost: + But the young, young children, O my brothers! + Do you ask them why they stand + Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers, + In our happy Fatherland? + + III + + They look up with their pale and sunken faces; + And their looks are sad to see, + For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses + Down the cheeks of infancy. + "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary; + Our young feet," they say, "are very weak; + Few paces have we taken, yet are weary; + Our grave-rest is very far to seek. + Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children; + For the outside earth is cold, + And we young ones stand without in our bewildering, + And the graves are for the old." + + IV + + "True," say the children, "it may happen + That we die before our time: + Little Alice died last year; her grave is shapen + Like a snowball in the rime. + We looked into the pit prepared to take her: + Was no room for any work in the close clay, + From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, + Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day.' + If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, + With your ear down, little Alice never cries. + Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, + For the smile has time for growing in her eyes; + And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in + The shroud by the kirk-chime. + It is good when it happens," say the children, + "That we die before our time." + + V + + Alas, alas, the children! They are seeking + Death in life, as best to have. + They are binding up their hearts away from breaking + With a cerement from the grave. + Go out, children, from the mine and from the city; + Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do; + Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty; + Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through. + But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows + Like our weeds anear the mine? + Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, + From your pleasures fair and fine. + + VI + + "For oh!" say the children, "we are weary, + And we cannot run or leap; + If we cared for any meadows, it were merely + To drop down in them, and sleep. + Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping; + We fall upon our faces, trying to go; + And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, + The reddest flower would look as pale as snow; + For all day we drag our burden tiring, + Through the coal-dark, underground; + Or all day we drive the wheels of iron + In the factories, round and round. + + VII + + "For all-day the wheels are droning, turning; + Their wind comes in our faces, + Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning, + And the walls turn in their places. + Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, + Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, + Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,-- + All are turning, all the day, and we with all. + And all day the iron wheels are droning, + And sometimes we could pray, + 'O ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moaning), + 'Stop! be silent for to-day!'" + + VIII + + Ay. be silent! Let them hear each other breathing + For a moment, mouth to mouth; + Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing + Of their tender human youth; + Let them feel that this cold metallic motion + Is not all the life God fashions or reveals; + Let them prove their living souls against the notion + That they live in you, or tinder you, O wheels! + Still all day the iron wheels go onward, + Grinding life down from its mark; + And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, + Spin on blindly in the dark. + + IX + + Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers, + To look up to Him, and pray; + So the blessèd One who blesseth all the others + Will bless them another day. + They answer, "Who is God, that he should hear us + While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred? + When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us + Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word; + And _we_ hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) + Strangers speaking at the door. + Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, + Hears our weeping any more? + + X + + "Two words, indeed, of praying we remember; + And at midnight's hour of harm, + 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, + We say softly for a charm. + We know no other words except 'Our Father'; + And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, + God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, + And hold both within his right hand, which is strong. + 'Our Father!' If he heard us, he would surely + (For they call him good and mild) + Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, + 'Come and rest with me, my child.' + + XI + + "But no!" say the children, weeping faster, + "He is speechless as a stone; + And they tell us, of his image is the master + Who commands us to work on. + Go to!" say the children,--"up in heaven, + Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. + Do not mock us: Grief has made us unbelieving: + We look up for God; but tears have made us blind." + Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, + O my brothers, what ye preach? + For God's possible is taught by his world's loving-- + And the children doubt of each. + + XII + + And well may the children weep before you! + They are weary ere they run; + They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory + Which is brighter than the sun. + They know the grief of man, without its wisdom; + They sink in man's despair, without its calm; + Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom; + Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm; + Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly + The harvest of its memories cannot reap; + Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly-- + Let them weep! let them weep! + + XIII + + They look up with their pale and sunken faces, + And their look is dread to see. + For they mind you of their angels in high places, + With eyes turned on Deity. + "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation, + Will you stand, to move the world on a child's heart,-- + Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, + And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? + Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, + And your purple shows your path; + But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper + Than the strong man in his wrath!" + + + MOTHER AND POET + + [On Laura Savio of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose sons + were killed at Ancona and Gaeta.] + + DEAD! One of them shot by the sea in the east, + And one of them shot in the west by the sea. + Dead! both my boys! When you sit at the feast, + And are wanting a great song for Italy free, + Let none look at _me_! + + Yet I was a poetess only last year, + And good at my art, for a woman, men said: + But _this_ woman, _this_, who is agonized here,-- + The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head + Forever instead. + + What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain! + What art _is_ she good at, but hurting her breast + With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain? + Ah, boys, how you hurt! you were strong as you prest, + And I proud by that test. + + What art's for a woman? To hold on her knees + Both darlings! to feel all their arms round her throat + Cling, strangle a little! to sew by degrees, + And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat; + To dream and to dote. + + To teach them.... It stings there! _I_ made them indeed + Speak plain the word _country. I_ taught them, no doubt, + That a country's a thing men should die for at need. + I prated of liberty, rights, and about + The tyrant cast out. + + And when their eyes flashed ... O my beautiful eyes! ... + I exulted; nay, let them go forth at the wheels + Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise + When one sits quite alone! Then one weeps, then one kneels. + God, how the house feels! + + At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled + With my kisses, of camp-life and glory, and how + They both loved me; and soon, coming home to be spoiled, + In return would fan off every fly from my brow + With their green laurel-bough. + + There was triumph at Turin: "Ancona was free!" + And some one came out of the cheers in the street, + With a face pale as stone, to say something to me. + My Guido was dead! I fell down at his feet, + While they cheered in the street. + + I bore it; friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime + As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained + To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time + When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained + To the height _he_ had gained. + + And letters still came; shorter, sadder, more strong, + Writ now but in one hand:--"I was not to faint,-- + One loved me for two; would be with me ere long: + And _Viva l'Italia_ he died for, our saint, + Who forbids our complaint." + + My Nanni would add, "he was safe, and aware + Of a presence that turned off the balls,--was imprest + It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, + And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossest, + To live on for the rest." + + On which, without pause, up the telegraph-line + Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta,--"_Shot. + Tell his mother_." Ah, ah! "his," "their" mother, not "mine": + No voice says, "_My_ mother," again to me. What! + You think Guido forgot? + + Are souls straight so happy, that, dizzy with heaven, + They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe? + I think not! Themselves were too lately forgiven + Through that Love and that Sorrow which reconciled so + The Above and Below. + + O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst through the dark + To the face of thy mother! Consider, I pray, + How we common mothers stand desolate, mark,-- + Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, + And no last word to say! + + Both boys dead? but that's out of nature. We all + Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. + 'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall; + And when Italy's made, for what end is it done, + If we have not a son? + + Ah, ah, ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then? + When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport + Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men; + When the guns of Cavalli with final retort + Have cut the game short; + + When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee; + When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red: + When _you_ have your country from mountain to sea, + When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, + (And I have my dead)-- + + What then? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low + And burn your lights faintly! _My_ country is _there_. + Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow: + My Italy's THERE, with my brave civic pair, + To disfranchise despair! + + Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, + And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn; + But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length + Into wail such as this, and we sit on forlorn + When the man-child is born. + + Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east, + And one of them shot in the west by the sea. + Both! both my boys! If in keeping the feast + You want a great song for your Italy free, + Let none look at _me_! + + + A COURT LADY + + Her hair was tawny with gold; her eyes with purple were dark; + Her cheeks' pale opal burnt with a red and restless spark. + + Never was lady of Milan nobler in name and in race; + Never was lady of Italy fairer to see in the face. + + Never was lady on earth more true as woman and wife, + Larger in judgment and instinct, prouder in manners and life. + + She stood in the early morning, and said to her maidens, "Bring + That silken robe made ready to wear at the court of the King. + + "Bring me the clasps of diamond, lucid, clear of the mote; + Clasp me the large at the waist, and clasp me the small at the throat. + + "Diamonds to fasten the hair, and diamonds to fasten the sleeves, + Laces to drop from their rays, like a powder of snow from the eaves." + + Gorgeous she entered the sunlight, which gathered her up in a flame, + While, straight in her open carriage, she to the hospital came. + + In she went at the door, and gazing from end to end,-- + "Many and low are the pallets; but each is the place of a friend." + + Up she passed through the wards, and stood at a young man's bed; + Bloody the band on his brow, and livid the droop of his head. + + "Art thou a Lombard, my brother? Happy art thou!" she cried, + And smiled like Italy on him: he dreamed in her face--and died. + + Pale with his passing soul, she went on still to a second: + He was a grave hard man, whose years by dungeons were reckoned. + + Wounds in his body were sore, wounds in his life were sorer. + "Art thou a Romagnole?" Her eyes drove lightnings before her. + + "Austrian and priest had joined to double and tighten the cord + Able to bind thee, O strong one, free by the stroke of a sword. + + "Now be grave for the rest of us, using the life overcast + To ripen our wine of the present (too new) in glooms of the past." + + Down she stepped to a pallet where lay a face like a girl's, + Young, and pathetic with dying,--a deep black hole in the curls. + + "Art thou from Tuscany, brother? and seest thou, dreaming in pain, + Thy mother stand in the piazza, searching the list of the slain?" + +Kind as a mother herself, she touched his cheeks with her hands: + "Blessed is she who has borne thee, although she should weep as + she stands." + + On she passed to a Frenchman, his arm carried off by a ball: + Kneeling: "O more than my brother! how shall I thank thee for all? + + "Each of the heroes around us has fought for his land and line; + But thou hast fought for a stranger, in hate of a wrong not thine. + + "Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossest, + But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the + rest." + + Ever she passed on her way, and came to a couch where pined + One with a face from Venetia, white with a hope out of mind. + + Long she stood and gazed, and twice she tried at the name; + But two great crystal tears were all that faltered and came. + + Only a tear for Venice? She turned as in passion and loss, + And stooped to his forehead and kissed it, as if she were kissing + the cross. + + Faint with that strain of heart, she moved on then to another, + Stern and strong in his death: "And dost thou suffer, my brother?" + + Holding his hands in hers: "Out of the Piedmont lion + Cometh the sweetness of freedom! sweetest to live or to die on." + + Holding his cold rough hands: "Well, oh well have ye done + In noble, noble Piedmont, who would not be noble alone." + + Back he fell while she spoke. She rose to her feet with a spring. + "That was a Piedmontese! and this is the court of the King!" + + + THE PROSPECT + + Methinks we do as fretful children do, + Leaning their faces on the window-pane + To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, + And shut the sky and landscape from their view; + And thus, alas! since God the maker drew + A mystic separation 'twixt those twain,-- + The life beyond us and our souls in pain,-- + We miss the prospect which we are called unto + By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong, + O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, + And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong; + That so, as life's appointment issueth, + Thy vision may be clear to watch along + The sunset consummation-lights of death. + + + DE PROFUNDIS + + The face which, duly as the sun, + Rose up for me with life begun, + To mark all bright hours of the day + With daily love, is dimmed away-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + The tongue which, like a stream, could run + Smooth music from the roughest stone, + And every morning with "Good day" + Make each day good, is hushed away-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + The heart which, like a staff, was one + For mine to lean and rest upon, + The strongest on the longest day, + With steadfast love is caught away-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + The world goes whispering to its own, + "This anguish pierces to the bone." + And tender friends go sighing round, + "What love can ever cure this wound?" + My days go on, my days go on. + + The past rolls forward on the sun + And makes all night. O dreams begun, + Not to be ended! Ended bliss! + And life, that will not end in this! + My days go on, my days go on. + + Breath freezes on my lips to moan: + As one alone, once not alone, + I sit and knock at Nature's door, + Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor, + Whose desolated days go on. + + I knock and cry--Undone, undone! + Is there no help, no comfort--none? + No gleaning in the wide wheat-plains + Where others drive their loaded wains? + My vacant days go on, go on. + + This Nature, though the snows be down, + Thinks kindly of the bird of June. + The little red hip on the tree + Is ripe for such. What is for me, + Whose days so winterly go on? + + No bird am I to sing in June, + And dare not ask an equal boon. + Good nests and berries red are Nature's + To give away to better creatures-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + _I_ ask less kindness to be done-- + Only to loose these pilgrim-shoon + (Too early worn and grimed) with sweet + Cool deathly touch to these tired feet, + Till days go out which now go on. + + Only to lift the turf unmown + From off the earth where it has grown, + Some cubit-space, and say, "Behold, + Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold, + Forgetting how the days go on." + + A Voice reproves me thereupon, + More sweet than Nature's, when the drone + Of bees is sweetest, and more deep, + Than when the rivers overleap + The shuddering pines, and thunder on. + + God's Voice, not Nature's--night and noon + He sits upon the great white throne, + And listens for the creature's praise. + What babble we of days and days? + The Dayspring he, whose days go on! + + He reigns above, he reigns alone: + Systems burn out and leave his throne: + Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall + Around him, changeless amid all-- + Ancient of days, whose days go on! + + He reigns below, he reigns alone-- + And having life in love forgone + Beneath the crown of sovran thorns, + He reigns the jealous God. Who mourns + Or rules with HIM, while days go on? + + By anguish which made pale the sun, + I hear him charge his saints that none + Among the creatures anywhere + Blaspheme against him with despair, + However darkly days go on. + + Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown: + No mortal grief deserves that crown. + O supreme Love, chief misery, + The sharp regalia are for _Thee_, + Whose days eternally go on! + + For us, ... whatever's undergone, + Thou knowest, willest what is done. + Grief may be joy misunderstood: + Only the Good discerns the good. + I trust Thee while my days go on. + + Whatever's lost, it first was won! + We will not struggle nor impugn. + Perhaps the cup was broken here + That Heaven's new wine might show more clear. + I praise Thee while my days go on. + + I praise Thee while my days go on; + I love Thee while my days go on! + Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, + With emptied arms and treasure lost, + I thank Thee while my days go on! + + And, having in thy life-depth thrown + Being and suffering (which are one), + As a child drops some pebble small + Down some deep well, and hears it fall + Smiling--so I! THY DAYS GO ON! + + + THE CRY OF THE HUMAN + + "There is no God," the foolish saith, + But none, "There is no sorrow;" + And nature oft the cry of faith + In bitter need will borrow: + Eyes which the preacher could not school + By wayside graves are raised; + And lips say, "God be pitiful," + Who ne'er said, "God be praised." + Be pitiful, O God. + + The tempest stretches from the steep + The shadow of its coming; + The beasts grow tame, and near us creep, + As help were in the human: + Yet while the cloud-wheels roll and grind, + We spirits tremble under! + The hills have echoes; but we find + No answer for the thunder. + Be pitiful, O God! + + The battle hurtles on the plains-- + Earth feels new scythes upon her: + We reap our brothers for the wains, + And call the harvest--honor. + Draw face to face, front line to line, + One image all inherit: + Then kill, curse on, by that same sign, + Clay, clay,--and spirit, spirit. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We meet together at the feast-- + To private mirth betake us-- + We stare down in the winecup, lest + Some vacant chair should shake us! + We name delight, and pledge it round-- + "It shall be ours to-morrow!" + God's seraphs! do your voices sound + As sad in naming sorrow? + Be pitiful, O God! + + We sit together, with the skies, + The steadfast skies, above us; + We look into each other's eyes, + "And how long will you love us?" + The eyes grow dim with prophecy, + The voices, low and breathless-- + "Till death us part!"--O words, to be + Our _best_ for love the deathless! + Be pitiful, dear God! + + We tremble by the harmless bed + Of one loved and departed-- + Our tears drop on the lips that said + Last night, "Be stronger-hearted!" + O God,--to clasp those fingers close, + And yet to feel so lonely!-- + To see a light upon such brows, + Which is the daylight only! + Be pitiful, O God! + + The happy children come to us, + And look up in our faces; + They ask us--Was it thus, and thus, + When we were in their places? + We cannot speak--we see anew + The hills we used to live in, + And feel our mother's smile press through + The kisses she is giving. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We pray together at the kirk, + For mercy, mercy, solely-- + Hands weary with the evil work, + We lift them to the Holy! + The corpse is calm below our knee-- + Its spirit bright before Thee-- + Between them, worse than either, we + Without the rest of glory! + Be pitiful, O God! + + And soon all vision waxeth dull-- + Men whisper, "He is dying;" + We cry no more, "Be pitiful!"-- + We have no strength for crying: + No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine, + Look up and triumph rather-- + Lo! in the depth of God's Divine, + The Son adjures the Father-- + BE PITIFUL, O GOD! + + + + ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST + + + Little Ellie sits alone + 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, + By a stream-side on the grass; + And the trees are showering down + Doubles of their leaves in shadow, + On her shining hair and face. + + She has thrown her bonnet by; + And her feet she has been dipping + In the shallow water's flow-- + Now she holds them nakedly + In her hands, all sleek and dripping, + While she rocketh to and fro. + + Little Ellie sits alone, + And the smile she softly uses + Fills the silence like a speech; + While she thinks what shall be done, + And the sweetest pleasure chooses, + For her future within reach. + + Little Ellie in her smile + Chooseth--"I will have a lover, + Riding on a steed of steeds! + He shall love me without guile; + And to _him_ I will discover + That swan's nest among the reeds. + + "And the steed shall be red-roan. + And the lover shall be noble, + With an eye that takes the breath. + And the lute he plays upon + Shall strike ladies into trouble, + As his sword strikes men to death. + + "And the steed it shall be shod + All in silver, housed in _azure_, + And the mane shall swim the wind: + And the hoofs along the sod + Shall flash onward and keep measure, + Till the shepherds look behind. + + "But my lover will not prize + All the glory that he rides in, + When he gazes in my face. + He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes + Build the shrine my soul abides in; + And I kneel here for thy grace.' + + "Then, ay, then--he shall kneel low, + With the red-roan steed anear him, + Which shall seem to understand-- + Till I answer, 'Rise and go! + For the world must love and fear him + Whom I gift with heart and hand.' + + "Then he will arise so pale, + I shall feel my own lips tremble + With a _yes_ I must not say-- + Nathless maiden-brave, 'Fare well,' + I will utter, and dissemble-- + 'Light to-morrow with to-day.' + + "Then he'll ride among the hills + To the wide world past the river, + There to put away all wrong: + To make straight distorted wills, + And to empty the broad quiver + Which the wicked bear along. + + "Three times shall a young foot-page + Swim the stream and climb the mountain + And kneel down beside my feet-- + 'Lo! my master sends this gage, + Lady, for thy pity's counting! + What wilt thou exchange for it?' + + "And the first time I will send + A white rosebud for a guerdon, + And the second time, a glove: + But the third time--I may bend + From my pride, and answer--'Pardon-- + If he come to take my love.' + + "Then the young foot-page will run-- + Then my lover will ride faster, + Till he kneeleth at my knee: + 'I am a duke's eldest son! + Thousand serfs do call me master,-- + But, O Love, I love but _thee!_ + + "He will kiss me on the mouth + Then; and lead me as a lover + Through the crowds that praise his deeds; + And when soul-tied by one troth, + Unto _him_ I will discover + That swan's nest among the reeds." + + Little Ellie, with her smile + Not yet ended, rose up gayly, + Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe-- + And went homeward, round a mile, + Just to see, as she did daily, + What more eggs were with the _two_. + + Pushing through the elm-tree copse + Winding by the stream, light-hearted, + Where the osier pathway leads-- + Past the boughs she stoops--and stops! + Lo! the wild swan had deserted-- + And a rat had gnawed the reeds. + + Ellie went home sad and slow: + If she found the lover ever, + With his red-roan steed of steeds, + Sooth I know not! but I know + She could never show him--never, + That swan's nest among the reeds! + + + + THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD + + WHAT'S the best thing in the world? + June-rose by May-dew impearled; + Sweet south-wind, that means no rain; + Truth, not cruel to a friend; + Pleasure, not in haste to end; + Beauty, not self-decked and curled + Till its pride is over-plain; + Light, that never makes you wink; + Memory, that gives no pain; + Love, when _so_ you're loved again. + What's the best thing in the world?-- + Something out of it, I think. + + + SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE + + + Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! + Unlike our uses and our destinies. + Our ministering two angels look surprise + On one another as they strike athwart + Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art + A guest for queens to social pageantries, + With gages from a hundred brighter eyes + Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part + Of chief musician. What hast _thou_ to do + With looking from the lattice-lights at me, + A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through + The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? + The chrism is on thine head; on mine the dew: + And Death must dig the level where these agree. + + Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor, + Most gracious singer of high poems, where + The dancers will break footing, from the care + Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. + And dost thou lift this house's latch, too poor + For hand of thine? and canst thou think, and bear + To let thy music drop here unaware + In folds of golden fulness at my door? + Look up, and see the casement broken in, + The bats and owlets builders in the roof! + My cricket chirps against thy mandolin. + Hush, call no echo up in further proof + Of desolation! there's a voice within + That weeps--as thou must sing--alone, aloof. + + What can I give thee back, O liberal + And princely giver, who hast brought the gold + And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, + And laid them on the outside of the wall + For such as I to take or leave withal, + In unexpected largesse? Am I cold, + Ungrateful, that for these most manifold + High gifts, I render nothing back at all? + Not so; not cold, but very poor instead. + Ask God, who knows. For frequent tears have run + The colors from my life, and left so dead + And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done + To give the same as pillow to thy head. + Go farther! let it serve to trample on. + + If thou must love me, let it be for naught + Except for love's sake only. Do not say + "I love her for her smile, her look, her way + Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought + That falls in well with mine, and certes brought + A sense of pleasant ease on such a day:" + For these things in themselves, beloved, may + Be changed, or change for thee; and love so wrought + May be unwrought so. Neither love me for + Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry: + A creature might forget to weep, who bore + Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. + But love me for love's sake, that evermore + Thou mayst love on through love's eternity. + + First time he kissed me, he but only kissed + The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; + And ever since it grew more clean and white, + Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh list!" + When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst + I could not wear here plainer to my sight + Than that first kiss. The second passed in height + The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, + Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed! + That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown + With sanctifying sweetness did precede. + The third upon my lips was folded down + In perfect purple state; since when, indeed, + I have been proud, and said "My love, my own!" + + I LIVED with visions for my company, + Instead of men and women, years ago, + And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know + A sweeter music than they played to me. + But soon their trailing purple was not free + Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow, + And I myself grew faint and blind below + Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come--to be, + Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts, + Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same, + As river-water hallowed into fonts), + Met in thee, and from out thee overcame + My soul with satisfaction of all wants, + Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame. + + BELOVED, my beloved, when I think + That thou wast in the world a year ago, + What time I sat alone here in the snow, + And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink + No moment at thy voice, but, link by link, + Went counting all my chains as if that so + They never could fall off at any blow + Struck by thy possible hand--why, thus I drink + Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful, + Never to feel thee thrill the day or night + With personal act or speech, nor ever cull + Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white + Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull, + Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight. + + BECAUSE thou hast the power and own'st the grace + To look through and behind this mask of me, + (Against which years have beat thus blanchingly + With their rains!) and behold my soul's true face, + The dim and weary witness of life's race; + Because thou hast the faith and love to see, + Through that same soul's distracting lethargy, + The patient angel waiting for his place + In the new heavens; because nor sin nor woe, + Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, + Nor all which others viewing, turn to go, + Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,-- + Nothing repels thee.--Dearest, teach me so + To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good! + + I THANK all who have loved me in their hearts, + With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all + Who paused a little near the prison-wall, + To hear my music in its louder parts, + Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's + Or temple's occupation, beyond call. + But thou, who in my voice's sink and fall, + When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's + Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot, + To hearken what I said between my tears, + Instruct me how to thank thee!--Oh, to shoot + My soul's full meaning into future years, + That _they_ should lend it utterance, and salute + Love that endures! with Life that disappears! + + How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. + I love thee to the depth and breadth and height + My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight + For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. + I love thee to the level of every day's + Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. + I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; + I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise; + I love thee with the passion put to use + In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith; + I love thee with a love I seemed to lose + With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, + Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and if God choose, + I shall but love thee better after death. + + + + A FALSE STEP + + + Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart. + Pass! there's a world full of men; + And women as fair as thou art + Must do such things now and then. + + Thou only hast stepped unaware,-- + Malice, not one can impute; + And why should a heart have been there + In the way of a fair woman's foot? + + It was not a stone that could trip, + Nor was it a thorn that could rend: + Put up thy proud underlip! + 'Twas merely the heart of a friend. + + And yet peradventure one day + Thou, sitting alone at the glass, + Remarking the bloom gone away, + Where the smile in its dimplement was, + + And seeking around thee in vain + From hundreds who flattered before, + Such a word as,--"Oh, not in the main + Do I hold thee less precious,--but more!" + + Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy part:-- + "Of all I have known or can know, + I wish I had only that Heart + I trod upon, ages ago!" + + + A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD + + They say that God lives very high! + But if you look above the pines + You cannot see our God. And why? + + And if you dig down in the mines + You never see him in the gold, + Though, from him, all that's glory shines. + + God is so good, he wears a fold + Of heaven and earth across his face-- + Like secrets kept, for love, untold. + + But still I feel that his embrace + Slides down by thrills, through all things made, + Through sight and sound of every place: + + As if my tender mother laid + On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, + Half-waking me at night; and said + "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" + + + CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON + + I think we are too ready with complaint + In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope + Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope + Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be faint + To muse upon eternity's constraint + Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope + Must widen early, is it well to droop + For a few days consumed in loss and taint? + O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted,-- + And like a cheerful traveler, take the road, + Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread + Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod + To meet the flints?--At least it may be said, + "Because the way is _short_, I thank thee, God!" + + + +ROBERT BROWNING + +(1812-1889) + +BY E.L. BURLINGAME + +Robert 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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING.] + +'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:-- + + "I am made up of an intensest life + ... a principle of restlessness + Which would be all, have, see, know, taste, feel, all--" + +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. + +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. + + "Yet, constituted thus and thus endowed, + I failed; I gazed on power till I grew blind. + Power--I could not take my eyes from that; + That only I thought should be preserved, increased. + + * * * * * + + I learned my own deep error: love's undoing + Taught me the worth of love in man's estate, + And what proportion love should hold with power + In his right constitution; love preceding + Power, and with much power always much more love." + +'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. + +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:-- + + "We have all heard of the young architect who forgot to put a + staircase in his house, which contained fine rooms but no way + of getting into them. 'Sordello' is a poem without a + staircase. The author, still in his twenties, essayed a high + thing. For his subject + + 'He singled out + Sordello compassed murkily about + With ravage of six long sad hundred years.' + + "He partially failed; and the British public, with its + accustomed generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage + the others, has never ceased girding at him because, + forty-two years ago, he published at his own charges a little + book of two hundred and fifty pages, which even such of them + as were then able to read could not understand." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _tours de force_ 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 _genre_. But he can well do without them, and +still have the inexhaustible left. + +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:-- + + "Even your prime men who appraise their kind + Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel, + See more in a truth than the truth's simple self-- + Confuse themselves--" + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "Dear dead women--with such hair, too: what's become of all the gold + Used to hang and brush their bosoms?--I feel chilly and grown old." + +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. + +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.' + +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. + + "What is he buzzing in my ears? + Now that I come to die. + Do I view the world as a vale of tears? + Ah, reverend sir, not I!" + +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. + +[Illustration: E.L. Burlingame signature] + + + ANDREA DEL SARTO + + CALLED "THE FAULTLESS PAINTER" + + But do not let us quarrel any more; + No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once: + Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. + You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? + I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear, + Treat his own subject after his own way? + Fix his own time, accept too his own price, + And shut the money into this small hand + When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? + Oh, I'll content him,--but to-morrow, Love! + I often am much wearier than you think,-- + This evening more than usual: and it seems + As if--forgive now--should you let me sit + Here by the window, with your hand in mine, + And look a. half-hour forth on Fiesole, + Both of one mind, as married people use, + Quietly, quietly the evening through, + I might get up to-morrow to my work + Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. + To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! + Your soft hand is a woman of itself, + And mine, the man's bared breast she curls inside. + Don't count the time lost, neither: you must serve + For each of the five pictures we require; + It saves a model. So! keep looking so--My + serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds!--How + could you ever prick those perfect ears, + Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet--My + face, my moon, my everybody's moon, + Which everybody looks on and calls his, + And I suppose is looked on by in turn, + While she looks--no one's: very dear, no less. + You smile? why, there's my picture ready made; + There's what we painters call our harmony! + A common grayness silvers everything,-- + All in a twilight, you and I alike-- + You at the point of your first pride in me + (That's gone, you know)--but I at every point, + My youth, my hope, my art being all toned down + To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. + There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top; + That length of convent-wall across the way + Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside; + The last monk leaves the garden; days decrease, + And autumn grows, autumn in everything. + Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape, + As if I saw alike my work and self + And all that I was born to be and do, + A twilight piece. Love, we are in God's hand. + How strange now looks the life he makes us lead; + So free we seem, so fettered fast we are! + I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie! + This chamber, for example--turn your head-- + All that's behind us! You don't understand + Nor care to understand about my art, + But you can hear at least when people speak: + And that cartoon, the second from the door-- + It is the thing, Love! so such things should be; + Behold Madonna!--I am bold to say, + I can do with my pencil what I know, + What I see, what at bottom of my heart + I wish for, if I ever wish so deep-- + Do easily, too--when I say perfectly, + I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are judge, + Who listened to the Legate's talk last week; + And just as much they used to say in France, + At any rate 'tis easy, all of it! + No sketches first, no studies, that's long past: + I do what many dream of, all their lives-- + Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do, + And fail in doing. I could count twenty such + On twice your fingers, and not leave this town, + Who strive--you don't know how the others strive + To paint a little thing like that you smeared + Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,-- + Yet do much less, so much less, Some One says, + (I know his name, no matter)--so much less! + Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged. + There burns a truer light of God in them, + In their vexed, beating, stuffed, and stopped-up brain, + Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt + This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. + Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know, + Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me, + Enter and take their place there sure enough, + Though they come back and cannot tell the world. + My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. + The sudden blood of these men! at a word-- + Praise them, it boils; or blame them, it boils too. + I, painting from myself and to thyself, + Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame + Or their praise either. Somebody remarks + Morello's outline there is wrongly traced, + His hue mistaken: what of that? or else, + Rightly traced and well ordered: what of that? + Speak as they please, what does the mountain care? + Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, + Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-gray, + Placid and perfect with my art: the worse! + I know both what I want and what might gain; + And yet how profitless to know, to sigh + "Had I been two, another and myself, + Our head would have o'erlooked the world" No doubt. + Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth + The Urbinate who died five years ago. + ('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.) + Well, I can fancy how he did it all, + Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, + Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him, + Above and through his art--for it gives way: + That arm is wrongly put--and there again-- + A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, + Its body, so to speak; its soul is right; + He meant right--that, a child may understand. + Still, what an arm! and I could alter it: + But all the play, the insight, and the stretch-- + Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out? + Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, + We might have risen to Rafael, I and you. + Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think-- + More than I merit, yes, by many times. + But had you--oh, with the same perfect brow, + And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth + And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird + The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare-- + Had you, with these, these same, but brought a mind! + Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged + "God and the glory! never care for gain. + The present by the future, what is that? + Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! + Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!" + I might have done it for you. So it seems: + Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. + Beside, incentives come from the soul's self; + The rest avail not. Why do I need you? + What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo? + In this world, who can do a thing, will not; + And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: + Yet the will's somewhat--somewhat, too, the power-- + And thus we half-men struggle. At the end, + God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. + 'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, + That I am something underrated here, + Poor this long while,--despised, to speak the truth. + I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, + For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. + The best is when they pass and look aside; + But they speak sometimes: I must bear it all. + Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time, + And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! + I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, + Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, + In that humane great monarch's golden look,-- + One finger in his beard or twisted curl + Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile, + One arm about my shoulder, around my neck, + The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, + I painting proudly with his breath on me, + All his court round him, seeing with his eyes, + Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls + Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts,-- + And best of all, this, this, this face beyond, + This in the background, waiting on my work, + To crown the issue with a last reward! + A good time, was it not, my kingly days, + And had you not grown restless ... but I know-- + 'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my instinct said; + Too live the life grew, golden and not gray; + And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt + Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. + How could it end in any other way? + You called me, and I came home to your heart. + The triumph was to have ended there; then, if + I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? + Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, + You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! + "Rafael did this, Andrea painted that; + The Roman's is the better when you pray, + But still the other Virgin was his wife"-- + Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge + Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows + My better fortune, I resolve to think, + For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives, + Said one day Agnolo, his very self, + To Rafael--I have known it all these years-- + (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts + Upon a palace wall for Rome to see, + Too lifted up in heart because of it) + "Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub + Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, + Who, were he set to plan and execute + As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, + Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!" + To Rafael's!--and indeed the arm is wrong. + I hardly dare ... yet, only you to see, + Give the chalk here--quick, thus the line should go! + Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! + Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, + (What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? + Do you forget already words like those?) + If really there was such a chance so lost,-- + Is, whether you're--not grateful--but more pleased. + Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed! + This hour has been an hour! Another smile? + If you would sit thus by me every night, + I should work better--do you comprehend? + I mean that I should earn more, give you more. + See, it is settled dusk now: there's a star; + Morello's gone, the watch lights show the wall, + The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. + Come from the window, love,--come in, at last, + Inside the melancholy little house + We built to be so gay with. God is just. + King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights + When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, + The walls become illumined, brick from brick + Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold, + That gold of his I did cement them with! + Let us but love each other. Must you go? + That cousin here again? he waits outside? + Must see you--you, and not with me? Those loans? + More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? + Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? + While hand and eye and something of a heart + Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth? + I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit + The gray remainder of the evening out, + Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly + How I could paint were I but back in France, + One picture, just one more--the Virgin's face, + Not yours this time! I want you at my side + To hear them--that is, Michel Agnolo-- + Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. + Will you? To-morrow satisfy your friend. + I take the subjects for his corridor, + Finish the portrait out of hand--there, there, + And throw him in another thing or two + If he demurs: the whole should prove enough + To pay for this same cousin's freak. Beside, + What's better, and what's all I care about, + Get you the thirteen send for the ruff! + Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he, + The cousin! what does he to please you more? + + I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. + I regret little, I would change still less. + Since there my past life lies, why alter it? + The very wrong to Francis!--it is true + I took his coin, was tempted and complied, + And built this house and sinned, and all is said. + My father and my mother died of want. + Well, had I riches of my own? you see + How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. + They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died; + And I have labored somewhat in my time + And not been paid profusely. Some good son + Paint my two hundred pictures--let him try! + No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes, + You loved me quite enough, it seems to-night. + This must suffice me here. What would one have? + In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance-- + Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, + Meted on each side by the angel's reed, + For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo, and me + To cover--the three first without a wife, + While I have mine! So still they overcome-- + Because there's still Lucrezia,--as I choose. + + Again the cousin's whistle! Go, my love. + + + + A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S + + + O GALLUPI, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find! + I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind: + But although I take your meaning, 'tis with such a heavy mind! + + Have you come with your old music, and here's all the good it brings? + What, they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the + kings, + Where Saint Mark's is, where the Doges used to wed the sea with + rings? + + Ay, because the sea's the street there; and 'tis arched by--what + you call-- + Shylock's bridge with houses on it, where they kept the carnival: + I was never out of England--it's as if I saw it all. + + Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? + Balls and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to mid-day, + When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow, do you say? + + Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red,-- + On her neck the small face buoyant, like a bell-flower on its bed, + O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? + + Well, and it was graceful of them: they'd break talk off and afford-- + She to bite her mask's black velvet, he to finger on his sword, + While you sat and played Toccatas, stately at the clavichord! + + What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on + sigh, + Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions--"Must + we die?" + Those commiserating sevenths--"Life might last! we can but try!" + + "Were you happy?" "Yes."--"And are you still as happy?" + "Yes. And you?"-- + "Then, more kisses!" "Did _I_ stop them, when a million seemed so few?" + Hark, the dominant's persistence till it must be answered to! + + So, an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, I dare say! + "Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay! + I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play!" + + Then they left you for their pleasure; till in due time, one by one, + Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone, + Death stepped tacitly, and took them where they never see the sun. + + But when I sit down to reason, think to take my stand nor swerve, + While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve, + In you come with your cold music till I creep through every nerve. + + Yes, you, like a ghostly cricket, creaking where a house was burned. + "Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice earned. + The soul, doubtless, is immortal--where a soul can be discerned. + + "Yours for instance: you know physics, something of geology, + Mathematics are your pastime; souls shall rise in their degree; + Butterflies may dread extinction,--you'll not die, it cannot be! + + "As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop, + Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop; + What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop? + + "Dust and ashes!" So you creak it, and I want the heart to scold. + Dear dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the gold + Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. + + + + + CONFESSIONS + + What is he buzzing in my ears? + "Now that I come to die + Do I view the world as a vale of tears?" + Ah, reverend sir, not I! + + What I viewed there once,--what I viewed again + Where the physic bottles stand + On the table's edge,--is a suburb lane, + With a wall to my bedside hand. + + That lane sloped, much as the bottles do, + From a house you could descry + O'er the garden wall: is the curtain blue, + Or green to a healthy eye? + + To mine, it serves for the old June weather + Blue above lane and wall; + And that farthest bottle labeled "Ether" + Is the house o'ertopping all. + + At a terrace, somewhat near the stopper, + There watched for me, one June, + A girl: I know, sir, it's improper, + My poor mind's out of tune. + + Only, there was a way--you crept + Close by the side, to dodge + Eyes in the house, two eyes except: + They styled their house "The Lodge" + + What right had a lounger up their lane? + But by creeping very close, + With the good wall's help,--their eyes might strain + And stretch themselves to O's, + + Yet never catch her and me together, + As she left the attic there, + By the rim of the bottle labeled "Ether," + And stole from stair to stair, + + And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas, + We loved, sir--used to meet: + How sad and bad and mad it was-- + But then, how it was sweet! + + + + LOVE AMONG THE RUINS + + + Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles, + Miles and miles, + On the solitary pastures where our sheep + Half asleep + Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop + As they crop-- + Was the site once of a city great and gay + (So they say); + Of our country's very capital, its prince, + Ages since, + Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far + Peace or war. + + Now,--the country does not even boast a tree, + As you see; + To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills + From the hills + Intersect and give a name to (else they run + Into one). + Where the domed and daring palace shot in spires + Up like fires + O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall + Bounding all, + Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, + Twelve abreast. + + And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass + Never was! + Such a carpet as this summer-time o'erspreads + And imbeds + Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, + Stock or stone-- + Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe + Long ago; + Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame + Struck them tame; + And that glory and that shame alike, the gold + Bought and sold. + + Now,--the single little turret that remains + On the plains, + By the caper overrooted, by the gourd + Overscored, + While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks + Through the chinks-- + Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time + Sprang sublime, + And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced + As they raced, + And the monarch and his minions and his dames + Viewed the games. + + And I know--while thus the quiet-colored eve + Smiles to leave + To their folding all our many-tinkling fleece + In such peace, + And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray + Melt away-- + That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair + Waits me there + In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul + For the goal, + When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb, + Till I come. + + But he looked upon the city every side, + Far and wide, + All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades + Colonnades, + All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,--and then, + All the men! + When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, + Either hand + On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace + Of my face, + Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech + Each on each. + + In one year they sent a million fighters forth + South and North, + And they built their gods a brazen pillar high + As the sky, + Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force-- + Gold, of course. + O heart! O blood that freezes, blood that burns! + Earth's returns + For whole centuries of folly, noise, and sin! + Shut them in, + With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! + Love is best. + + + + A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL + + SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE + + Let us begin and carry up this corpse, + Singing together. + Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, + Each in its tether, + Sleeping safe in the bosom of the plain, + Cared-for till cock-crow: + Look out if yonder be not day again + Rimming the rock-row! + That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, + Rarer, intenser, + Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, + Chafes in the censer. + Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; + Seek we sepulture + On a tall mountain, citied to the top, + Crowded with culture! + All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels: + Clouds overcome it; + No, yonder sparkle is the citadel's + Circling its summit. + Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights! + Wait ye the warning? + Our low life was the level's and the night's: + He's for the morning. + Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, + 'Ware the beholders! + This is our master, famous, calm, and dead, + Borne on our shoulders. + + Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, + Safe from the weather! + He whom we convoy to his grave aloft, + Singing together, + He was a man born with thy face and throat, + Lyric Apollo! + Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note + Winter would follow? + Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone! + Cramped and diminished, + Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon! + My dance is finished"? + No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain side, + Make for the city!) + He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride + Over men's pity; + Left play for work, and grappled with the world + Bent on escaping: + "What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled? + Show me their shaping, + Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,-- + Give!" so he gowned him, + Straight got by heart that book to its last page; + Learned, we found him. + Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead. + Accents uncertain: + "Time to taste life," another would have said, + "Up with the curtain!" + This man said rather, "Actual life comes next? + Patience a moment! + Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, + Still there's the comment. + Let me know all! Prate not of most or least, + Painful or easy! + Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast, + Ay, nor feel queasy." + Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, + When he had learned it, + When he had gathered all books had to give! + Sooner, he spurned it. + Image the whole, then execute the parts-- + Fancy the fabric + Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, + Ere mortar dab brick! + + (Here's the town-gate reached; there's the market-place + Gaping before us.) + Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace: + (Hearten our chorus!) + That before living he'd learn how to live-- + No end to learning: + Earn the means first--God surely will contrive + Use for our earning. + Others mistrust and say, "But time escapes! + Live now or never!" + He said, "What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes! + Man has Forever." + Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head; + _Calculus_ racked him; + Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead; + _Tussis_ attacked him. + "Now, master, take a little rest!"--not he! + (Caution redoubled! + Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!) + Not a whit troubled, + Back to his studies, fresher than at first, + Fierce as a dragon + He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) + Sucked at the flagon. + + Oh, if we draw a circle premature, + Heedless of far gain, + Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure + Bad is our bargain! + Was it not great? did not he throw on God + (He loves the burthen)-- + God's task to make the heavenly period + Perfect the earthen? + Did not he magnify the mind, show clear + Just what it all meant? + He would not discount life, as fools do here + Paid by installment. + He ventured neck or nothing--heaven's success + Found, or earth's failure: + "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered, "Yes! + Hence with life's pale lure!" + That low man seeks a little thing to do, + Sees it and does it: + This high man, with a great thing to pursue, + Dies ere he knows it. + That low man goes on adding one to one, + His hundred's soon hit: + This high man, aiming at a million, + Misses an unit. + That, has the world here--should he need the next. + Let the world mind him! + This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed + Seeking shall find him. + So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, + Ground he at grammar; + Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife: + While he could stammer + He settled _Hoti's_ business--let it be!-- + Properly based _Oun_-- + Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic _De_, + Dead from the waist down. + + Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: + Hail to your purlieus, + All ye highfliers of the feathered race, + Swallows and curlews! + Here's the top-peak; the multitude below + Live, for they can, there: + This man decided not to Live but Know-- + Bury this man there? + Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, + Lightnings are loosened, + Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, + Peace let the dew send! + Lofty designs must close in like effects: + Loftily lying, + Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, + Living and dying. + + + MY LAST DUCHESS + + FERRARA + + + That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, + Looking as if she were alive. I call + That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands + Worked busily a day, and there she stands. + Will't please you sit and look at her? I said + "Frà Pandolf" by design: for never read + Strangers like you that pictured countenance, + The depth and passion of its earnest glance, + But to myself they turned (since none puts by + The curtain I have drawn for you, but I), + And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, + How such a glance came there; so, not the first + Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not + Her husband's presence only, called that spot + Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps + Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps + Over my lady's wrists too much," or "Paint + Must never hope to reproduce the faint + Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff + Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough + For calling up that spot of joy. She had + A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, + Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er + She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. + Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, + The dropping of the daylight in the West, + The bough of cherries some officious fool + Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule + She rode with round the terrace,--all and each + Would draw from her alike the approving speech, + Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked + Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked + My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name + With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame + This sort of trifling? Even had you skill + In speech (which I have not) to make your will + Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this + Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, + Or there exceed the mark,"--and if she let + Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set + Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,-- + E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose + Never to stoop. O sir! she smiled, no doubt, + When'er I passed her; but who passed without + Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; + Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands + As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet + The company below, then. I repeat, + The Count your master's known munificence + Is ample warrant that no just pretense + Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; + Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed + At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go + Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, + Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, + Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + + + UP AT A VILLA--DOWN IN THE CITY + + (As DISTINGUISHED BY AN ITALIAN PERSON OF QUALITY) + + + Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, + The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square; + Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there! + + Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least! + There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast; + While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast. + + Well, now, look at our villa! stuck like the horn of a bull + Just on a mountain edge as bare as the creature's skull, + Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull!-- + scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair's turned wool. + + But the city, oh the city--the square with the houses! Why! + They are stone-faced, white as a curd; there's something to take the + eye! + Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry; + You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by; + Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high; + And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly. + + What of a villa? Though winter be over in March by rights, + 'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the + heights; + You've the brown-plowed land before, where the oxen steam and + wheeze, + And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive-trees. + + Is it better in May, I ask you? You've summer all at once; + In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns. + 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, + The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell + Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell. + + Is it ever hot in the square? There's a fountain to spout and splash! + In the shade it sings and springs; in the shine such foam-bows flash + On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and + pash + Round the lady atop in her conch--fifty gazers do not abash, + Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort + of sash. + + All the year long at the villa, nothing to see though you linger, + Except yon cypress that points like death's lean lifted forefinger. + Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix i' the corn and mingle, + Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle. + Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill, + And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on + the hill. + Enough of the seasons,--I spare you the months of the fever and + chill. + + Ere you open your eyes in the city, the blessèd church-bells begin; + No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in: + You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin. + By and by there's the traveling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws + teeth, + Or the Pulcinella-trumpet breaks up the market beneath. + At the post-office such a scene picture--the new play, piping hot! + And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot. + Above it, behold the Archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes, + And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of + the Duke's! + Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so + Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, St. Jerome, and Cicero, + "And moreover" (the sonnet goes rhyming), "the skirts of St. Paul + has reached, + Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever + he preached." + Noon strikes,--here sweeps the procession! our Lady borne smiling + and smart, + With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her + heart! + _Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum, _tootle-te-tootle_ the fife; + No keeping one's haunches still: it's the greatest pleasure in life. + + But bless you, it's dear--it's dear! fowls, wine, at double the rate; + They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing + the gate + It's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the city! + Beggars can scarcely be choosers: but still--ah, the pity, the pity! + Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and + sandals, + And then penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow + candles; + One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles, + And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention + of scandals: + _Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum, _tootle-te-tootle_ the fife, + Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life! + + + + IN THREE DAYS + + + So, I shall see her in three days + And just one night,--but nights are short,-- + Then two long hours, and that is morn. + See how I come, unchanged, unworn-- + Feel, where my life broke off from thine, + How fresh the splinters keep and fine,--Only + a touch and we combine! + + Too long, this time of year, the days! + But nights--at least the nights are short, + As night shows where her one moon is, + A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss, + So, life's night gives my lady birth + And my eyes hold her! What is worth + The rest of heaven, the rest of earth? + + O loaded curls, release your store + Of warmth and scent, as once before + The tingling hair did, lights and darks + Outbreaking into fairy sparks + When under curl and curl I pried + After the warmth and scent inside, + Through lights and darks how manifold--The + dark inspired, the light controlled! + As early Art embrowned the gold. + + What great fear--should one say, "Three days + That change the world might change as well + Your fortune; and if joy delays, + Be happy that no worse befell." + What small fear--if another says, + "Three days and one short night beside + May throw no shadow on your ways; + But years must teem with change untried, + With chance not easily defied, + With an end somewhere undescried." + No fear!--or if a fear be born + This minute, it dies out in scorn. + Fear? I shall see her in three days + And one night,--now the nights are short,-- + Then just two hours, and that is morn. + + + IN A YEAR + + Never any more, + While I live, + Need I hope to see his face + As before. + Once his love grown chill, + Mine may strive: + Bitterly we re-embrace, + Single still. + + Was it something said, + Something done, + Vexed him? was it touch of hand, + Turn of head? + Strange! that very way + Love begun: + I as little understand + Love's decay. + + When I sewed or drew, + I recall + How he looked as if I sung,-- + Sweetly too. + If I spoke a word, + First of all + Up his cheek the color sprung, + Then he heard. + + Sitting by my side, + At my feet, + So he breathed but air I breathed, + Satisfied! + I, too, at love's brim + Touched the sweet: + I would die if death bequeathed + Sweet to him. + + "Speak, I love thee best!" + He exclaimed: + "Let thy love my own foretell!" + I confessed: + "Clasp my heart on thine + Now unblamed, + Since upon thy soul as well + Hangeth mine!" + + Was it wrong to own, + Being truth? + Why should all the giving prove + His alone? + I had wealth and ease, + Beauty, youth: + Since my lover gave me love, + I gave these. + + That was all I meant,-- + To be just, + And the passion I had raised + To content. + Since he chose to change + Gold for dust, + If I gave him what he praised + Was it strange? + Would he loved me yet, + On and on, + While I found some way undreamed-- + Paid my debt! + Gave more life and more, + Till all gone, + He should smile--"She never seemed + Mine before. + + "What, she felt the while, + Must I think? + Love's so different with us men!" + He should smile: + "Dying for my sake-- + White and pink! + Can't we touch these bubbles then + But they break?" + + Dear, the pang is brief, + Do thy part, + Have thy pleasure! How perplexed + Grows belief! + Well, this cold clay clod + Was man's heart: + Crumble it, and what comes next? + Is it God? + + + EVELYN HOPE + + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! + Sit and watch by her side an hour. + That is her book-shelf, this her bed: + She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, + Beginning to die too, in the glass: + Little has yet been changed, I think; + The shutters are shut, no light may pass + Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. + + Sixteen years old when she died! + Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; + It was not her time to love; beside, + Her life had many a hope and aim, + Duties enough and little cares, + And now was quiet, now astir, + Till God's hand beckoned unawares-- + And the sweet white brow is all of her. + + Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? + What, your soul was pure and true, + The good stars met in your horoscope, + Made you of spirit, fire, and dew + And just because I was thrice as old, + And our paths in the world diverged so wide, + Each was naught to each, must I be told? + We were fellow mortals, naught beside? + + No, indeed! for God above + Is great to grant, as mighty to make, + And creates the love to reward the love: + I claim you still, for my own love's sake! + Delayed it may be for more lives yet, + Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; + Much is to learn, much to forget + Ere the time be come for taking you. + + But the time will come,--at last it will, + When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) + In the lower earth, in the years long still, + That body and soul so pure and gay? + Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, + And your mouth of your own geranium's red-- + And what would you do with me, in fine, + In the new life come in the old one's stead? + + I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, + Given up myself so many times, + Gained me the gains of various men, + Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; + Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, + Either I missed or itself missed me: + And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! + What is the issue? let us see! + + I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! + My heart seemed full as it could hold; + There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, + And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. + So hush,--I will give you this leaf to keep; + See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand! + There, that is our secret: go to sleep! + You will wake, and remember, and understand. + + * * * * * + + PROSPICE + + Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat, + The mist in my face, + When the snows begin, and the blasts denote + I am nearing the place, + The power of the night, the press of the storm, + The post of the foe; + Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible form, + Yet the strong man must go: + For the journey is done and the summit attained, + And the barriers fall, + Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, + The reward of it all. + I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, + The best and the last! + I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, + And bade me creep past. + No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers + The heroes of old, + Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears + Of pain, darkness, and cold. + For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, + The black minute's at end, + And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, + Shall dwindle, shall blend, + Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, + Then a light, then thy breast, + O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, + And with God be the rest! + + + + THE PATRIOT + + AN OLD STORY + + + It was roses, roses, all the way, + With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: + The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, + The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, + A year ago on this very day. + + The air broke into a mist with bells, + The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. + Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels-- + But give me your sun from yonder skies" + They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" + + Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun + To give it my loving friends to keep! + Naught man could do have I left undone; + And you see my harvest, what I reap + This very day, now a year is run. + + There's nobody on the housetops now-- + Just a palsied few at the windows set; + For the best of the sight is, all allow, + At the Shambles' Gate--or, better yet, + By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. + + I go in the rain, and, more than needs, + A rope cuts both my wrists behind; + And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, + For they fling, whoever has a mind, + Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. + + Thus I entered, and thus I go! + In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. + "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe + Me?"--God might question; now instead, + 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so. + + + + ONE WORD MORE + + To E.B.B. + + London, September, 1855 + + + There they are, my fifty men and women, + Naming me the fifty poems finished! + Take them, Love, the book and me together: + Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also. + + Raphael made a century of sonnets, + Made and wrote them in a certain volume + Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil + Else he only used to draw Madonnas: + These, the world might view--but one, the volume. + Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you. + Did she live and love it all her lifetime? + Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets, + Die and let it drop beside her pillow, + Where it lay in place of Raphael's glory, + Raphael's cheek so duteous and so loving-- + Cheek the world was wont to hail a painter's, + Raphael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's? + + You and I would rather read that volume + (Taken to his beating bosom by it), + Lean and list the bosom-beats of Raphael, + Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas-- + Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno, + Her, that visits Florence in a vision, + Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre-- + Seen by us and all the world in circle. + + You and I will never read that volume. + Guido Reni like his own eye's apple + Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it. + Guido Reni dying, all Bologna + Cried, and the world cried too, "Ours the treasure!" + Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. + + Dante once prepared to paint an angel: + Whom to please? You whisper "Beatrice." + While he mused and traced it and retraced it, + (Peradventure with a pen corroded + Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for + When, his left hand i' the hair o' the wicked, + Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma, + Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment, + Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle, + Let the wretch go festering through Florence)-- + Dante, who loved well because he hated, + Hated wickedness that hinders loving, + Dante standing, studying his angel-- + In there broke the folk of his Inferno. + Says he--"Certain people of importance" + (Such he gave his daily dreadful line to) + "Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet." + Says the poet--"Then I stopped my painting." + + You and I would rather see that angel + Painted by the tenderness of Dante-- + Would we not?--than read a fresh Inferno. + + You and I will never see that picture. + While he mused on love and Beatrice, + While he softened o'er his outlined angel, + In they broke, those "people of importance"; + We and Bice bear the loss forever. + + What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture? + This: no artist lives and loves, that longs not + Once, and only once, and for one only, + (Ah, the prize!) to find his love a language + Fit and fair and simple and sufficient-- + Using nature that's an art to others, + Not, this one time, art that's turned his nature. + Ay, of all the artists living, loving, + None but would forego his proper dowry. + Does he paint? he fain would write a poem: + Does he write? he fain would paint a picture: + Put to proof art alien to the artist's, + Once, and only once, and for one only, + So to be the man and leave the artist, + Gain the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow. + + Wherefore? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatement! + He who smites the rock and spreads the water, + Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him, + Even he the minute makes immortal + Proves perchance but mortal in the minute, + Desecrates belike the deed in doing. + While he smites, how can he but remember + So he smote before, in such a peril, + When they stood and mocked--"Shall smiting help us?" + When they drank and sneered--"A stroke is easy!" + When they wiped their mouths and went their journey, + Throwing him for thanks--"But drought was pleasant." + Thus old memories mar the actual triumph; + Thus the doing savors of disrelish; + Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat; + O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate, + Carelessness or consciousness--the gesture. + For he bears an ancient wrong about him, + Sees and knows again those phalanxed faces, + Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude-- + "How shouldst thou, of all men, smite, and save us?" + Guesses what is like to prove the sequel-- + "Egypt's flesh-pots--nay, the drought was better." + + Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant! + Theirs the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilliance, + Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat. + Never dares the man put off the prophet. + + Did he love one face from out the thousands + (Were she Jethro's daughter, white and wifely, + Were she but the Æthiopian bondslave), + He would envy yon dumb patient camel, + Keeping a reserve of scanty water + Meant to save his own life in the desert; + Ready in the desert to deliver + (Kneeling down to let his breast be opened) + Hoard and life together for his mistress. + + I shall never, in the years remaining, + Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues. + Make you music that should all-express me; + So it seems: I stand on my attainment. + This of verse alone, one life allows me; + Verse and nothing else have I to give you. + Other heights in other lives, God willing: + All the gifts from all the heights, your own, Love! + + Yet a semblance of resource avails us-- + Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize it. + Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly, + Lines I write the first time and the last time. + He who works in fresco, steals a hair-brush, + Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly, + Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little, + Makes a strange art of an art familiar, + Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets. + He who blows through bronze may breathe through silver, + Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess. + He who writes may write for once as I do. + + Love, you saw me gather men and women, + Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy, + Enter each and all, and use their service, + Speak from every mouth,--the speech a poem. + Hardly shall I tell my joys and sorrows, + Hopes and fears, belief and disbelieving: + I am mine and yours--the rest be all men's, + Karshish, Cleon, Norbert, and the fifty. + Let me speak this once in my true person, + Not as Lippo, Roland, or Andrea, + Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence: + Pray you, look on these, my men and women, + Take and keep my fifty poems finished; + Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also! + Poor the speech; be how I speak, for all things. + + Not but that you know me! Lo, the moon's self! + Here in London, yonder late in Florence, + Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. + Curving on a sky imbrued with color, + Drifted over Fiesole by twilight, + Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth. + Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato, + Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder, + Perfect till the nightingales applauded. + Now, a piece of her old self, impoverished, + Hard to greet, she traverses the house-roofs, + Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver, + Goes dispiritedly, glad to finish. + What, there's nothing in the moon noteworthy? + Nay: for if that moon could love a mortal, + Use to charm him (so to fit a fancy), + All her magic ('tis the old sweet mythos). + She would turn a new side to her mortal, + Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman-- + Blank to Zoroaster on his terrace, + Blind to Galileo on his turret, + Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats--him, even! + Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal-- + When she turns round, comes again in heaven, + Opens out anew for worse or better! + Proves she like some portent of an iceberg + Swimming full upon the ship it founders, + Hungry with huge teeth of splintered crystals? + Proves she as the paved work of a sapphire + Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain? + Moses, Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu + Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, + Stand upon the paved work of a sapphire. + Like the bodied heaven in his clearness + Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved work, + When they ate and drank and saw God also! + + What were seen? None knows, none ever shall know. + Only this is sure--the sight were other, + Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence, + Dying now impoverished here in London. + God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures + Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, + One to show a woman when he loves her! + + This I say of me, but think of you, Love! + This to you--yourself my moon of poets! + Ah, but that's the world's side, there's the wonder; + Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you! + There, in turn I stand with them and praise you-- + Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. + But the best is when I glide from out them, + + Cross a step or two of dubious twilight, + Come out on the other side, the novel + Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of, + Where I hush and bless myself with silence. + + Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, + Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno, + Wrote one song--and in my brain I sing it, + Drew one angel--borne, see, on my bosom! + + R.B. + + + +ORESTES AUGUSTUS BROWNSON + +(1803-1876) + +Orestes 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. + +[Illustration: ORESTES BROWNSON] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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). + + + + + +SAINT-SIMONISM + +From 'The Convert' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _mode_. 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. + +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. + +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.... + +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, _savans_, 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 _savans_, 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, _Père Supréme_, and a Supreme Mother, _Mère Supréme_. + +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. + +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, _Mère Suprême_, 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 _Mère Suprême_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +FERDINAND BRUNETIÈRE + +(1849-) + +BY ADOLPHE COHN + +Ferdinand 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. + +[Illustration: Ferdiand Brunetière] + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +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.). + +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. + +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. + +TAINE AND PRINCE NAPOLEON + +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. + +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, _he_ 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. + +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 _slandering_. 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. + +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. + +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 _wish_ to know anything; I do not need it, since I _know_, +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 _he_ wrote nothing? ... + +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 _has_ 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. + + + +THE LITERATURES OF FRANCE, ENGLAND, AND GERMANY + +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 _fabliaux_ +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? + +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.... + +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 _humor_, 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 _individualism_ 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 _eccentricity_ 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. + +That is also all I claim, in stating that the essential character of the +literature of Germany is, that it is _philosophical_. 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, _suggestive_ 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 _we_ do not blame their literature +for not being the same as ours. + +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. + + + +GIORDANO BRUNO + +(1548-1600) + +Fillippo 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Bruno, the knight-errant of these truths, devoted all his life to +scourging pedantry, and dissented _in toto_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + + + +A DISCOURSE OF POETS + +From 'The Heroic Enthusiasts' + +_Cicada_--Say, what do you mean by those who vaunt themselves of myrtle +and laurel? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--There are then many species of poets and crowns? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--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. + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--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? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--How then are the true poets to be known? + +_Tansillo_--By the singing of their verses: in that singing they give +delight, or they edify, or they edify and delight together. + +_Cicada_--To whom then are the rules of Aristotle useful? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--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. + +_Tansillo_--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: + + "O Friar Leek! O Poetaster! + That in Milan didst buckle on thy wreath + Composed of salad, sausage, and the pepper-caster." + +_Cicada_--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!" + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--For to die in one age makes us live in all the rest. + + + + CANTICLE OF THE SHINING ONES + + A Tribute to English Women, from 'The Nolan' + + + "Nothing I envy, Jove, from this thy sky," + Spake Neptune thus, and raised his lofty crest. + "God of the waves," said Jove, "thy pride runs high; + What more wouldst add to own thy stern behest?" + + "Thou," spake the god, "dost rule the fiery span, + The circling spheres, the glittering shafts of day; + Greater am I, who in the realm of man + Rule Thames, with all his Nymphs in fair array. + + "In this my breast I hold the fruitful land, + The vasty reaches of the trembling sea; + And what in night's bright dome, or day's, shall stand + Before these radiant maids who dwell with me?" + + "Not thine," said Jove, "god of the watery mount, + To exceed my lot; but thou my lot shalt share: + Thy heavenly maids among my stars I'll count, + And thou shalt own the stars beyond compare!" + + + THE SONG OF THE NINE SINGERS + + [_The first sings and plays the cithern_.] + + O cliffs and rocks! O thorny woods! O shore! + O hills and dales! O valleys, rivers, seas! + How do your new-discovered beauties please? + O Nymph, 'tis yours the guerdon rare, + If now the open skies shine fair; + O happy wanderings, well spent and o'er! + + [_The second sings and plays to his mandolin_.] + + O happy wanderings, well spent and o'er! + Say then, O Circe, these heroic tears, + These griefs, endured through tedious months and years, + Were as a grace divine bestowed + If now our weary travail is no more. + + [_The third sings and plays to his lyre_.] + + If now our weary travail is no more! + If this sweet haven be our destined rest, + Then naught remains but to be blest, + To thank our God for all his gifts, + Who from our eyes the veil uplifts, + Where shines the light upon the heavenly shore, + + [_The fourth sings to the viol_.] + + Where shines the light upon the heavenly shore! + O blindness, dearer far than others' sight! + O sweeter grief than earth's most sweet delight! + For ye have led the erring soul + By gradual steps to this fair goal, + And through the darkness into light we soar. + + [_The fifth sings to a Spanish timbrel_.] + + And through the darkness into light we soar! + To full fruition all high thought is brought, + With such brave patience that ev'n we + At least the only path can see, + And in his noblest work our God adore. + + [_The sixth sings to a lute_.] + + And in his noblest work our God adore! + God doth not will joy should to joy succeed, + Nor ill shall be of other ill the seed; + But in his hand the wheel of fate + Turns, now depressed and now elate, + Evolving day from night for evermore. + + [_The seventh sings to the Irish harp_.] + + Evolving day from night for evermore! + And as yon robe of glorious nightly fire + Pales when the morning beams to noon aspire, + Thus He who rules with law eternal, + Creating order fair diurnal, + Casts down the proud and doth exalt the poor. + + [_The eighth plays with a viol and bow_.] + + Casts down the proud and doth exalt the poor! + And with an equal hand maintains + The boundless worlds which He sustains, + And scatters all our finite sense + At thought of His omnipotence, + Clouded awhile, to be revealed once more. + + [_The ninth plays upon the rebeck_.] + + Clouded awhile, to be revealed once more! + Thus neither doubt nor fear avails; + O'er all the incomparable End prevails, + O'er fair champaign and mountain, + O'er river-brink and fountain, + And o'er the shocks of seas and perils of the shore. + + Translation of Isa Blagden. + + + + OF IMMENSITY + + From Frith's 'Life of Giordano Bruno' + + + 'Tis thou, O Spirit, dost within my soul + This weakly thought with thine own life amend; + Rejoicing, dost thy rapid pinions lend + Me, and dost wing me to that lofty goal + Where secret portals ope and fetters break, + And thou dost grant me, by thy grace complete, + Fortune to spurn, and death; O high retreat, + Which few attain, and fewer yet forsake! + Girdled with gates of brass in every part, + Prisoned and bound in vain, 'tis mine to rise + Through sparkling fields of air to pierce the skies, + Sped and accoutred by no doubting heart, + Till, raised on clouds of contemplation vast, + Light, leader, law, Creator, I attain at last. + + + + + LIFE WELL LOST + + + Winged by desire and thee, O dear delight! + As still the vast and succoring air I tread, + So, mounting still, on swifter pinions sped, + I scorn the world, and heaven receives my flight. + And if the end of Ikaros be nigh, + I will submit, for I shall know no pain: + And falling dead to earth, shall rise again; + What lowly life with such high death can vie? + Then speaks my heart from out the upper air, + "Whither dost lead me? sorrow and despair + Attend the rash." and thus I make reply:-- + "Fear thou no fall, nor lofty ruin sent; + Safely divide the clouds, and die content, + When such proud death is dealt thee from on high." + + + + PARNASSUS WITHIN + + + O heart, 'tis you my chief Parnassus are, + Where for my safety I must ever climb. + My wingèd thoughts are Muses, who from far + Bring gifts of beauty to the court of Time; + And Helicon, that fair unwasted rill, + Springs newly in my tears upon the earth, + And by those streams and nymphs, and by that hill, + It pleased the gods to give a poet birth. + No favoring hand that comes of lofty race, + No priestly unction, nor the grant of kings, + Can on me lay such lustre and such grace, + Nor add such heritage; for one who sings + Hath a crowned head, and by the sacred bay, + His heart, his thoughts, his tears, are consecrate alway. + + + + + COMPENSATION + + + The moth beholds not death as forth he flies + Into the splendor of the living flame; + The hart athirst to crystal water hies, + Nor heeds the shaft, nor fears the hunter's aim; + The timid bird, returning from above + To join his mate, deems not the net is nigh; + Unto the light, the fount, and to my love, + Seeing the flame, the shaft, the chains, I fly; + So high a torch, love-lighted in the skies, + Consumes my soul; and with this bow divine + Of piercing sweetness what terrestrial vies? + This net of dear delight doth prison mine; + And I to life's last day have this desire-- + Be mine thine arrows, love, and mine thy fire. + + + + + LIFE FOR SONG + + + Come Muse, O Muse, so often scorned by me, + The hope of sorrow and the balm of care,-- + Give to me speech and song, that I may be + Unchid by grief; grant me such graces rare + As other ministering souls may never see + Who boast thy laurel, and thy myrtle wear. + I know no joy wherein thou hast not part, + My speeding wind, my anchor, and my goal, + Come, fair Parnassus, lift thou up my heart; + Come, Helicon, renew my thirsty soul. + A cypress crown, O Muse, is thine to give, + And pain eternal: take this weary frame, + Touch me with fire, and this my death shall live + On all men's lips and in undying fame. + + + +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT + +(1794-1878) + +BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP + +Distinguished 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +[Illustration: WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.] + +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. + +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 + + "Forced to drudge for the dregs of men, + And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, + And mingle among the jostling crowd, + Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: Signature: George Parsons Lathrop] + +[All Bryant's poems were originally published by D. Appleton and +Company.] + + + + THANATOPSIS + + To him who in the love of Nature holds + Communion with her visible forms, she speaks + A various language; for his gayer hours + She has a voice of gladness, and a smile + And eloquence of beauty, and she glides + Into his darker musings, with a mild + And healing sympathy, that steals away + Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts + Of the last bitter hour come like a blight + Over thy spirit, and sad images + Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, + And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, + Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;-- + Go forth, under the open sky, and list + To Nature's teachings, while from all around-- + Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-- + Comes a still voice:-- + + Yet a few days, and thee + The all-beholding sun shall see no more + In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, + Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, + Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist + Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim + Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, + And, lost each human trace, surrendering up + Thine individual being, shalt thou go + To mix for ever with the elements, + To be a brother to the insensible rock + And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain + Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak + Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. + + Yet not to thine eternal resting-place + Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish + Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down + With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings, + The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good, + Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, + All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills + Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales + Stretching in pensive quietness between; + The venerable woods--rivers that move + In majesty, and the complaining brooks + That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, + Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- + Are but the solemn decorations all + Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, + The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, + Are shining on the sad abodes of death, + Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread + The globe are but a handful to the tribes + That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings + Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, + Or lose thyself in the continuous woods + Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound + Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there; + And millions in those solitudes, since first + The flight of years began, have laid them down + In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone. + + So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw + In silence from the living, and no friend + Take note of thy departure? All that breathe + Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh + When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care + Plod on, and each one as before will chase + His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave + Their mirth and their employments, and shall come + And make their bed with thee. As the long train + Of ages glides away, the sons of men,-- + The youth in life's fresh spring and he who goes + In the full strength of years, matron and maid, + The speechless babe and the gray-headed man-- + Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, + By those who in their turn shall follow them. + + So live, that when thy summons comes to join + The innumerable caravan which moves + To that mysterious realm where each shall take + His chamber in the silent halls of death, + Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, + Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave + Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch + About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. + + + + + THE CROWDED STREET + + + Let me move slowly through the street, + Filled with an ever-shifting train, + Amid the sound of steps that beat + The murmuring walks like autumn rain. + + How fast the flitting figures come! + The mild, the fierce, the stony face-- + Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some + Where secret tears have lost their trace. + + They pass to toil, to strife, to rest-- + To halls in which the feast is spread-- + To chambers where the funeral guest + In silence sits beside the dead. + + And some to happy homes repair, + Where children, pressing cheek to cheek, + With mute caresses shall declare + The tenderness they cannot speak. + + And some, who walk in calmness here, + Shall shudder as they reach the door + Where one who made their dwelling dear, + Its flower, its light, is seen no more. + + Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, + And dreams of greatness in thine eye! + Go'st thou to build an early name, + Or early in the task to die? + + Keen son of trade, with eager brow! + Who is now fluttering in thy snare? + Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, + Or melt the glittering spires in air? + + Who of this crowd to-night shall tread + The dance till daylight gleam again? + Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? + Who writhe in throes of mortal pain? + + Some, famine-struck, shall think how long + The cold dark hours, how slow the light; + And some who flaunt amid the throng + Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. + + Each where his tasks or pleasures call, + They pass, and heed each other not. + There is Who heeds, Who holds them all + In His large love and boundless thought. + + These struggling tides of life, that seem + In wayward, aimless course to tend, + Are eddies of the mighty stream + That rolls to its appointed end. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS + + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, + Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. + Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; + They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. + The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, + And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. + + Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang + and stood + In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? + Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers + Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. + The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain + Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. + + The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague + on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and + glen. + + And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will + come, + To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; + When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are + still, + And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, + The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he + bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. + + And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, + The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. + In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, + And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; + Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours, + So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. + + + THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE + + Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, + And yet the monument proclaims it not, + Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought + The emblems of a fame that never dies,-- + Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf, + Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf. + A simple name alone, + To the great world unknown, + Is graven here, and wild-flowers rising round, + Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, + Lean lovingly against the humble stone. + + Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart + No man of iron mold and bloody hands, + Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands + The passions that consumed his restless heart: + But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, + Gentlest, in mien and mind, + Of gentle womankind, + Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame; + One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made + Its haunts, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, + Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade + Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. + + Nor deem that when the hand that molders here + Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear, + And armies mustered at the sign, as when + Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East-- + Gray captains leading bands of veteran men + And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast. + Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave + The victory to her who fills this grave: + Alone her task was wrought, + Alone the battle fought; + Through that long strife her constant hope was staid + On God alone, nor looked for other aid. + + She met the hosts of Sorrow with a look + That altered not beneath the frown they wore, + And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took + Meekly her gentle rule, and frowned no more. + Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath, + And calmly broke in twain + The fiery shafts of pain, + And rent the nets of passion from her path. + By that victorious hand despair was slain. + With love she vanquished hate and overcame + Evil with good, in her Great Master's name. + + Her glory is not of this shadowy state, + Glory that with the fleeting season dies; + But when she entered at the sapphire gate + What joy was radiant in celestial eyes! + How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, + And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung! + And He who long before, + Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, + The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet, + Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat; + He who returning, glorious, from the grave, + Dragged Death disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave. + + See, as I linger here, the sun grows low; + Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near. + O gentle sleeper, from the grave I go, + Consoled though sad, in hope and yet in fear. + Brief is the time, I know, + The warfare scarce begun; + Yet all may win the triumphs thou hast won. + Still flows the fount whose waters strengthened thee; + The victors' names are yet too few to fill + Heaven's mighty roll; the glorious armory + That ministered to thee, is open still. + + + + + THE-BATTLE-FIELD + + + Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, + Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, + And fiery hearts and armed hands + Encountered in the battle-cloud. + + Ah! never shall the land forget + How gushed the life-blood of her brave-- + Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, + Upon the soil they sought to save. + + Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; + Alone the chirp of flitting bird, + And talk of children on the hill, + And bell of wandering kine are heard. + + No solemn host goes trailing by + The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; + Men start not at the battle-cry-- + Oh, be it never heard again! + + Soon rested those who fought; but thou + Who minglest in the harder strife + For truths which men receive not now, + Thy warfare only ends with life. + + A friendless warfare! lingering long + Through weary day and weary year; + A wild and many-weaponed throng + Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. + + Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, + And blench not at thy chosen lot; + The timid good may stand aloof, + The sage may frown--yet faint thou not. + + Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, + The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; + For with thy side shall dwell, at last, + The victory of endurance born. + + Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again-- + The eternal years of God are hers; + But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, + And dies among his worshipers. + + Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, + When they who helped thee flee in fear, + Die full of hope and manly trust, + Like those who fell in battle here! + + Another hand thy sword shall wield, + Another hand the standard wave, + Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed + The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + + TO A WATERFOWL + + + Whither, 'midst falling dew, + While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, + Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue + Thy solitary way? + + Vainly the fowler's eye + Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, + As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, + Thy figure floats along, + + Seek'st thou the plashy brink + Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, + Or where the rocking billows rise and sink + On the chafed ocean-side? + + There is a Power whose care + Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-- + The desert and illimitable air-- + Lone wandering, but not lost. + + All day thy wings have fanned, + At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, + Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, + Though the dark night is near. + + And soon that toil shall end; + Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, + And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, + Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. + + Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven + Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart + Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, + And shall not soon depart. + + He who, from zone to zone, + Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, + In the long way that I must tread alone, + Will lead my steps aright. + + + ROBERT OF LINCOLN + + Merrily swinging on brier and weed, + Near to the nest of his little dame, + Over the mountain-side or mead, + Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Snug and safe is that nest of ours, + Hidden among the summer flowers. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, + Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; + White are his shoulders and white his crest. + Hear him call in his merry note:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Look what a nice new coat is mine, + Sure there was never a bird so fine. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, + Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, + Passing at home a patient life, + Broods in the grass while her husband sings: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink: + Brood, kind creature; you need not fear + Thieves and robbers while I am here. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Modest and shy as a nun is she; + One weak chirp is her only note. + Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, + Pouring boasts from his little throat:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink: + Never was I afraid of man; + Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! + Chee, chee, chee. + + Six white eggs on a bed of hay, + Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! + There as the mother sits all day, + Robert is singing with all his might:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Nice good wife, that never goes out, + Keeping house while I frolic about. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Soon as the little ones chip the shell, + Six wide mouths are open for food; + Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, + Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + This new life is likely to be + Hard for a gay young fellow like me. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln at length is made + Sober with work, and silent with care; + Off is his holiday garment laid, + Half forgotten that merry air: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Nobody knows but my mate and I + Where our nest and our nestlings lie. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Summer wanes; the children are grown; + Fun and frolic no more he knows; + Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; + Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + When you can pipe that merry old strain, + Robert of Lincoln, come back again. + Chee, chee, chee. + + + _1855_ + + + JUNE + + I gazed upon the glorious sky + And the green mountains round; + And thought that when I came to lie + At rest within the ground, + 'Twere pleasant that in flowery June, + When brooks send up a cheerful tune + And groves a joyous sound, + The sexton's hand, my grave to make, + The rich green mountain turf should break. + + A cell within the frozen mold, + A coffin borne through sleet, + And icy clods above it rolled, + While fierce the tempests beat-- + Away! I will not think of these: + Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, + Earth green beneath the feet, + And be the damp mold gently pressed + Into my narrow place of rest. + + There through the long, long summer hours + The golden light should lie, + And thick young herbs and groups of flowers + Stand in their beauty by; + The oriole should build and tell + His love-tale close beside my cell; + The idle butterfly + Should rest him there, and there be heard + The housewife bee and humming-bird. + + And what if cheerful shouts at noon + Come, from the village sent, + Or songs of maids beneath the moon, + With fairy laughter blent? + And what if, in the evening light, + Betrothed lovers walk in sight + Of my low monument? + I would the lovely scene around + Might know no sadder sight nor sound. + + I know that I no more should see + The season's glorious show, + Nor would its brightness shine for me, + Nor its wild music flow; + But if, around my place of sleep. + The friends I love should come to weep, + They might not haste to go. + Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, + Should keep them lingering by my tomb. + + These to their softened hearts should bear + The thought of what has been, + And speak of one who cannot share + The gladness of the scene; + Whose part in all the pomp that fills + The circuit of the summer hills + Is--that his grave is green; + And deeply would their hearts rejoice + To hear again his living voice. + + + TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN + + Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, + And colored with the heaven's own blue, + That openest when the quiet light + Succeeds the keen and frosty night; + + Thou comest not when violets lean + O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, + Or columbines, in purple dressed, + Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. + + Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, + When woods are bare and birds are flown, + And frost and shortening days portend + The aged Year is near his end. + + Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye + Look through its fringes to the sky, + Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall + A flower from its cerulean wall. + + I would that thus, when I shall see + The hour of death draw near to me, + Hope, blossoming within my heart, + May look to heaven as I depart. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + THE FUTURE LIFE + + How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps + The disembodied spirits of the dead, + When all of thee that time could wither sleeps + And perishes among the dust we tread? + + For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain + If there I meet thy gentle presence not; + Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again + In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. + + Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? + That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? + My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, + And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? + + In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, + In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, + And larger movements of the unfettered mind, + Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? + + The love that lived through all the stormy past, + And meekly with my harsher nature bore, + And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, + Shall it expire with life, and be no more? + + A happier lot than mine, and larger light, + Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will + In cheerful homage to the rule of right, + And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. + + For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell + Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; + And wrath has left its scar--that fire of hell + Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. + + Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, + Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, + The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, + Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? + + Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, + The wisdom that I learned so ill in this-- + The wisdom which is love--till I become + Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + TO THE PAST + + Thou unrelenting Past! + Stern are the fetters round thy dark domain, + And fetters, sure and fast, + Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. + + Far in thy realm withdrawn + Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, + And glorious ages gone + Lie deep within the shadows of thy womb. + + Childhood, with all its mirth, + Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, + And last, Man's Life on earth, + Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. + + Thou hast my better years, + Thou hast my earlier friends--the good, the kind-- + Yielded to thee with tears-- + The venerable form, the exalted mind. + + My spirit yearns to bring + The lost ones back; yearns with desire intense, + And struggles hard to wring + Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. + + In vain!--Thy gates deny + All passage save to those who hence depart. + Nor to the streaming eye + Thou givest them back, nor to the broken heart. + + In thy abysses hide + Beauty and excellence unknown. To thee + Earth's wonder and her pride + Are gathered, as the waters to the sea. + + Labors of good to man, + Unpublished charity, unbroken faith; + Love, that 'midst grief began, + And grew with years, and faltered not in death. + + Full many a mighty name + Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered. + With thee are silent Fame, + Forgotten Arts, and Wisdom disappeared. + + Thine for a space are they. + Yet thou shalt yield thy treasures up at last; + Thy gates shall yet give way, + Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! + + All that of good and fair + Has gone into thy womb from earliest time + Shall then come forth, to wear + The glory and the beauty of its prime. + + They have not perished--no! + Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, + Smiles, radiant long ago, + And features, the great soul's apparent seat: + + All shall come back. Each tie + Of pure affection shall be knit again: + Alone shall Evil die, + And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. + + And then shall I behold + Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung; + And her who, still and cold, + Fills the next grave--the beautiful and young. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + +JAMES BRYCE + +(1838-) + +James 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. + +[Illustration: JAMES BRYCE] + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +THE POSITION OF WOMEN IN THE UNITED STATES + +From 'The American Commonwealth' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _haus-frau_, 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +What have been the results on the character and usefulness of women +themselves? + +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. + +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? + +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. + +By permission of James Bryce and the Macmillan Company. + + * * * * * + +THE ASCENT OF ARARAT + +From 'Trans-Caucasia and Ararat' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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.... + +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 _faja_, 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. + + + +THE WORK OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE + +From 'The Holy Roman Empire' + +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: + + "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." + +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. + + + +FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND + +(1826-1880) + +Certainly, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +A HUNT IN A HORSE-POND + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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.... + +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:-- + + "The water-snake whom fish and paddocks feed, + With staring scales lies poisoned."--DRYDEN. + +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 _laub-frosch,_ 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. + + + +ON RATS + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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,' + + "Shot and missed my mark, + And shot the old sow right bang through the heart." + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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!" + +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.... + +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. + +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. + + + +SNAKES AND THEIR POISON + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +MY MONKEY JACKO + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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 _securely_--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, + + "Obstupni, steteruntque comæ et vox fancibus hæsit[5]." + +[Footnote 5: + "Aghast, astonished, and struck dumb with fear, + I stood; like bristles rose my stiffened hair."--DRYDEN. +] + +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.... + +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. + +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 _all_ 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." + + + +HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE + +(1821-1862) + +Henry 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "The written word remains long after the writer; + The writer is resting under the earth, but his works endure." + +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. + +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:-- + + "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 + _general_ relations I intend to make a _particular_ + 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." + +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. + +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:-- + + "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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +MORAL VERSUS INTELLECTUAL PRINCIPLES IN HUMAN PROGRESS + +From the 'History of Civilization in England' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +THE MYTHICAL ORIGIN OF HISTORY + +From the 'History of Civilization in England' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +GEORGE LOUIS LE CLERC BUFFON + +(1707-1788) + +BY SPENCER TROTTER + +A 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. + +[ILLUSTRATION: BUFFON] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _not_ a naturalist. + +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.' + +[Illustration: Signature: Spencer Trotter] + + + +NATURE + +From the 'Natural History' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +THE HUMMING-BIRD + +From the 'Natural History' + +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, _maxime miranda in minimis_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, "_screp, screp_," 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. + + + +EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON + +(1803-1873) + +BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, _et id genus +omne_, 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. + +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. + +[Illustration: BULWER-LYTTON.] + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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! + +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 _is_ the true real; the only absurdity lies in the pomp and +circumstance wherewith that simple truth is introduced. There _is_ 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. + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +[Illustration: Signature:] + +THE AMPHITHEATRE + +From 'The Last Days of Pompeii' + +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 _velaria_) 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against a shield and sword?" + +"That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia: the retiarius has +generally the best of it." + +"But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked--is it not quite +improper? By Venus! but his limbs are beautifully shaped!" + +"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." + +"He is a proper man, this Lydon; and the women, I am sure, are on his +side." + +"So are not the experienced bettors: Clodius offers three to one against +him." + +"Oh, Jove! how beautiful!" exclaimed the widow, as two gladiators, armed +_cap-à-pie,_ 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. + +"The one is named Berbix: he has conquered twelve times. The other +assumes the arrogant Nobilior. They are both Gauls." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"Well done, Nobilior!" cried the prætor, giving the first vent to the +popular excitement. + +"Bravely struck, my Berbix!" answered Clodius from his seat. + +And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shout, echoed from side to side. + +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. + +"Nobilior! Nobilior!" shouted the populace. + +"I have lost ten sestertia," said Clodius, between his teeth. + +"_Habet_!" (He has it) said Pansa deliberately. + +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. + +"It is a pity it was so soon over--there was little enough for one's +trouble," said the widow Fulvia. + +"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." + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _pluck_, 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. + +"Guard thyself!" growled Tetraides, moving nearer and nearer to his foe, +who rather shifted round him than receded. + +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. + +"You are unlucky to-day," said Lepidus to Clodius: "you have lost one +bet; you will lose another." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Three to one still on Tetraides! What say you, Lepidus?" + +"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." + +"Fool--success blinds him--he should be cautious. Lydon's eye is like a +lynx's!" said Clodius, between his teeth. + +"Ha, Clodius! saw you that? Your man totters! Another blow--he falls--he +falls!" + +"Earth revives him then. He is once more up; but the blood rolls down +his face." + +"By the Thunderer! Lydon wins it. See how he presses on him! That blow +on the temple would have crushed an ox! it _has_ crushed Tetraides. He +falls again--he cannot move--_habet_!--_habet_!" + +"_Habet_!" repeated Pansa. "Take them out and give them the armor and +swords." ... + +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. + +"My gallant boy!" said he, and wiped his eyes. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 _secutor_[6] 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. + +[Footnote 6: So called from the office of that tribe of gladiators in +_following_ the foe the moment the net was cast, in order to smite him +ere he could have time to re-arrange it.] + +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. + +"Ho!" said Clodius, "the game is nearly over. If Eumolpus rights now the +quiet fight, the other will gradually bleed himself away." + +"But, thank the gods! he does _not_ 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!" + +"Why do I ever bet but at the dice?" groaned Clodius to himself;--"or +why cannot one cog a gladiator?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _mimic_ fight had ceased +to charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the +thirst of death! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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." + +The people shouted louder than before. + +"Four to one against Lydon!" said Clodius to Lepidus. + +"I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very Achilles, and +this poor fellow is but a tyro!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Prayers!" answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful mien than he had +yet maintained. + +"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!" + +There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A fierce blow +from Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon to his knee. + +"_Habet_!--he has it!" cried a shrill female voice; "he has it!" + +It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated the +sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts. + +"Be silent, child!" said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. "_Non habet!_--he +is _not_ wounded!" + +"I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon," muttered the girl. + +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. + +"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!" + +"And my father still enslaved!" groaned Lydon to himself. "No! death or +his freedom." + +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. + +"Look to him," said the ædile; "he has done his duty!" + +The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium. + +"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. + +Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the attendants +sprinkled fresh sand over the arena. + +"Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian," said the ædile. + +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. + + * * * * * + +The door swung gratingly back--the gleam of spears shot along the wall. + +"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a loud and clear voice; +"the lion awaits thee." + +"I am ready," said the Athenian. "Brother and co-mate, one last embrace! +Bless me--and farewell!" + +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. + +"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!'" + +"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." + +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. + +"Courage!" said one; "thou art young, active, well knit. They give thee +a weapon! despair not, and thou mayst yet conquer." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _one_ well-directed thrust (for he knew +that he should have time but for _one_) might penetrate through the eye +to the brain of his grim foe. + +But to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast seemed not even +aware of the presence of the criminal. + +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. + +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. + +The editor called to the keeper:--"How is this? Take the goad, prick him +forth, and then close the door of the den." + +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!" + +[Illustration: _IN THE ARENA,_ Photogravure from a Drawing by Frank +Kirchbach. + +"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 _one_ well-directed thrust (for he knew +that he should have time but for _one_) might penetrate through the eye +to the brain of his grim foe. But to the unutterable astonishment of +all, the beast seemed not even aware of the presence of the criminal." ] + +[Illustration: Untitled] + +"Art thou mad, O Sallust!" said the prætor, rising from his seat. "What +means this raving?" + +"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!" + +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! + +"The priest Calenus--Calenus!" cried the mob. "It is he? No--it is a +dead man!" + +"It is the priest Calenus," said the prætor, gravely. "What hast thou to +say?" + +"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--_he_ is +innocent!" + +"It is for this, then, that the lion spared him, A miracle! a miracle!" +cried Pansa. + +"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people; "remove the +Athenian--_Arbaces to the lion_." + +And that shout echoed from hill to vale--from coast to sea--_Arbaces to +the lion_. + +"Officers, remove the accused Glaucus--remove, but guard him yet," said +the prætor. "The gods lavish their wonders upon this day." + +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. + +"Silence!" said the grave prætor; "who is there?" + +"The blind girl--Nydia," answered Sallust; "it is her hand that has +raised Calenus from the grave, and delivered Glaucus from the lion." + +"Of this hereafter," said the prætor. "Calenus, priest of Isis, thou +accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apæcides?" + +"I do!" + +"Thou didst behold the deed?" + +"Prætor--with these eyes--" + +"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?" + +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:-- + +"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!" + +"Sallust," said the magistrate, "where found you Calenus?" + +"In the dungeons of Arbaces." + +"Egyptian," said the prætor, frowning, "thou didst, then, dare to +imprison a priest of the gods--and wherefore?" + +[Illustration: NYDIA The blind flower-girl of Bulwer's Last Days of +Pompeii. Photogravure from a Painting by C. Von Bodenhausen.] + +[Illustration] + +"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?--_then_ 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." + +"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." + +"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! _To the lion--to the lion with Arbaces_!" + +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. + +"It is a god that inspires the holy man! _To the lion with the +Egyptian_!" + +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! + +He stretched his hand on high; over his lofty brow and royal features +there came an expression, of unutterable solemnity and command. + +"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!" + +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! + +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! + +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! + +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! + + + +KENELM AND LILY + +From 'Kenelm Chillingly' + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"And pray who is Mrs. Cameron?" + +"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?" + +"Very! emblematic of a spinster that does not spin, with a white head +and a thin stalk." + +"Then the name belies my Lily; as you will see." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!'" ... + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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 _she_ seems to have run away to +hide herself." + +"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?" + +"No; so that is Lily? You shall introduce me to her." + +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.... + +Before he had reached the place, Mrs. Braefield met him. + +"Lily is come!" + +"I know it--I have seen her." + +"Is not she beautiful?" + +"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?" + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"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. + +"My husband," said Mrs. Braefield with a certain pride in her look. + +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. + +"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." + +Kenelm hesitated. + +"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. + +"I cannot resist so tempting an invitation," said Kenelm, and he fell +back a little behind Lily and her companion. + +"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." + +"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." + +"If so," said Kenelm to Lily, "may I come too? Of all flowers that grow, +heart's-ease is the one I most prize." + +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. + +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. + +"Do you collect insects?" said that philosopher, as much surprised as it +was his nature to be at anything. + +"Only butterflies," answered Lily; "they are not insects, you know; they +are souls." + +"Emblems of souls, you mean--at least so the Greeks prettily represented +them to be." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I don't know," replied Lily, looking very much puzzled: "perhaps I +learned it in a book, or perhaps I dreamed it." + +"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?" + +"Impale them! How can you talk so cruelly? You deserve to be pinched by +the fairies." + +"I am afraid," thought Kenelm, compassionately, "that my companion has +no mind to be formed; what is euphoniously called 'an innocent.'" + +He shook his head and remained silent. + +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." + +"Then you have kept them a year; they ought to have turned into +fairies." + +"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." + +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:-- + +"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:-- + + 'Wave your tops, ye pines; + With every plant, in sign of worship wave.' + +What an interchange of music there must be between Nature and a poet!" + +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:-- + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + + +End of Volume VI. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Library Of The World's Best +Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 6, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + +***** This file should be named 13623-8.txt or 13623-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/6/2/13623/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Library Of The World's Best Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 6 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: October 5, 2004 [EBook #13623] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<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> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Library Of The World's Best +Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 6, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + +***** This file should be named 13623-h.htm or 13623-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/6/2/13623/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Library Of The World's Best Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 6 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: October 5, 2004 [EBook #13623] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +LIBRARY OF THE + +WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE + +ANCIENT AND MODERN + +CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER + +EDITOR + +HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE +LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE +GEORGE HENRY WARNER + +ASSOCIATE EDITORS + +Connoisseur Edition + +VOL. VI. + + + + +THE ADVISORY COUNCIL + + * * * * * + +CRAWFORD H. TOY, A.M., LL.D., + Professor of Hebrew, + HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass. + +THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D., + Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of + YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn. + +WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH.D., L.H.D., + Professor of History and Political Science, + PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N.J. + +BRANDER MATTHEWS, A.M., LL.B., + Professor of Literature, + COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City. + +JAMES B. ANGELL, LL.D., + President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich. + +WILLARD FISKE, A.M., PH.D., + Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages + and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N.Y. + +EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A.M., LL.D., + Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer, + UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal. + +ALCEE FORTIER, LIT.D., + Professor of the Romance Languages, + TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La. + +WILLIAM P. TRENT, M.A., + Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of + English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn. + +PAUL SHOREY, PH.D., + Professor of Greek and Latin Literature, + UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill. + +WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D., + United States Commissioner of Education, + BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D.C. + +MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A.M., LL.D., + Professor of Literature in the + CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D.C. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +VOL. VI + + LIVED PAGE + +THE ABBE DE BRANTOME (Pierre de Bourdeille) 1527-1614 2319 + The Dancing of Royalty ('Lives of Notable Women') + The Shadow of a Tomb ('Lives of Courtly Women') + M. le Constable Anne de Montmorency ('Lives of Distinguished Men and + Great Captains') + Two Famous Entertainments ('Lives of Courtly Women') + +FREDRIKA BREMER 1801-1865 2328 + A Home-Coming ('The Neighbors') + The Landed Proprietor ('The Home') + A Family Picture (same) + +CLEMENS BRENTANO 1778-1842 2343 + The Nurse's Watch + The Castle in Austria + +ELISABETH BRENTANO (Bettina von Arnim) 1785-1859 2348 + Dedication: To Goethe ('Goethe's Correspondence with a Child') + Letter to Goethe + Bettina's Last Meeting with Goethe (Letter to Her Niece) + In Goethe's Garden + +JOHN BRIGHT 1811-1889 2354 + From Speech on the Corn Laws (1843) + From Speech on Incendiarism in Ireland (1844) + From Speech on Non-Recognition of the Southern Confederacy (1861) + From Speech on the State of Ireland (1866) + From Speech on the Irish Established Church (1868) + +BRILLAT-SAVARIN 1755-1826 2365 + + From 'Physiology of Taste': The Privations; On the Love of Good + Living; On People Fond of Good Living + +CHARLOTTE BRONTE AND HER SISTERS 1816-1855 2381 + Jane Eyre's Wedding-Day ('Jane Eyre') + Madame Beck ('Villette') + A Yorkshire Landscape ('Shirley') + The End of Heathcliff (Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights') + +PHILLIPS BROOKS 1835-1893 2417 + O Little Town of Bethlehem + Personal Character ('Essays and Addresses') + The Courage of Opinions (same) + Literature and Life (same) + +CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 1771-1810 2425 + Wieland's Statement ('Wieland') + +JOHN BROWN 1810-1882 2437 + Marjorie Fleming ('Spare Hours') + Death of Thackeray (same) + +CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE (Artemus Ward) 1834-1867 2461 + BY CHARLES F. JOHNSON + Edwin Forrest as Othello + High-Handed Outrage at Utica + Affairs Round the Village Green + Mr. Pepper ('Artemus Ward: His Travels') + Horace Greeley's Ride to Placerville (same) + +SIR THOMAS BROWNE 1605-1682 2473 + BY FRANCIS BACON + From the 'Religio Medici' + From 'Christian Morals' + From 'Hydriotaphia, or Urn-Burial' + From 'A Fragment on Mummies' + From 'A Letter to a Friend' + Some Relations Whose Truth We Fear ('Pseudoxia Epidemica') + +WILLIAM BROWNE 1591-1643 2511 + Circe's Charm ('Inner Temple Masque') + The Hunted Squirrel ('Britannia's Pastorals') + As Careful Merchants Do Expecting Stand (same) + Song of the Sirens ('Inner Temple Masque') + An Epistle on Parting + Sonnets to Caelia + +HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL 1820-1872 2519 + Annus Memorabilis + Words for the 'Hallelujah Chorus' + Coming + Psychaura + Suspiria Noctis + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 1809-1861 2523 + A Musical Instrument + My Heart and I + From 'Catarina to Camoens' + The Sleep + The Cry of the Children + Mother and Poet + A Court Lady + The Prospect + De Profundis + The Cry of the Human + Romance of the Swan's Nest + The Best Thing in the World + Sonnets from the Portuguese + A False Step + A Child's Thought of God + Cheerfulness Taught by Reason + +ROBERT BROWNING 1812-1889 2557 + BY E. L. BURLINGAME + Andrea del Sarto + A Toccata of Galuppi's + Confessions + Love among the Ruins + A Grammarian's Funeral + My Last Duchess + Up at a Villa--Down in the City + In Three Days + In a Year + Evelyn Hope + Prospice + The Patriot + One Word More + +ORESTES AUGUSTUS BROWNSON 1803-1876 2594 + Saint-Simonism ('The Convert') + +FERDINAND BRUNETIERE 1849- 2603 + BY ADOLPHE COHN + Taine and Prince Napoleon + The Literatures of France, England, and Germany + +GIORDANO BRUNO 1548-1600 2613 + A Discourse of Poets ('The Heroic Enthusiasts') + Canticle of the Shining Ones: A Tribute to English Women ('The Nolan') + Song of the Nine Singers + Of Immensity + Life Well Lost + Parnassus Within + Compensation + Life for Song + +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 1794-1878 2623 + BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP + Thanatopsis + The Crowded Street + Death of the Flowers + The Conqueror's Grave + The Battle-Field + To a Water-fowl + Robert of Lincoln + June + To the Fringed Gentian + The Future Life + To the Past + +JAMES BRYCE 1838- 2643 + Position of Women in the United States ('The American Commonwealth') + Ascent of Ararat ('Trans-Caucasia and Ararat') + The Work of the Roman Empire ('The Holy Roman Empire') + +FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND 1826-1880 2661 + A Hunt in a Horse-Pond ('Curiosities of Natural History') + On Rats (same) + Snakes and their Poison (same) + My Monkey Jacko (same) + +HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE 1821-1862 2673 + Moral versus Intellectual Principles in Human Progress ('History of + Civilization in England') + Mythical Origin of History (same) + +GEORGE LOUIS LE CLERC BUFFON 1707-1788 2689 + BY SPENCER TROTTER + Nature ('Natural History') + The Humming-Bird (same) + +EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON 1803-1873 2697 + BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE + The Amphitheatre ('The Last Days of Pompeii') + Kenelm and Lily ('Kenelm Chillingly') + + + + +FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS + +VOLUME VI + + PAGE + +"Les Satyres" (Colored Plate) Frontispiece +Charlotte Bronte (Portrait) 2382 +Phillips Brooks (Portrait) 2418 +"The Holy Child of Bethlehem" (Photogravure) 2420 +"Circe" (Photogravure) 2514 +Robert Browning (Portrait) 2558 +William Cullen Bryant (Portrait) 2624 +Edward Bulwer-Lytton (Portrait) 2698 +"In the Arena" (Photogravure) 2718 +"Nydia" (Photogravure) 2720 + + +VIGNETTE PORTRAITS + +Abbe de Brantome +Fredrika Bremer +Elisabeth Brentano +John Bright +Brillat-Savarin +Charles Brockden Brown +John Brown +Charles Farrar Browne +Sir Thomas Browne +Elizabeth Barrett Browning +Orestes Augustus Brownson +Ferdinand Brunetiere +James Bryce +George Louis le Clere Buffon + + + +THE ABBE DE BRANTOME + +(PIERRE DE BOURDEILLE) + +(1527-1614) + +Every historian of the Valois period is indebted to Brantome 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. + +[Illustration: ABBE DE BRANTOME] + +Brantome was the third son of the Vicomte de Bourdeille, a Perigord +nobleman, whose family had lived long in Guienne, and whose aristocratic +lineage was lost in myth. Upon the estate stood the Abbey of Brantome, +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, +Abbe de Brantome. Born in the old chateau 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 Abbe being merely honorary, he served in the +army under Francois 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. + +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 Brantome, 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, Francois 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 Merimee (3 vols., 1859); and Lalande (10 vols., 1865-'81). + +What Brantome thought of himself may be seen by glancing at that portion +of the "testament mystique" which relates to his writings:-- + + "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." + +The old man delighted in complimenting himself and talking about his +"grandeur d'ame." 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." + +Brantome writes like a "gentleman of the sword," with dash and _elan_, +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 Brantome 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." + +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'Etampes; Marie Touchet; and all their +satellites,--as they enjoyed their lives. + +Very valuable are the data regarding Mary Stuart's departure from France +in 1561. Brantome 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. "He! quelle musique!" he exclaims, "et +quel repos pour la nuit!" + +But of all the gay ladies Brantome loves to dwell upon, his favorites +are the two Marguerites: Marguerite of Angouleme, 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." + +Brantome 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:--"Brantome 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 _good_ King Louis, +calling women whose adventures could hardly have been written by any pen +save his own, _honnetes dames_." + +Brantome 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. + + * * * * * + +THE DANCING OF ROYALTY + +From 'Lives of Notable Women' + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +THE SHADOW OF A TOMB + +From 'Lives of Courtly Women' + +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 _gentilhomme de France_ 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 Renee 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. + +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 Renee 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 _esprit_ to +the other ladies of the court. + +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?" + +"No, Madame," he replied. + +"But reflect again, my cousin," she insisted. + +My brother answered, "Madame, I feel nothing move. I stand upon a solid +stone." + +"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." + + * * * * * + +M. LE CONSTABLE ANNE DE MONTMORENCY + +From 'Lives of Distinguished Men and Great Captains' + +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! + + * * * * * + +TWO FAMOUS ENTERTAINMENTS + +From 'Lives of Courtly Women' + +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 fete in honor of the +Emperor her brother, Queen Eleanor her sister, and the gentlemen and +ladies of the court. + +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. + +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. + +At the same time that these fetes were taking place at Bains, Henry II. +made his entree 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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + + + +FREDRIKA BREMER + +(1801-1865) + +Fredrika Bremer was born at Tuorla Manor-house, near Abo, in Finland, on +the 17th of August, 1801. In 1804 the family removed to Stockholm, and +two years later to a large estate at Arsta, some twenty miles from the +capital, which was her subsequent home. At Arsta 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. + +[Illustration: FREDRIKA BREMER] + +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. + +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. + +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) Franzen, an old friend of the family. Shortly afterward the +Swedish Academy, of which Franzen 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. + +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 Arsta, 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. + +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 _milieu_. Besides the ones +already mentioned, 'Presidentens Doettrar' (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. + +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.' + + * * * * * + +A HOME-COMING + +From 'The Neighbors' + +LETTER I.--FRANCISCA W. TO MARIA M. + +ROSENVIK, 1st June, 18. + +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 _Bear_ +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--_my cows_--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. + +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. + +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, "_Here_ is the residence of +_ma chere mere_," and the carriage drove into a courtyard, and stopped +before a large and fine stone house. + +"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 _mal apropos_ to me, but Bear has his own ideas, and I +perceived from his manner that it was not expedient then to offer any +resistance. + +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. + +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, _ma chere mere!_ + +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 _ma chere mere's_ +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 _ma +chere mere_ right respectfully; she however offered him her cheek, and +they appeared very friendly. "Be welcome, my dear friends!" said _ma +chere mere_, 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 _ma chere mere_. + +"Well, very good, well, very good!" said _ma chere mere_, 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 _ma chere mere_ 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 Buren 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." + +While a murmur of exultation and congratulations went through the +assembly, _ma chere mere_ 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 _ma chere mere's_ review embarrassed me, broached the subject of +the harvest or rural affairs. _Ma chere mere_ 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.'" + +I laughed, so did _ma chere mere_ 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 +_ma chere mere_ 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." + +We went into the dancing-room with full glasses, _ma chere mere_ leading +the way as herald. They were awaiting us with bumpers, and _ma chere +mere_ 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!" + +"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, _ma chere mere_ 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. + +THE LANDED PROPRIETOR + +From 'The Home' + +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. + +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 _Landed +Proprietor_, as he was chiefly remarkable for the possession of a large +estate in the vicinity of the town. + +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 + +STRANGE QUESTIONS + +"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. + +"Oh, yes! bream is a very good fish," answered she, phlegmatically, +without looking up. + +"Oh, with red-wine sauce, delicious! I have splendid fishing on my +estate, Oestanvik. Big fellows of bream! I fish for them myself." + +"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?" + +"Because then she might like him too, _mon cher_! 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?" + +"What is that which--" + +"Yes, what is it? I shall lose my head over that riddle. Mamma dear, +come and help your stupid son!" + +"No, no! Mamma knows it already. She must not say it!" exclaimed +Gabrielle with fear. + +"What king do you place above all other kings, Magister?" asked Petrea +for the second time,--having this evening her "raptus" of questioning. + +"Charles the Thirteenth," answered the Candidate, and listened for what +Louise was going to reply to the Landed Proprietor. + +"Do you like birds, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed Proprietor. + +"Oh yes, particularly the throstle," answered Louise. + +"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." + +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?" + +"Oh, much, much better," answered the Candidate. + +"Are you fond of roasted hare, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor. + +"Are you fond of roasted hare, Magister?" whispered Petrea waggishly to +Jacobi. + +"Brava, Petrea!" whispered her brother to her. + +"Are you fond of cold meat, Cousin Louise?" asked the Landed +Proprietor, as he was handing Louise to the supper-table. + +"Are you fond of Landed Proprietor?" whispered Henrik to her as she left +it. + +Louise answered just as a cathedral would have answered: she looked very +solemn and was silent. + +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. + +"Dear Petrea!" said Louise, "what use can there be in asking those +questions?" + +It was an evening for questions; they did not end even when the company +had broken up. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes, yes, there is certainly something uncommon in her. Her liveliness +and the many games and schemes which she invents--" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well, well! you are not so far wrong; and even our cousin Thure of +Oestanvik,--have you perceived anything there?" + +"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." + +"Yes, a pity; because, as he is at present, I am almost sure Louise +would find it impossible to give him her hand." + +"You do not believe that her inclination is toward Jacobi?" + +"To tell the truth, I fancy that this is the case." + +"Nay, that would be very unpleasant and very unwise: I am very fond of +Jacobi, but he has nothing and is nothing." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Ernst, you are so kind!" + +"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?" + + * * * * * + +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 _doux propos_ 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. + +"That may be!" answered Louise calmly. + +One day she was told that a gentleman had said, "I will not stand up for +any girl who is not a little coquettish!" + +"Then he may remain sitting!" answered Louise, with a great deal of +dignity. + +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. + +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." + +The evening after this explanation took place, Elise was engaged with +Jacobi in a lively conversation in the balcony. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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--!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +A FAMILY PICTURE + +From 'The Home' + +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." + +_Landed Proprietor_--Very cold this evening; I think we shall have +frost. + +_Elise_--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. + +_Landed Proprietor_--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. + +The Landed Proprietor seats himself on the other side of Louise. The +Candidate is seized with a fit of curious shrugs. + +_Louise_--This is not Patience, but a little conjuring by means of which +I can tell future things. Shall I tell your fortune, Cousin Thure? + +_Landed Proprietor_--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. + +_The Candidate (with an expression in his eyes as if he would send the +Landed Proprietor head-over-heels to Oestanvik)_--I don't know whether +Miss Louise likes flattery. + +_Landed Proprietor (who takes no notice of his rival)_--Cousin Louise, +are you fond of blue? + +_Louise_--Blue? It is a pretty color; but I almost like green better. + +_Landed Proprietor_--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-- + +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. + + + +CLEMENS BRENTANO + +(1778-1842) + +The 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. + +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 naive 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." + +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 Goerres, "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. + +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 Gruendung 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 schoenen 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. + +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." + +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 Duelmen, +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. + + THE NURSE'S WATCH + + From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn' + + + The moon it shines, + My darling whines; + The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer + The sick both far and near. + God knoweth all; + Mousy nibbles in the wall; + The clock strikes one:--like day, + Dreams o'er thy pillow play. + The matin-bell + Wakes the nun in convent cell; + The clock strikes two:--they go + To choir in a row. + The wind it blows, + The cock he crows; + The clock strikes three:--the wagoner + In his straw bed begins to stir. + The steed he paws the floor, + Creaks the stable door; + The clock strikes four:--'tis plain + The coachman sifts his grain. + The swallow's laugh the still air shakes, + The sun awakes; + The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone, + He puts his stockings on. + The hen is clacking, + The ducks are quacking; + The clock strikes six:--awake, arise, + Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes. + Quick to the baker's run; + The rolls are done; + The clock strikes seven:-- + 'Tis time the milk were in the oven. + Put in some butter, do, + And some fine sugar, too; + The clock strikes eight:-- + Now bring my baby's porridge straight. + + Englished by Charles T. Brooks. + + THE CASTLE IN AUSTRIA + + From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn' + + + There lies a castle in Austria, + Right goodly to behold, + Walled tip with marble stones so fair, + With silver and with red gold. + + Therein lies captive a young boy, + For life and death he lies bound, + Full forty fathoms under the earth, + 'Midst vipers and snakes around. + + His father came from Rosenberg, + Before the tower he went:-- + "My son, my dearest son, how hard + Is thy imprisonment!" + + "O father, dearest father mine, + So hardly I am bound, + Full forty fathoms under the earth, + 'Midst vipers and snakes around!" + + His father went before the lord:-- + "Let loose thy captive to me! + I have at home three casks of gold, + And these for the boy I'll gi'e." + + "Three casks of gold, they help you not: + That boy, and he must die! + He wears round his neck a golden chain; + Therein doth his ruin lie." + + "And if he thus wear a golden chain, + He hath not stolen it; nay! + A maiden good gave it to him + For true love, did she say." + + They led the boy forth from the tower, + And the sacrament took he:-- + "Help thou, rich Christ, from heaven high, + It's come to an end with me!" + + They led him to the scaffold place, + Up the ladder he must go:-- + "O headsman, dearest headsman, do + But a short respite allow!" + + "A short respite I must not grant; + Thou wouldst escape and fly: + Reach me a silken handkerchief + Around his eyes to tie." + + "Oh, do not, do not bind mine eyes! + I must look on the world so fine; + I see it to-day, then never more, + With these weeping eyes of mine." + + His father near the scaffold stood, + And his heart, it almost rends:-- + "O son, O thou my dearest son, + Thy death I will avenge!" + + "O father, dearest father mine! + My death thou shalt not avenge: + 'Twould bring to my soul but heavy pains; + Let me die in innocence. + + "It is not for this life of mine, + Nor for my body proud; + 'Tis but for my dear mother's sake: + At home she weeps aloud." + + Not yet three days had passed away, + When an angel from heaven came down: + "Take ye the boy from the scaffold away; + Else the city shall sink under ground!" + + And not six months had passed away, + Ere his death was avenged amain; + And upwards of three hundred men + For the boy's life were slain. + + Who is it that hath made this lay, + Hath sung it, and so on? + That, in Vienna in Austria, + Three maidens fair have done. + + + +ELISABETH BRENTANO (BETTINA VON ARNIM) + +(1785-1859) + +No 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. + +[Illustration: ELISABETH BRENTANO] + +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 Guenderode. 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.' + +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. + +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 gehoert dem Koenig' (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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +DEDICATION: TO GOETHE + +From 'Goethe's Correspondence with a Child' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +TO GOETHE + +CASSEL, August 13th, 1807. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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 _tone_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +BETTINA'S LAST MEETING WITH GOETHE + +From a Letter to her Niece in 1824, first published in 1896 + +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. + + + IN GOETHE'S GARDEN + + I from this hillock all my world survey! + Yon vale, bedecked by nature's fairy fingers, + Where the still by-road picturesquely lingers, + The cottage white whose quaint charms grace the way-- + These are the scenes that o'er my heart hold sway. + + I from this hillock all my world survey! + Though I ascend to heights fair lands dividing, + Where stately ships I see the ocean riding, + While cities gird the view in proud array, + Naught prompts my heart's impulses to obey. + + I from this hillock all my world survey! + And could I stand while Paradise descrying, + Still for these verdant meads should I be sighing, + Where thy dear roof-peaks skirt the verdant way: + Beyond these bounds my heart longs not to stray. + + + +JOHN BRIGHT + +(1811-1889) + +John 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. + +[Illustration: JOHN BRIGHT] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FROM THE SPEECH ON THE CORN LAWS (1843) + +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. + +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? + +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.... + +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. + + "Bread-taxed weaver, all can see + What the tax hath done for thee, + And thy children, vilely led, + Singing hymns for shameful bread, + Till the stones of every street + Know their little naked feet." + +This is what the Corn Law does for the weavers of my neighborhood, and +for the weavers and artisans of yours.... + +FROM THE SPEECH ON INCENDIARISM IN IRELAND (1844) + +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. + +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.... + +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? + +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. + +FROM THE SPEECH ON NON-RECOGNITION OF THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY (1861) + +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. + +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. + +FROM THE SPEECH ON THE STATE OF IRELAND (1866) + +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. + +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.... + +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.... + +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:-- + + "This, too, for certain know, that underneath + The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs + Into these bubbles make the surface heave, + As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn." + +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?" + +FROM THE SPEECH ON THE IRISH ESTABLISHED CHURCH + +(1868) + +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. + + + +BRILLAT-SAVARIN + +(1755-1826) + +Brillat-Savarin was a French magistrate and legislator, whose reputation +as man of letters rests mainly upon a single volume, his inimitable +'Physiologie du Gout'. Although writing in the present century, he was +essentially a Frenchman of the old regime, 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 _vin bourru_" + +[Illustration: Brillat-Savarin] + +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 Gout', 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 Dole, to "obtain from the +Representative Prot 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 Prot, 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 _fricassee_ 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." + +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!" + +Natural scenery did not appeal to Savarin; to him Switzerland meant the +restaurant of the Lion d'Argent, at Lausanne, where "for only 15 _batz_ +we passed in review three complete courses;" the _table d'hote_ of the +Rue de Rosny; and the little village of Moudon, where the cheese +_fondue_ 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. + +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 Gout'--"that _olla podrida_ 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 ragout of gastronomic precepts and spicy anecdote, doubly +piquant for its prevailing tone of mock seriousness and intentional +grandiloquence. + +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 _Poularde fine de Bresse_, the +pheasant, "an enigma of which the key-word is known only to the adepts," +a _saute_ 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 _Rue du Bac_, "a bonbon +which I have put into the reader's mouth to recompense him for his +kindness in having read me with pleasure"? + +'Physiologic du Gout' 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 +'Varietes' he has incongruously inserted a dolorous little poem, the +burden of each verse being "Je vais mourir." The 'Physiologic du Gout' +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. + + + +FROM THE 'PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE' + +THE PRIVATIONS + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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 +_matelote_ and the delights of a fricassee of chicken. + +How I pity you! + +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 _a la vanille_ or _a +la rose_; hardly did you rise to the height of a spice-cake. + +How I pity you! + +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! + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + +Superb chatelaines, 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. + +How I pity you! + +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. + +How I pity you! + + + +ON THE LOVE OF GOOD LIVING + +I have consulted the dictionaries under the word _gourmandise_, 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. + +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. + +_Gourmandise_, 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. _Gourmandise_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +What is the power that came to our assistance? Who is the divinity that +worked this miracle? The love of good living. + +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!" + +That was a lucky time for those who provide for the enjoyments of the +sense of taste. Very 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. + +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. + +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 _gourmande_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +ON PEOPLE FOND OF GOOD LIVING + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 +_fermiers-generaux_, no abbes 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_corpus delicti_ 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!" + +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." + +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 Moliere, +which were received by their contemporaries with coldness. + +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. + +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. + +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 +Moliere, whose religion consists in outward show;--nothing to do with +those who are really pious and charitable. + +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. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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 +Besancon) 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. + +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 abbes. 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 abbe 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. + +So far from good living being hurtful to health, it has been +arithmetically proved by Dr. Villerme in an able paper read before the +Academie des Sciences, that other things being equal, the gourmands live +longer than ordinary men. + + + +CHARLOTTE BRONTE AND HER SISTERS + +(1816-1855) + +The least that can be said of Charlotte Bronte 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 Bronte that +the four novels 'Jane Eyre,' 'Shirley,' 'Villette,' and 'The Professor' +might with some justice be termed 'Charlotte Bronte; 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 Bronte 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. + +Public interest in Charlotte Bronte 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." + +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. + +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 Bronte'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. + +But Charlotte Bronte'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 +Caedmon 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." + +[Illustration: Charlotte Bronte] + +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. +Bronte 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 +Bronte, 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." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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 Bronte sisters went forth to +the world, was reviewed with mild favor in some few periodicals, and was +lost to sight. + +Then came a period of novel-writing. As a result, Emily Bronte's +'Wuthering Heights,' Anne Bronte's 'Agnes Grey,' and Charlotte Bronte'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 Bronte +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. + +After its publication and the sensation produced, Charlotte Bronte +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. + +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. + +Such are the main facts of this reserved life of Charlotte Bronte. 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. + +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. + +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 Bronte, 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. + +Personally Charlotte Bronte 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. + +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. + +Emily Bronte 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. + +Anne Bronte 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 Bronte, 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. + +In studying the work of Charlotte Bronte, 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 Bronte's +characters are individual creations, not types constructed out of +elements gathered from a wide observation of human nature, and that they +are _real_ 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 Bronte'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. + +"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 Bronte revolted. +Her effort was always toward realism. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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 Bronte 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 Bronte'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. + +Of the unusual, the improbable, the highly colored in Charlotte Bronte'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 Bronte'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 Bronte's work as a whole:--"It is a true thing; it +really happened." + +JANE EYRE'S WEDDING DAY + +From 'Jane Eyre' + +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. + +"Stop!" she cried in French, "Look at yourself in the mirror; you have +not taken one peep." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Is John getting the carriage ready?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Is the luggage brought down?" + +"They are bringing it down, sir." + +"Go you to the church; see if Mr. Wood" (the clergyman) "and the clerk +are there; return and tell me." + +The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; the +footman soon returned. + +"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice." + +"And the carriage?" + +"The horses are harnessing." + +"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." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Jane, are you ready?" + +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. + +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. + +At the churchyard wicket he stopped; he discovered I was quite out of +breath. + +"Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant; lean on me, Jane." + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +"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." + +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." + +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!" + +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." + +"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." + +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! + +Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the impediment?" he +asked. "Perhaps it may be got over--explained away?" + +"Hardly," was the answer: "I have called it insuperable, and I speak +advisedly." + +The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, uttering +each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly. + +"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. +Rochester has a wife now living." + +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. + +"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder. + +"My name is Briggs, a solicitor of ---- Street, London." + +"And you would thrust on me a wife?" + +"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law +recognizes if you do not." + +"Favor me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, her +place of abode." + +"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and read +out in a sort of official, nasal voice:-- + +"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." + +"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." + +"She was living three months ago," returned the lawyer. + +"How do you know?" + +"I have a witness to the fact whose testimony even you, sir, will +scarcely controvert." + +"Produce him--or go to hell!" + +"I will produce him first--he is on the spot: Mr. Mason, have the +goodness to step forward." + +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. + +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 _you_ to say?" + +An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips. + +"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again demand, +what have _you_ to say?" + +"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?" + +"Courage," urged the lawyer; "speak out." + +"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in more articulate +tones. "I saw her there last April. I am her brother." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 _my wife_! 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." + +Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen came +after. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage. + +"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester, coolly: "it +will not be wanted to-day." + +At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet and +greet us. + +"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master: "away with your +congratulations! Who wants them? Not I! they are fifteen years +too late!" + +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. + +"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and stabbed you +here." + +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. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Poole," said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how is +your charge to-day?" + +"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the boiling +mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not 'rageous." + +A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favorable report: the clothed +hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet. + +"Ah, sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not stay." + +"Only a few moments, Grace; you must allow me a few moments." + +"Take care then, sir! for God's sake, take care!" + +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. + +"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside; "she has +no knife now, I suppose? and I'm on my guard." + +"One never knows what she has, sir, she is so cunning; it is not in +mortal discretion to fathom her craft." + +"We had better leave her," whispered Mason. + +"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation. + +"'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. + +"That is _my wife_," 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 _this_ 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 ragout. 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"My uncle? What of him? Do you know him?" + +"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. + +"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. + +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 _now I thought_. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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; +_that_ 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! + +MADAME BECK + +(From 'Villette') + +"You ayre Engliss?" said a voice at my elbow. I almost bounded, so +unexpected was the sound; so certain had I been of solitude. + +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. + +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 "maitresse," who had been partly educated in an Irish +convent, and was esteemed a perfect adept in the English language. A +bluff little personage this maitresse 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. + +"Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises," said she: +"sont-elles done intrepides, ces femmes-la!" + +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.... + +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. + +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, +Anglice or Hibernice 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.... + +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. + +In the long run, I found that she was something else in petticoats too. +Her name was Modeste Maria Beck, nee 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. + +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. +_Surveillance, espionnage_, these were her watchwords. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _feelings_ 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 _poor man_, +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. + +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? + + + + + +A YORKSHIRE LANDSCAPE + +From 'Shirley' + +"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunneley dale and +wood." + +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. + +"Our England is a bonnie island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire is one of +her bonniest nooks." + +"You are a Yorkshire girl too?" + +"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." + +Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and +shaken. "We are compatriots," said she. + +"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod. + +"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is +Nunnwood?" + +"It is." + +"Were you ever there?" + +"Many a time." + +"In the heart of it?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it like?" + +"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." + +"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?" + +"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?" + +"Yes, distinctly." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +THE END OF HEATHCLIFF + +From Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"And he spoke to me," she added with a perplexed look. + +"What did he say?" asked Hareton. + +"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." + +"How?" he inquired. + +"Why, almost bright and cheerful--no, almost nothing--_very much_ +excited, and wild, and glad!" she replied. + +"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. + +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. + +"Will you have some breakfast?" I said. "You must be hungry, rambling +about all night!" + +I wanted to discover where he had been; but I did not like to ask +directly. + +"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. + +I felt perplexed--I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity +to offer a bit of admonition. + +"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!" + +"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." + +I obeyed; and in passing, I saw he breathed as fast as a cat. + +"Yes!" I reflected to myself, "we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot +conceive what he has been doing!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well, is he coming?" cried Catherine, when he returned. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Where should good news come from to me?" he said. "I'm animated with +hunger; and seemingly I must not eat." + +"Your dinner is here," I returned: "why won't you get it?" + +"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." + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, and +commenced shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his. + +"Must I close this?" I asked, in order to rouse him, for he would not +stir. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"He has staid at home," I thought, "and he'll be all right to-day!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He didn't notice me, and yet he smiled. I'd rather have seen him gnash +his teeth than smile so. + +"Mr. Heathcliff! master!" I cried. "Don't, for God's sake, stare as if +you saw an unearthly vision." + +"Don't, for God's sake, shout so loud," he replied. "Turn round and tell +me, are we by ourselves?" + +"Of course," was my answer, "of course we are!" + +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. + +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. + +The fancied object was not fixed either; his eyes pursued it with +unwearied vigilance, and even in speaking to me, were never weaned away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +"Nelly, come here--is it morning? Come in with your light." + +"It is striking four," I answered; "you want a candle to take +upstairs--you might have lighted one at this fire." + +"No, I don't wish to go upstairs," he said. "Come in, and kindle _me_ a +fire, and do anything there is to do about the room." + +"I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any," I replied, +getting a chair and the bellows. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Happy, master?" I cried. "Strange happiness! If you would hear me +without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make +you happier." + +"What is that?" he asked. "Give it." + +"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?" + +"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 _my_ +heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me!" + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I believe you think me a fiend!" he said, with his dismal laugh; +"something too horrible to live under a decent roof!" + +Then turning to Catherine, who was there, and who drew behind me at his +approach, he added, half sneeringly:-- + +"Will _you_ come, chuck? I'll not hurt you. No! to you I've made myself +worse than the devil. Well, there is _one_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _walks_. 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. + +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. + +"What is the matter, my little man?" I asked. + +"They's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t' nab," he blubbered, "un' +aw darnut pass 'em." + +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! + + * * * * * + +"They are going to the Grange, then?" I said. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Dean, "as soon as they are married; and that will +be on New Year's day." + +"And who will live here then?" + +"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." + +"For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it," I observed. + +"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." + +At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning. + +"_They_ are afraid of nothing," I grumbled, watching their approach +through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and all +his legions." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +PHILLIPS BROOKS + +(1835-1893) + +Phillips 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: PHILIPS BROOKS.] + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + + + + + O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM + + + O little town of Bethlehem, + How still we see thee lie! + Above thy deep and dreamless sleep + The silent stars go by. + Yet in thy dark streets shineth + The everlasting Light; + The hopes and fears of all the years + Are met in thee to-night. + + O morning stars, together + Proclaim the holy birth! + And praises sing to God the King, + And peace to men on earth. + For Christ is born of Mary, + And gathered all above; + While mortals sleep the angels keep + Their watch of wondering love. + + How silently, how silently, + The wondrous gift is given! + So God imparts to human hearts + The blessings of his heaven. + No ear may hear his coming; + But in this world of sin, + Where meek souls will receive him still, + The dear Christ enters in. + +Where children pure and happy + Pray to the blessed Child, + Where Misery cries out to thee, + Son of the Mother mild; + Where Charity stands watching, + And Faith holds wide the door, + The dark night wakes; the glory breaks, + And Christmas comes once more. + + O holy Child of Bethlehem, + Descend to us, we pray! + Cast out our sin and enter in; + Be born in us to-day. + We hear the Christmas angels + The great glad tidings tell; + O come to us, abide with us, + Our Lord Emmanuel! + + Copyrighted by E.P. Dutton and Company, New York. +[Illustration] + +_THE HOLY CHILD OF BETHLEHEM_. + +Photogravure from a Painting by H. Havenith. + +"Where children pure and happy Pray to the blessed Child." + + + +PERSONAL CHARACTER + +From 'Essays and Addresses' + +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. + +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. + +Copyrighted by E.P. Dutton and Company, New York. + + + +THE COURAGE OF OPINIONS + +From 'Essays and Addresses' + +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. + +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? ... + +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. + + + +LITERATURE AND LIFE + +From 'Essays and Addresses' + +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. + +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. + + + +CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN (1771-1810) + +Not 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. + +[Illustration: CHARLES B. BROWN] + +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-mediaevalists 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. + +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 Chateaubriand 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. + +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:-- + + "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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_American_ letters. + + + +WIELAND'S STATEMENT + +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:-- + +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! + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +"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!" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +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. + +I looked away from her, and, again exerting my force, drew her toward +the door. "You must go with me; indeed you must." + +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?" + +"Follow me and you will see," I answered, still urging her reluctant +steps forward. + +"What frenzy has seized you? Something must needs have happened. Is she +sick? Have you found her?" + +"Come and see. Follow me and know for yourself." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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:-- + +"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?" + +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:--- + +"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:-- + +"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!" + +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?" + +"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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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! + +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 _mere +man_. 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. + +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 _was calm_. 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 _be comforted_. + +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!--" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + + +JOHN BROWN + +(1810-1882) + +John 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. + +[Illustration: JOHN BROWN] + +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. + +He contributed largely to the North British Review. In 1855 he published +'Horae Subsceivae,' 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. + +Another volume of 'Horae Subsceivae' 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 'Horae Subsceivae,' which included all his writings. A few +weeks after its publication he died. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.'" + + * * * * * + +MARJORIE FLEMING + +From 'Spare Hours' + +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. + +The three friends sought the _bield_ of the low wall old Edinburgh boys +remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stout +west wind.... + +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? + +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. + +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,-- + + "'My spinnin' wheel is auld and stiff, + The rock o't wunna stand, sir; + To keep the temper-pin in tiff + Employs ower aft my hand, sir.' + +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 _maud_ (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 +_cleanliness_ and freshness of mind and body, made old age lovely and +desirable." + +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 _on-ding o' snaw_!" 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 _cul-de-sac_]. "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. + +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,-- + + "Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven; + Alibi, crackaby, ten and eleven; + Pin, pan, musky dan; + Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, twenty-wan; + Eerie, orie, ourie, + You, are, out." + +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. + +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.... + +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." + +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. + +There she is, looking straight at us as she did at him,--fearless and +full of love, passionate, wild, willful, fancy's child. + + * * * * * + +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 L3 a year, and when she left service she had saved +L40. 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 _nieve_ +(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 _dust_, ye thrawn deevil?" with a cuff from the opened hand, was the +as inevitable rejoinder. + +Here is Maidie's first letter, before she was six, the spelling +unaltered, and there are no "commoes." + +"MY DEAR ISA--I now sit down to answer all your kind and 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." + +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 _be_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:-- + +"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." + +"I am at Ravelston enjoying nature's fresh air. The birds are singing +sweetly--the calf doth frisk and nature shows her glorious face." + +Here is a confession: + +"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." + +Our poor little wifie, _she_ 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." + +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" (_pauvre petite_!) "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. + +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; _but then Jesus was not +then come to teach us to be merciful_." 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. + +"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." + +This amount of meditation and thankfulness seems to have been all she +was able for. + +"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." + +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 _splore_; and when George the +Fourth came to Edinburgh, this ceremony was performed in silver +at Holyrood. + +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 _Now_ and _Then_. 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 _deaved_ the dove. Everything about the +place is old and fresh. + +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"!] + +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." + +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"! + +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." + +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"--_(Blandula! Vagula! coelum et animum mutas quoe trans mare_ +[i.e., _trans Bodotriam] curris!_)--"my native town." + +"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!" + +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." (!) + +"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." + +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, _clacked_". "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! + +She seems now, when still about six, to have broken out into song:-- + + EPHIBOL [EPIGRAM OR EPITAPH--WHO KNOWS WHICH?] ON MY DEAR + LOVE ISABELLA. + + "Here lies sweet Isabel in bed, + With a night-cap on her head; + Her skin is soft, her face is fair, + And she has very pretty hair; + She and I in bed lies nice, + And undisturbed by rats or mice. + She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan, + Though he plays upon the organ. + Her nails are neat, her teeth are white, + Her eyes are very, very bright. + In a conspicuous town she lives, + And to the poor her money gives. + Here ends sweet Isabella's story, + And may it be much to her glory." + +Here are some bits at random:-- + + "Of summer I am very fond, + And love to bathe into a pond: + The look of sunshine dies away, + And will not let me out to play; + I love the morning's sun to spy + Glittering through the casement's eye; + The rays of light are very sweet, + And puts away the taste of meat; + The balmy breeze comes down from heaven, + And makes us like for to be living." + +"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! + +"Braehead is extremely pleasant to me by the companie of swine, geese, +cocks, etc., and they are the delight of my soul." + +"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." + +"Queen Street is a very gay one, and so is Princes Street, for all the +lads and lasses, besides bucks and beggars, parade there" + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"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? + +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." + +She begins thus loftily,-- + + "Death the righteous love to see, + But from it doth the wicked flee." + +Then suddenly breaks off [as if with laughter],-- + +"I am sure they fly as fast as their legs can carry them!" + + "There is a thing I love to see, + That is our monkey catch a flee." + + "I love in Isa's bed to lie, + Oh, such a joy and luxury! + The bottom of the bed I sleep, + And with great care within I creep; + Oft I embrace her feet of lillys, + But she has goton all the pillys. + Her neck I never can embrace, + But I do hug her feet in place." + +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." + +Here is one of her swains:-- + + "Very soft and white his cheeks, + His hair is red, and gray his breeks; + His tooth is like the daisy fair, + His only fault is in his hair." + +This is a higher flight:-- + + DEDICATED TO MRS. H. CRAWFORD BY THE AUTHOR, M. F. + + "Three turkeys fair their last have breathed, + And now this world forever leaved; + Their father, and their mother too, + They sigh and weep as well as you; + Indeed, the rats their bones have crunched, + Into eternity theire laanched. + A direful death indeed they had, + As wad put any parent mad; + But she was more than usual calm: + She did not give a single dam." + +This last word is saved from all sin by its tender age, not to speak of +the want of the _n_. We fear "she" is the abandoned mother, in spite of +her previous sighs and tears. + +"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." + +She has a long poem on Mary Queen of Scots:-- + + "Queen Mary was much loved by all, + Both by the great and by the small, + But hark! her soul to heaven doth rise? + And I suppose she has gained a prize; + For I do think she would not go + Into the _awful_ place below. + There is a thing that I must tell-- + Elizabeth went to fire and hell! + He who would teach her to be civil, + It must be her great friend, the divil!" + +She hits off Darnley well:-- + + "A noble's son,--a handsome lad,-- + By some queer way or other, had + Got quite the better of her heart; + With him she always talked apart: + Silly he was, but very fair; + A greater buck was not found there." + +"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! + + SONNET TO A MONKEY + + O lively, O most charming pug: + Thy graceful air and heavenly mug! + The beauties of his mind do shine, + And every bit is shaped and fine. + Your teeth are whiter than the snow; + Your a great buck, your a great beau; + Your eyes are of so nice a shape, + More like a Christian's than an ape; + Your cheek is like the rose's blume; + Your hair is like the raven's plume; + His nose's cast is of the Roman: + He is a very pretty woman. + I could not get a rhyme for Roman, + So was obliged to call him woman. + +This last joke is good. She repeats it when writing of James the Second +being killed at Roxburgh:-- + + He was killed by a cannon splinter, + Quite in the middle of the winter; + Perhaps it was not at that time, + But I can get no other rhyme. + +Here is one of her last letters, dated Kirkcaldy, 12th October, 1811. +You can see how her nature is deepening and enriching:-- + + 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 + + MARJORY FLEMING. + + P.S.--An old pack of cards (!) would be very exceptible. + +This other is a month earlier:-- + + "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 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_, + + M. FLEMING." + +What rich involution of love in the words marked! Here are some lines to +her beloved Isabella, in July, 1811:-- + + "There is a thing that I do want-- + With you these beauteous walks to haunt; + We would be happy if you would + Try to come over if you could. + Then I would all quite happy be + _Now and for all eternity_. + My mother is so very sweet, + _And checks my appetite to eat_; + My father shows us what to do; + But O I'm sure that I want you. + I have no more of poetry; + O Isa do remember me, + And try to love your Marjory." + +In a letter from "Isa" to + + "Miss Muff Maidie Marjory Fleming, + favored by Rare Rear-Admiral Fleming," + +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?" + +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:-- + + Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene + +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.... + +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!'" + +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 +_animosa infans_ 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.... + +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 _not_ Mrs. Murray Keith, although very intimately +acquainted with that old lady.... + +"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." + +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.... + +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 _think_, 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:-- + + 'Oh! Isa, pain did visit me, + I was at the last extremity; + How often did I think of you, + I wished your graceful form to view, + To clasp you in my weak embrace, + Indeed I thought I'd run my race: + Good care, I'm sure, was of me taken, + But still indeed I was much shaken. + At last I daily strength did gain, + And oh! at last, away went pain; + At length the doctor thought I might + Stay in the parlor all the night; + I now continue so to do; + Farewell to Nancy and to you.' + +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." + + "Soft, silken primrose, fading timelessly!" + +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,--_moriens canit_,--and that love which is so soon to +be her everlasting light, is her song's burden to the end. + + "She set as sets the morning star, which goes + Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides + Obscured among the tempests of the sky, + But melts away into the light of heaven." + +THE DEATH OF THACKERAY + +From 'Spare Hours' + +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. + +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? +_It is I who ought to be angry and unforgiving, for I was in the +wrong_.'" _Odisse quem laeseris_ 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:-- + +"Oh, the sad old pages, the dull old pages; oh, the cares, the _ennui_, +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." + + * * * * * + +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-- + + "That happy morn + Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, + Of wedded maid and virgin-mother born, + Our great redemption from above did bring." + +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? + +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:-- + + "Who knows the inscrutable design? + Blest He who took and He who gave! + Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, + Be weeping at her darling's grave? + We bow to heaven that willed it so, + That darkly rules the fate of all, + That sends the respite or the blow, + That's free to give or to recall." + + + +CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE (ARTEMUS WARD) + +(1834-1867) + +BY CHARLES F. JOHNSON + +Charles 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. + +[Illustration: Charles F. Browne] + +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. + +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. + +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 _reductio ad +absurdum_ 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. + +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 _ab extra_. 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 _qua flunky_, as a +naturalist might study an animal, and hardly ranks him _sub specie +humanitatis_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + + + +EDWIN FORREST AS OTHELLO + +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?" + +"No," sez he. + +"Wall," sez I, "I'd appint your funeral to-morrow arternoon, & the +_korps should be ready_. You're too smart to live on this yerth." + +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. + +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! + +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! + +Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company, New York. + +HIGH-HANDED OUTRAGE AT UTICA + +In the fall of 1856 I showed my show in Utiky, a trooly grate sitty in +the State of New York. + +The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The press was loud in her +prases. + +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. + +"What under the son are you abowt?" cried I. + +Sez he, "What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?" & he hit +the wax figger another tremenjus blow on the hed. + +Sez I, "You egrejus ass that air's a wax figger--a representashun of the +false 'Postle." + +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. + +Copyrighted by G.W. Dillingham and Company, New York. + +AFFAIRS ROUND THE VILLAGE GREEN + +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, _he_ 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. + +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. + +Copyrighted by G. W. Dillingham and Company. + +MR. PEPPER + +From 'Artemus Ward: His Travels' + +My arrival at Virginia City was signalized by the following incident:-- + +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: + +"What name?" + +"Wait!" he said, and went out. + +I heard him pacing unsteadily up and down the hall outside. + +In ten minutes he returned, and said, "Pepper!" + +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. + +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. + +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 _a dissipated air!_ + +HORACE GREELEY'S RIDE TO PLACERVILLE + +From 'Artemus Ward: His Travels' + +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. + +At one town the enthusiastic populace tore his celebrated white coat to +pieces and carried the pieces home to remember him by. + +The citizens of Placerville prepared to fete 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 feted 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." + +The roads were in an awful state, and during the first few miles out of +Folsom slow progress was made. + +"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "are you aware that I must be in Placerville at +seven o'clock to-night?" + +"I've got my orders!" laconically replied Henry Monk. + +Still the coach dragged slowly forward. + +"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter. I _must_ be +there at seven!" + +Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!" + +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. + +"That is right, my good fellow," said Mr. Greeley. "I'll give you ten +dollars when we get to Placerville. Now we are going!" + +They were indeed, and at a terrible speed. + +Crack, crack! went the whip, and again "that voice" split the air, "Get +up! Hi-yi! G'long! Yip-yip." + +And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a rate of +speed never before achieved by stage horses. + +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:-- + +"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?" + +"I've got my orders!" That was all Henry Monk said. And on tore the +coach. + +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." + +"Sir," he said, "I don't care-care-air if we _don't_ get there at +seven." + +"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. + +"See here!" shrieked Mr. Greeley, "I don't care if we don't get there at +all." + +"I've got my orders! I work fer the California Stage Company, I do. +That's wot I _work_ fer. They said, 'Get this man through by seving.' +An' this man's goin' through, you bet! Gerlong! Whoo-ep!" + +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. + +"Stop, you--maniac!" he roared. + +Again answered Henry Monk:-- + +"I've got my orders! _Keep your seat, Horace!_" + +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. + +The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of Mud Springs, and Mr. Monk +reined in his foam-covered steeds. + +"Is Mr. Greeley on board?" asked the chairman of the committee. + +"_He was, a few miles back_!" 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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"_I've got my orders_!" 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +SIR THOMAS BROWNE + +(1605-1682) + +BY FRANCIS BACON + +When Sir Thomas Browne, in the last decade of his life, was asked to +furnish data for the writing of his memoirs in Wood's 'Athenae +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." + +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. + +[Illustration: SIR THOMAS BROWNE] + +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. + +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. + +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" (_generosa familia_, 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 +mediaeval 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." + +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 L9,000, 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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _maestissima +conjux_, as her husband's stately epitaph, rich with many an _issimus_, +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _horae subsecivae_ 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.' + +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[1]. + +[Footnote 1: 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.] + +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[2]." +Here we have the right background and accessories for Whitefoot's +portrait of the central figure:-- + + "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." + +[Footnote 2: 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.] + +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. + +He was buried in the church of St. Peter Mancroft, where his monument +still claims regard as chief among the _memorabilia_ of that noble +sanctuary[3]. + +[Footnote 3: 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."] + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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 AEolian harp answering the wind, and lingers not for applause or +explanation. His being + + "Those thoughts that wander through eternity," + +he means that we too shall "have a glimpse of incomprehensibles, and +thoughts of things which thoughts but tenderly touch." + +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. + +"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. + +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 [_sc._ 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 _fluctus decumanus_ gathering in the tide of +Puritanism, the likeness would have been closer. + +"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? + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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 _amicus curiae_, 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. + +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 Linnaeus, "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." + +[Illustration: Signature: Fr's. Bacon] + + + +FROM THE 'RELIGIO MEDICI' + +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. + +As for those wingy mysteries in divinity, and airy subtleties in +religion, which have unhinged the brains of better heads, they never +stretched the _pia mater_ 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 _O altitudo!_ '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. + +In my solitary and retired imagination, + + "Neque enim cum lectulus aut me + Porticus excepit, desum mihi"-- + +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 am that I am_, 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 _predestination_, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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 _utinam_ 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. + +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 quaerentibus magnalia naturae, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 _ubi_, 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. + +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. + +That which is the cause of my election I hold to be the cause of my +salvation, which was the mercy and _beneplacit_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _a la volee_, 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. + +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. + +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 +_the music of the spheres_; 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. + +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. + +FROM 'CHRISTIAN MORALS' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Caesar, 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. + +FROM 'HYDRIOTAPHIA, OR URN-BURIAL' + +In the Jewish Hypogaeum 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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[4]; +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. + +[Footnote 4: According to the custom of the Jews, who placed a lighted +wax candle in a pot of ashes by the corpse.] + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FROM 'A FRAGMENT ON MUMMIES' + +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. + +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 _ubi_ 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.... + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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 _mortua_, or be elbowed +by mummies. + +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 _hospitia_, 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. + +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. + + + +FROM 'A LETTER TO A FRIEND' + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Although he attained not unto the years of his predecessors, yet he +wanted not those preserving virtues which confirm the thread of weaker +constitutions. _Cautelous_ chastity and _crafty_ sobriety were far from +him; those jewels were _paragon_, without flaw, hair, ice, or cloud in +him: which affords me a hint to proceed in these good wishes and few +mementos unto you. + + + +SOME RELATIONS WHOSE TRUTH WE FEAR + +From 'Pseudoxia Epidemica' + +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. + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE + +(1591-1643) + +Among 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." + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "I truly know + How men are born and whither they shall go; + I know that like to silkworms of one year, + Or like a kind and wronged lover's tear, + Or on the pathless waves a rudder's dint, + Or like the little sparkles of a flint, + Or like to thin round cakes with cost perfum'd, + Or fireworks only made to be consum'd: + I know that such is man, and all that trust + In that weak piece of animated dust. + The silkworm droops, the lover's tears soon shed, + The ship's way quickly lost, the sparkle dead; + The cake burns out in haste, the firework's done, + And man as soon as these as quickly gone." + +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:-- + + "Hail, thou my native soil! thou blessed plot + Whose equal all the world affordeth not! + Show me who can, so many crystal rills, + Such sweet-cloth'd valleys or aspiring hills; + Such wood-ground, pastures, quarries, wealthy mines; + Such rocks in whom the diamond fairly shines." + +And in another place he says:-- + + "And Tavy in my rhymes + Challenge a due; let it thy glory be + That famous Drake and I were born by thee." + +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). + +"In the third song of the Second Book," says Mr. Bullen in his +preface,-- + + "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 + + 'that you are fain + Where you last walked to turn and walk again.' + + 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." + +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:-- + + "Drayton and Browne,--with smiles they drew + From outward Nature, still kept new + From their own inward nature true." + +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. + + + + CIRCE'S CHARM + + Song from the 'Inner Temple Masque' + + + Son of Erebus and night, + Hie away; and aim thy flight + Where consort none other fowl + Than the bat and sullen owl; + Where upon thy limber grass, + Poppy and mandragoras, + With like simples not a few, + Hang forever drops of dew; + Where flows Lethe without coil + Softly like a stream of oil. + Hie thee hither, gentle sleep: + With this Greek no longer keep. + Thrice I charge thee by my wand, + Thrice with moly from my hand + Do I touch Ulysses's eyes, + And with the jaspis: then arise, + Sagest Greek! + +_CIRCE_. + +Photogravure from a Painting by E Burne-Jones. + +[Illustration] + + + + THE HUNTED SQUIRREL + + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + + + Then as a nimble squirrel from the wood + Ranging the hedges for his filbert food + Sits pertly on a bough, his brown nuts cracking, + And from the shell the sweet white kernel taking; + Till with their crooks and bags a sort of boys + To share with him come with so great a noise + That he is forced to leave a nut nigh broke, + And for his life leap to a neighbor oak, + Thence to a beach, thence to a row of ashes; + Whilst through the quagmires and red water plashes + The boys run dabbling through thick and thin; + One tears his hose, another breaks his shin; + This, torn and tattered, hath with much ado + Got by the briars; and that hath lost his shoe; + This drops his band; that headlong falls for haste; + Another cries behind for being last: + With sticks and stones and many a sounding holloa + The little fool with no small sport they follow, + Whilst he from tree to tree, from spray to spray + Gets to the woods and hides him in his dray. + + + + + AS CAREFUL MERCHANTS DO EXPECTING STAND + + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + + + As careful merchants do expecting stand, + After long time and merry gales of wind, + Upon the place where their brave ships must land, + So wait I for the vessel of my mind. + + Upon a great adventure is it bound, + Whose safe return will valued be at more + Than all the wealthy prizes which have crowned + The golden wishes of an age before. + + Out of the East jewels of worth she brings; + The unvalued diamond of her sparkling eye + Wants in the treasures of all Europe's kings; + And were it mine, they nor their crowns should buy. + + The sapphires ringed on her panting breast + Run as rich veins of ore about the mold, + And are in sickness with a pale possessed; + So true for them I should disvalue gold. + + The melting rubies on her cherry lip + Are of such power to hold, that as one day + Cupid flew thirsty by, he stooped to sip: + And, fastened there, could never get away. + + The sweets of Candy are no sweets to me + Where hers I taste: nor the perfumes of price, + Robbed from the happy shrubs of Araby, + As her sweet breath so powerful to entice. + + O hasten then! and if thou be not gone + Unto that wicked traffic through the main, + My powerful sigh shall quickly drive thee on, + And then begin to draw thee back again. + + If, in the mean, rude waves have it opprest, + It shall suffice, I ventured at the best. + + + + + SONG OF THE SIRENS + + From 'The Inner Temple Masque' + + + Steer hither, steer your winged pines, + All beaten mariners! + Here lie love's undiscovered mines, + A prey to passengers: + Perfumes far sweeter than the best + Which make the Phoenix's urn and nest. + Fear not your ships, + Nor any to oppose you save our lips, + But come on shore, + Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. + + For swelling waves our panting breasts, + Where never storms arise, + Exchange, and be awhile our guests: + For stars, gaze on our eyes. + The compass love shall hourly sing, + And as he goes about the ring, + We will not miss + To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. + Then come on shore, + Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. + + + + AN EPISTLE ON PARTING + + From 'Epistles' + + + Dear soul, the time is come, and we must part; + Yet, ere I go, in these lines read my heart: + A heart so just, so loving, and so true, + So full of sorrow and so full of you, + That all I speak or write or pray or mean,-- + And, which is all I can, all that I dream,-- + Is not without a sigh, a thought of you, + And as your beauties are, so are they true. + Seven summers now are fully spent and gone, + Since first I loved, loved you, and you alone; + And should mine eyes as many hundreds see, + Yet none but you should claim a right in me; + A right so placed that time shall never hear + Of one so vowed, or any loved so dear. + When I am gone, if ever prayers moved you, + Relate to none that I so well have loved you: + For all that know your beauty and desert, + Would swear he never loved that knew to part. + Why part we then? That spring, which but this day + Met some sweet river, in his bed can play, + And with a dimpled cheek smile at their bliss, + Who never know what separation is. + The amorous vine with wanton interlaces + Clips still the rough elm in her kind embraces: + Doves with their doves sit billing in the groves, + And woo the lesser birds to sing their loves: + Whilst hapless we in griefful absence sit, + Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen it. + + + + + SONNETS TO CAELIA + + + Fairest, when by the rules of palmistry, + You took my hand to try if you could guess, + By lines therein, if any wight there be + Ordained to make me know some happiness: + I wished that those characters could explain, + Whom I will never wrong with hope to win; + Or that by them a copy might be ta'en, + By you alone what thoughts I have within. + But since the hand of nature did not set + (As providently loath to have it known) + The means to find that hidden alphabet, + Mine eyes shall be the interpreters alone: + By them conceive my thoughts, and tell me, fair, + If now you see her that doth love me, there. + + Were't not for you, here should my pen have rest, + And take a long leave of sweet poesy; + Britannia's swains, and rivers far by west, + Should hear no more my oaten melody. + Yet shall the song I sung of them awhile + Unperfect lie, and make no further known + The happy loves of this our pleasant Isle, + Till I have left some record of mine own. + You are the subject now, and, writing you, + I well may versify, not poetize: + Here needs no fiction; for the graces true + And virtues clip not with base flatteries. + Here should I write what you deserve of praise; + Others might wear, but I should win, the bays. + + Fairest, when I am gone, as now the glass + Of Time is marked how long I have to stay, + Let me entreat you, ere from hence I pass, + Perhaps from you for ever more away,-- + Think that no common love hath fired my breast, + No base desire, but virtue truly known, + Which I may love, and wish to have possessed, + Were you the highest as fairest of any one. + 'Tis not your lovely eye enforcing flames, + Nor beauteous red beneath a snowy skin, + That so much binds me yours, or makes your fame's, + As the pure light and beauty shrined within: + Yet outward parts I must affect of duty, + As for the smell we like the rose's beauty. + + + +HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL + +(1820-1872) + +This 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 _par excellence_, the vigorous +chronicler of great actions. + +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. + +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. + + + ANNUS MEMORABILIS + + (CONGRESS, 1860-61) + + + Stand strong and calm as Fate! not a breath of scorn or hate-- + Of taunt for the base, or of menace for the strong-- + Since our fortunes must be sealed on that old and famous Field + Where the Right is set in battle with the Wrong. + 'Tis coming, with the loom of Khamsin or Simoom, + The tempest that shall try if we are of God or no-- + Its roar is in the sky,--and they there be which cry, + "Let us cower, and the storm may over-blow." + Now, nay! stand firm and fast! (that was a spiteful blast!) + This is not a war of men, but of Angels Good and Ill-- + 'Tis hell that storms at heaven--'tis the black and deadly Seven, + Sworn 'gainst the Shining Ones to work their damned will! + How the Ether glooms and burns, as the tide of combat turns, + And the smoke and dust above it whirl and float! + It eddies and it streams--and, certes, oft it seems + As the Sins had the Seraphs fairly by the throat. + But we all have read (in that Legend grand and dread), + How Michael and his host met the Serpent and his crew-- + Naught has reached us of the Fight--but if I have dreamed aright, + 'Twas a loud one and a long, as ever thundered through! + Right stiffly, past a doubt, the Dragon fought it out, + And his Angels, each and all, did for Tophet their devoir-- + There was creak of iron wings, and whirl of scorpion stings, + Hiss of bifid tongues, and the Pit in full uproar! + But, naught thereof enscrolled, in one brief line 'tis told + (Calm as dew the Apocalyptic Pen), + That on the Infinite Shore their place was found no more. + God send the like on this our earth! Amen. + + Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin and Company, Boston. + + + WORDS FOR THE 'HALLELUJAH CHORUS' + + Old John Brown lies a-moldering in the grave, + Old John Brown lies slumbering in his grave-- + But John Brown's soul is marching with the brave, + His soul is marching on. + + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + His soul is marching on. + + He has gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord; + He is sworn as a private in the ranks of the Lord,-- + He shall stand at Armageddon with his brave old sword, + When Heaven is marching on. + + He shall file in front where the lines of battle form, + He shall face to front when the squares of battle form-- + Time with the column, and charge in the storm, + Where men are marching on. + + Ah, foul Tyrants! do ye hear him where he comes? + Ah, black traitors! do ye know him as he comes, + In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums, + As we go marching on? + + Men may die, and molder in the dust-- + Men may die, and arise again from dust, + Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of the Just, + When Heaven is marching on. + + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + Glory, glory, hallelujah! + His soul is marching on. + + + COMING + + (APRIL, 1861) + + + World, are thou 'ware of a storm? + Hark to the ominous sound; + How the far-off gales their battle form, + And the great sea-swells feel ground! + + It comes, the Typhoon of Death-- + Nearer and nearer it comes! + The horizon thunder of cannon-breath + And the roar of angry drums! + + Hurtle, Terror sublime! + Swoop o'er the Land to-day-- + So the mist of wrong and crime, + The breath of our Evil Time + Be swept, as by fire, away! + + + + PSYCHAURA + + The wind of an autumn midnight + Is moaning around my door-- + The curtains wave at the window, + The carpet lifts on the floor. + + There are sounds like startled footfalls + In the distant chambers now, + And the touching of airy ringers + Is busy on hand and brow. + + 'Tis thus, in the Soul's dark dwelling-- + By the moody host unsought-- + Through the chambers of memory wander + The invisible airs of thought. + + For it bloweth where it listeth, + With a murmur loud or low; + Whence it cometh--whither it goeth-- + None tell us, and none may know. + + Now wearying round the portals + Of the vacant, desolate mind-- + As the doors of a ruined mansion, + That creak in the cold night wind. + + And anon an awful memory + Sweeps over it fierce and high-- + Like the roar of a mountain forest + When the midnight gale goes by. + + Then its voice subsides in wailing, + And, ere the dawning of day, + Murmuring fainter and fainter, + In the distance dies away. + + + SUSPIRIA NOCTIS + + + Reading, and reading--little is the gain + Long dwelling with the minds of dead men leaves. + List rather to the melancholy rain, + Drop--dropping from the eaves. + + Still the old tale--how hardly worth the telling! + Hark to the wind!--again that mournful sound, + That all night long, around this lonely dwelling, + Moans like a dying hound. + + + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING + +(1809-1861) + +It is interesting to step back sixty years into the lives of Miss +Mitford and her "dear young friend Miss Barrett," when the _-esses_ 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 AEschylus, 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." + +[Illustration: Mrs. Browning] + +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 AEschylus. 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. + +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. + +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-- + + "If thou wilt love me, let it be for naught + Except for love's sake only--" + +does not fall far short of Shakespeare. + +'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:-- + + "For 'tis not in mere death that men die most: + And after our first girding of the loins + In youth's fine linen and fair broidery, + To run up-hill and meet the rising sun, + We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool, + While others gird us with the violent bands + Of social figments, feints, and formalisms, + Reversing our straight nature, lifting up + Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts, + Head downwards on the cross-sticks of the world. + Yet He can pluck us from that shameful cross. + God, set our feet low and our foreheads high, + And teach us how a man was made to walk!" + +Or this:-- + + "I've waked and slept through many nights and days + Since then--but still that day will catch my breath + Like a nightmare. There are fatal days, indeed, + In which the fibrous years have taken root + So deeply, that they quiver to their tops + Whene'er you stir the dust of such a day." + +Again:-- + + "Passion is + But something suffered after all-- + . . . . . While Art + + Sets action on the top of suffering." + +And this:-- + + "Nothing is small! + No lily-muffled hum of summer-bee + But finds some coupling with the spinning stars; + No pebble at your foot but proves a sphere: + . . . . . Earth's crammed with Heaven, + And every common bush afire with God; + But only he who sees, takes off his shoes." + +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. + +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, + + "And good for God, himself the essential Good! + We'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect, + Although our woman-hands should shake and fail." + +This was her achievement--her hands did not fail! + +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." + + + A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT + + WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, + Down in the reeds by the river? + Spreading ruin and scattering ban, + Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, + And breaking the golden lilies afloat + With the dragon-fly on the river. + + He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, + From the deep, cool bed of the river. + The limpid water turbidly ran, + And the broken lilies a-dying lay, + And the dragon-fly had fled away, + Ere he brought it out of the river. + + High on the shore sat the great god Pan, + While turbidly flowed the river, + And hacked and hewed as a great god can, + With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, + Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed + To prove it fresh from the river. + + He cut it short, did the great god Pan, + (How tall it stood in the river!) + Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, + Steadily from the outside ring, + And notched the poor, dry, empty thing + In holes as he sat by the river. + + "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, + (Laughed while he sat by the river,) + "The only way, since gods began + To make sweet music, they could succeed." + Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, + He blew in power by the river. + + Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan, + Piercing sweet by the river! + Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! + The sun on the hill forgot to die, + And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly + Came back to dream on the river. + + Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, + To laugh as he sits by the river, + Making a poet out of a man: + The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain,-- + For the reed which grows nevermore again + As a reed with the reeds in the river. + + + MY HEART AND I + + Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. + We sit beside the headstone thus, + And wish that name were carved for us. + The moss reprints more tenderly + The hard types of the mason's knife, + As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life + With which we're tired, my heart and I. + + You see we're tired, my heart and I. + We dealt with books, we trusted men, + And in our own blood drenched the pen, + As if such colors could not fly. + We walked too straight for fortune's end, + We loved too true to keep a friend: + At last we're tired, my heart and I. + + How tired we feel, my heart and I! + We seem of no use in the world; + Our fancies hang gray and uncurled + About men's eyes indifferently; + Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let + You sleep; our tears are only wet: + What do we here, my heart and I? + + So tired, so tired, my heart and I! + It was not thus in that old time + When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime + To watch the sunset from the sky. + "Dear love, you're looking tired," he said; + I, smiling at him, shook my head: + 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I. + + So tired, so tired, my heart and I! + Though now none takes me on his arm + To fold me close and kiss me warm + Till each quick breath end in a sigh + Of happy languor. Now, alone, + We lean upon this graveyard stone, + Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. + + Tired out we are, my heart and I. + Suppose the world brought diadems + To tempt us, crusted with loose gems + Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. + We scarcely care to look at even + A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, + We feel so tired, my heart and I. + + Yet who complains? My heart and I? + In this abundant earth, no doubt, + Is little room for things worn out: + Disdain them, break them, throw them by! + And if, before the days grew rough, + We _once_ were loved, used,--well enough + I think we've fared, my heart and I. + + + FROM 'CATARINA TO CAMOENS' + + [Dying in his absence abroad, and referring to the poem in which he + recorded the sweetness of her eyes.] + + On the door you will not enter + I have gazed too long: adieu! + Hope withdraws her "peradventure"; + Death is near me,--and not _you!_ + Come, O lover, + Close and cover + These poor eyes you called, I ween, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + When I heard you sing that burden + In my vernal days and bowers, + Other praises disregarding, + I but hearkened that of yours, + Only saying + In heart-playing, + "Blessed eyes mine eyes have been, + If the sweetest HIS have seen!" + + But all changes. At this vesper + Cold the sun shines down the door. + If you stood there, would you whisper, + "Love, I love you," as before,-- + Death pervading + Now and shading + Eyes you sang of, that yestreen, + As the sweetest ever seen? + + Yes, I think, were you beside them, + Near the bed I die upon, + Though their beauty you denied them, + As you stood there looking down, + You would truly + Call them duly, + For the love's sake found therein, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + And if _you_ looked down upon them, + And if _they_ looked up to _you_, + All the light which has foregone them + Would be gathered back anew; + They would truly + Be as duly + Love-transformed to beauty's sheen, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + But, ah me! you only see me, + In your thoughts of loving man, + Smiling soft, perhaps, and dreamy, + Through the wavings of my fan; + And unweeting + Go repeating + In your revery serene, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + O my poet, O my prophet! + When you praised their sweetness so, + Did you think, in singing of it, + That it might be near to go? + Had you fancies + From their glances, + That the grave would quickly screen + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen"? + + No reply. The fountain's warble + In the courtyard sounds alone. + As the water to the marble + So my heart falls with a moan + From love-sighing + To this dying. + Death forerunneth Love to win + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + _Will_ you come? When I'm departed + Where all sweetnesses are hid, + Where thy voice, my tender-hearted, + Will not lift up either lid, + Cry, O lover, + Love is over! + Cry, beneath the cypress green, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + When the Angelus is ringing, + Near the convent will you walk, + And recall the choral singing + Which brought angels down our talk? + Spirit-shriven + I viewed heaven, + Till you smiled--"Is earth unclean, + Sweetest eyes were ever seen?" + + When beneath the palace-lattice + You ride slow as you have done, + And you see a face there that is + Not the old familiar one, + Will you oftly + Murmur softly, + "Here ye watched me morn and e'en, + Sweetest eyes were ever seen"? + + When the palace-ladies, sitting + Round your gittern, shall have said, + "Poets, sing those verses written + For the lady who is dead," + Will you tremble, + Yet dissemble, + Or sing hoarse, with tears between, + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen"? + + "Sweetest eyes!" How sweet in flowings + The repeated cadence is! + Though you sang a hundred poems, + Still the best one would be this. + I can hear it + 'Twixt my spirit + And the earth-noise intervene,-- + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + But--but _now_--yet unremoved + Up to heaven they glisten fast; + You may cast away, beloved, + In your future all my past: + Such old phrases + May be praises + For some fairer bosom-queen-- + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" + + Eyes of mine, what are ye doing? + Faithless, faithless, praised amiss + If a tear be, on your showing, + Dropped for any hope of HIS! + Death has boldness + Besides coldness, + If unworthy tears demean + "Sweetest eyes were ever seen." + + I will look out to his future; + I will bless it till it shine. + Should he ever be a suitor + Unto sweeter eyes than mine, + Sunshine gild them, + Angels shield them, + Whatsoever eyes terrene + _Be_ the sweetest HIS have seen. + + + THE SLEEP + + "He giveth his beloved sleep."--Ps. cxxvii. 2 + + OF ALL the thoughts of God that are + Borne inward into souls afar + Along the Psalmist's music deep, + Now tell me if that any is, + For gift or grace, surpassing this-- + "He giveth his beloved sleep." + + What would we give to our beloved? + The hero's heart to be unmoved. + The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep, + The patriot's voice to teach and rouse, + The monarch's crown to light the brows?-- + He giveth his beloved sleep. + + What do we give to our beloved? + A little faith all undisproved, + A little dust to overweep, + And bitter memories to make + The whole earth blasted for our sake. + He giveth his beloved sleep. + + "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say, + Who have no tune to charm away + Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; + But never doleful dream again + Shall break the happy slumber when + He giveth his beloved sleep. + + O earth, so full of dreary noises! + O men with wailing in your voices! + O delved gold the wailers heap! + O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall! + God strikes a silence through you all, + And giveth his beloved sleep. + + His dews drop mutely on the hill, + His cloud above it saileth still, + Though on its slope men sow and reap; + More softly than the dew is shed, + Or cloud is floated overhead, + He giveth his beloved sleep. + + Ay, men may wonder while they scan + A living, thinking, feeling man + Confirmed in such a rest to keep; + But angels say,--and through the word + I think their happy smile is _heard_,-- + "He giveth his beloved sleep." + + For me, my heart that erst did go + Most like a tired child at a show, + That sees through tears the mummers leap, + Would now its wearied vision close, + Would childlike on His love repose + Who giveth his beloved sleep. + + And friends, dear friends, when it shall be + That this low breath is gone from me, + And round my bier ye come to weep, + Let one most loving of you all + Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall! + He giveth his beloved sleep." + + + THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN + + I + + Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, + Ere the sorrow comes with years? + They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, + And _that_ cannot stop their tears. + The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; + The young birds are chirping in the nest; + The young fawns are playing with the shadows; + The young flowers are blowing toward the west: + But the young, young children, O my brothers! + They are weeping bitterly. + They are weeping in the playtime of the others, + In the country of the free. + + II + + Do you question the young children in their sorrow, + Why their tears are falling so? + The old man may weep for his To-morrow + Which is lost in Long-Ago; + The old tree is leafless in the forest; + The old year is ending in the frost; + The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest; + The old hope is hardest to be lost: + But the young, young children, O my brothers! + Do you ask them why they stand + Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers, + In our happy Fatherland? + + III + + They look up with their pale and sunken faces; + And their looks are sad to see, + For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses + Down the cheeks of infancy. + "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary; + Our young feet," they say, "are very weak; + Few paces have we taken, yet are weary; + Our grave-rest is very far to seek. + Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children; + For the outside earth is cold, + And we young ones stand without in our bewildering, + And the graves are for the old." + + IV + + "True," say the children, "it may happen + That we die before our time: + Little Alice died last year; her grave is shapen + Like a snowball in the rime. + We looked into the pit prepared to take her: + Was no room for any work in the close clay, + From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, + Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day.' + If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, + With your ear down, little Alice never cries. + Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, + For the smile has time for growing in her eyes; + And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in + The shroud by the kirk-chime. + It is good when it happens," say the children, + "That we die before our time." + + V + + Alas, alas, the children! They are seeking + Death in life, as best to have. + They are binding up their hearts away from breaking + With a cerement from the grave. + Go out, children, from the mine and from the city; + Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do; + Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty; + Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through. + But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows + Like our weeds anear the mine? + Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, + From your pleasures fair and fine. + + VI + + "For oh!" say the children, "we are weary, + And we cannot run or leap; + If we cared for any meadows, it were merely + To drop down in them, and sleep. + Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping; + We fall upon our faces, trying to go; + And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, + The reddest flower would look as pale as snow; + For all day we drag our burden tiring, + Through the coal-dark, underground; + Or all day we drive the wheels of iron + In the factories, round and round. + + VII + + "For all-day the wheels are droning, turning; + Their wind comes in our faces, + Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning, + And the walls turn in their places. + Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, + Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, + Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,-- + All are turning, all the day, and we with all. + And all day the iron wheels are droning, + And sometimes we could pray, + 'O ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moaning), + 'Stop! be silent for to-day!'" + + VIII + + Ay. be silent! Let them hear each other breathing + For a moment, mouth to mouth; + Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing + Of their tender human youth; + Let them feel that this cold metallic motion + Is not all the life God fashions or reveals; + Let them prove their living souls against the notion + That they live in you, or tinder you, O wheels! + Still all day the iron wheels go onward, + Grinding life down from its mark; + And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, + Spin on blindly in the dark. + + IX + + Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers, + To look up to Him, and pray; + So the blessed One who blesseth all the others + Will bless them another day. + They answer, "Who is God, that he should hear us + While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred? + When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us + Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word; + And _we_ hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) + Strangers speaking at the door. + Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, + Hears our weeping any more? + + X + + "Two words, indeed, of praying we remember; + And at midnight's hour of harm, + 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, + We say softly for a charm. + We know no other words except 'Our Father'; + And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, + God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, + And hold both within his right hand, which is strong. + 'Our Father!' If he heard us, he would surely + (For they call him good and mild) + Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, + 'Come and rest with me, my child.' + + XI + + "But no!" say the children, weeping faster, + "He is speechless as a stone; + And they tell us, of his image is the master + Who commands us to work on. + Go to!" say the children,--"up in heaven, + Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. + Do not mock us: Grief has made us unbelieving: + We look up for God; but tears have made us blind." + Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, + O my brothers, what ye preach? + For God's possible is taught by his world's loving-- + And the children doubt of each. + + XII + + And well may the children weep before you! + They are weary ere they run; + They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory + Which is brighter than the sun. + They know the grief of man, without its wisdom; + They sink in man's despair, without its calm; + Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom; + Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm; + Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly + The harvest of its memories cannot reap; + Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly-- + Let them weep! let them weep! + + XIII + + They look up with their pale and sunken faces, + And their look is dread to see. + For they mind you of their angels in high places, + With eyes turned on Deity. + "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation, + Will you stand, to move the world on a child's heart,-- + Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, + And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? + Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, + And your purple shows your path; + But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper + Than the strong man in his wrath!" + + + MOTHER AND POET + + [On Laura Savio of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose sons + were killed at Ancona and Gaeta.] + + DEAD! One of them shot by the sea in the east, + And one of them shot in the west by the sea. + Dead! both my boys! When you sit at the feast, + And are wanting a great song for Italy free, + Let none look at _me_! + + Yet I was a poetess only last year, + And good at my art, for a woman, men said: + But _this_ woman, _this_, who is agonized here,-- + The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head + Forever instead. + + What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain! + What art _is_ she good at, but hurting her breast + With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain? + Ah, boys, how you hurt! you were strong as you prest, + And I proud by that test. + + What art's for a woman? To hold on her knees + Both darlings! to feel all their arms round her throat + Cling, strangle a little! to sew by degrees, + And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat; + To dream and to dote. + + To teach them.... It stings there! _I_ made them indeed + Speak plain the word _country. I_ taught them, no doubt, + That a country's a thing men should die for at need. + I prated of liberty, rights, and about + The tyrant cast out. + + And when their eyes flashed ... O my beautiful eyes! ... + I exulted; nay, let them go forth at the wheels + Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise + When one sits quite alone! Then one weeps, then one kneels. + God, how the house feels! + + At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled + With my kisses, of camp-life and glory, and how + They both loved me; and soon, coming home to be spoiled, + In return would fan off every fly from my brow + With their green laurel-bough. + + There was triumph at Turin: "Ancona was free!" + And some one came out of the cheers in the street, + With a face pale as stone, to say something to me. + My Guido was dead! I fell down at his feet, + While they cheered in the street. + + I bore it; friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime + As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained + To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time + When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained + To the height _he_ had gained. + + And letters still came; shorter, sadder, more strong, + Writ now but in one hand:--"I was not to faint,-- + One loved me for two; would be with me ere long: + And _Viva l'Italia_ he died for, our saint, + Who forbids our complaint." + + My Nanni would add, "he was safe, and aware + Of a presence that turned off the balls,--was imprest + It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, + And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossest, + To live on for the rest." + + On which, without pause, up the telegraph-line + Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta,--"_Shot. + Tell his mother_." Ah, ah! "his," "their" mother, not "mine": + No voice says, "_My_ mother," again to me. What! + You think Guido forgot? + + Are souls straight so happy, that, dizzy with heaven, + They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe? + I think not! Themselves were too lately forgiven + Through that Love and that Sorrow which reconciled so + The Above and Below. + + O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst through the dark + To the face of thy mother! Consider, I pray, + How we common mothers stand desolate, mark,-- + Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, + And no last word to say! + + Both boys dead? but that's out of nature. We all + Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. + 'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall; + And when Italy's made, for what end is it done, + If we have not a son? + + Ah, ah, ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then? + When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport + Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men; + When the guns of Cavalli with final retort + Have cut the game short; + + When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee; + When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red: + When _you_ have your country from mountain to sea, + When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, + (And I have my dead)-- + + What then? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low + And burn your lights faintly! _My_ country is _there_. + Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow: + My Italy's THERE, with my brave civic pair, + To disfranchise despair! + + Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, + And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn; + But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length + Into wail such as this, and we sit on forlorn + When the man-child is born. + + Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east, + And one of them shot in the west by the sea. + Both! both my boys! If in keeping the feast + You want a great song for your Italy free, + Let none look at _me_! + + + A COURT LADY + + Her hair was tawny with gold; her eyes with purple were dark; + Her cheeks' pale opal burnt with a red and restless spark. + + Never was lady of Milan nobler in name and in race; + Never was lady of Italy fairer to see in the face. + + Never was lady on earth more true as woman and wife, + Larger in judgment and instinct, prouder in manners and life. + + She stood in the early morning, and said to her maidens, "Bring + That silken robe made ready to wear at the court of the King. + + "Bring me the clasps of diamond, lucid, clear of the mote; + Clasp me the large at the waist, and clasp me the small at the throat. + + "Diamonds to fasten the hair, and diamonds to fasten the sleeves, + Laces to drop from their rays, like a powder of snow from the eaves." + + Gorgeous she entered the sunlight, which gathered her up in a flame, + While, straight in her open carriage, she to the hospital came. + + In she went at the door, and gazing from end to end,-- + "Many and low are the pallets; but each is the place of a friend." + + Up she passed through the wards, and stood at a young man's bed; + Bloody the band on his brow, and livid the droop of his head. + + "Art thou a Lombard, my brother? Happy art thou!" she cried, + And smiled like Italy on him: he dreamed in her face--and died. + + Pale with his passing soul, she went on still to a second: + He was a grave hard man, whose years by dungeons were reckoned. + + Wounds in his body were sore, wounds in his life were sorer. + "Art thou a Romagnole?" Her eyes drove lightnings before her. + + "Austrian and priest had joined to double and tighten the cord + Able to bind thee, O strong one, free by the stroke of a sword. + + "Now be grave for the rest of us, using the life overcast + To ripen our wine of the present (too new) in glooms of the past." + + Down she stepped to a pallet where lay a face like a girl's, + Young, and pathetic with dying,--a deep black hole in the curls. + + "Art thou from Tuscany, brother? and seest thou, dreaming in pain, + Thy mother stand in the piazza, searching the list of the slain?" + +Kind as a mother herself, she touched his cheeks with her hands: + "Blessed is she who has borne thee, although she should weep as + she stands." + + On she passed to a Frenchman, his arm carried off by a ball: + Kneeling: "O more than my brother! how shall I thank thee for all? + + "Each of the heroes around us has fought for his land and line; + But thou hast fought for a stranger, in hate of a wrong not thine. + + "Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossest, + But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the + rest." + + Ever she passed on her way, and came to a couch where pined + One with a face from Venetia, white with a hope out of mind. + + Long she stood and gazed, and twice she tried at the name; + But two great crystal tears were all that faltered and came. + + Only a tear for Venice? She turned as in passion and loss, + And stooped to his forehead and kissed it, as if she were kissing + the cross. + + Faint with that strain of heart, she moved on then to another, + Stern and strong in his death: "And dost thou suffer, my brother?" + + Holding his hands in hers: "Out of the Piedmont lion + Cometh the sweetness of freedom! sweetest to live or to die on." + + Holding his cold rough hands: "Well, oh well have ye done + In noble, noble Piedmont, who would not be noble alone." + + Back he fell while she spoke. She rose to her feet with a spring. + "That was a Piedmontese! and this is the court of the King!" + + + THE PROSPECT + + Methinks we do as fretful children do, + Leaning their faces on the window-pane + To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, + And shut the sky and landscape from their view; + And thus, alas! since God the maker drew + A mystic separation 'twixt those twain,-- + The life beyond us and our souls in pain,-- + We miss the prospect which we are called unto + By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong, + O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, + And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong; + That so, as life's appointment issueth, + Thy vision may be clear to watch along + The sunset consummation-lights of death. + + + DE PROFUNDIS + + The face which, duly as the sun, + Rose up for me with life begun, + To mark all bright hours of the day + With daily love, is dimmed away-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + The tongue which, like a stream, could run + Smooth music from the roughest stone, + And every morning with "Good day" + Make each day good, is hushed away-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + The heart which, like a staff, was one + For mine to lean and rest upon, + The strongest on the longest day, + With steadfast love is caught away-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + The world goes whispering to its own, + "This anguish pierces to the bone." + And tender friends go sighing round, + "What love can ever cure this wound?" + My days go on, my days go on. + + The past rolls forward on the sun + And makes all night. O dreams begun, + Not to be ended! Ended bliss! + And life, that will not end in this! + My days go on, my days go on. + + Breath freezes on my lips to moan: + As one alone, once not alone, + I sit and knock at Nature's door, + Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor, + Whose desolated days go on. + + I knock and cry--Undone, undone! + Is there no help, no comfort--none? + No gleaning in the wide wheat-plains + Where others drive their loaded wains? + My vacant days go on, go on. + + This Nature, though the snows be down, + Thinks kindly of the bird of June. + The little red hip on the tree + Is ripe for such. What is for me, + Whose days so winterly go on? + + No bird am I to sing in June, + And dare not ask an equal boon. + Good nests and berries red are Nature's + To give away to better creatures-- + And yet my days go on, go on. + + _I_ ask less kindness to be done-- + Only to loose these pilgrim-shoon + (Too early worn and grimed) with sweet + Cool deathly touch to these tired feet, + Till days go out which now go on. + + Only to lift the turf unmown + From off the earth where it has grown, + Some cubit-space, and say, "Behold, + Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold, + Forgetting how the days go on." + + A Voice reproves me thereupon, + More sweet than Nature's, when the drone + Of bees is sweetest, and more deep, + Than when the rivers overleap + The shuddering pines, and thunder on. + + God's Voice, not Nature's--night and noon + He sits upon the great white throne, + And listens for the creature's praise. + What babble we of days and days? + The Dayspring he, whose days go on! + + He reigns above, he reigns alone: + Systems burn out and leave his throne: + Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall + Around him, changeless amid all-- + Ancient of days, whose days go on! + + He reigns below, he reigns alone-- + And having life in love forgone + Beneath the crown of sovran thorns, + He reigns the jealous God. Who mourns + Or rules with HIM, while days go on? + + By anguish which made pale the sun, + I hear him charge his saints that none + Among the creatures anywhere + Blaspheme against him with despair, + However darkly days go on. + + Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown: + No mortal grief deserves that crown. + O supreme Love, chief misery, + The sharp regalia are for _Thee_, + Whose days eternally go on! + + For us, ... whatever's undergone, + Thou knowest, willest what is done. + Grief may be joy misunderstood: + Only the Good discerns the good. + I trust Thee while my days go on. + + Whatever's lost, it first was won! + We will not struggle nor impugn. + Perhaps the cup was broken here + That Heaven's new wine might show more clear. + I praise Thee while my days go on. + + I praise Thee while my days go on; + I love Thee while my days go on! + Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, + With emptied arms and treasure lost, + I thank Thee while my days go on! + + And, having in thy life-depth thrown + Being and suffering (which are one), + As a child drops some pebble small + Down some deep well, and hears it fall + Smiling--so I! THY DAYS GO ON! + + + THE CRY OF THE HUMAN + + "There is no God," the foolish saith, + But none, "There is no sorrow;" + And nature oft the cry of faith + In bitter need will borrow: + Eyes which the preacher could not school + By wayside graves are raised; + And lips say, "God be pitiful," + Who ne'er said, "God be praised." + Be pitiful, O God. + + The tempest stretches from the steep + The shadow of its coming; + The beasts grow tame, and near us creep, + As help were in the human: + Yet while the cloud-wheels roll and grind, + We spirits tremble under! + The hills have echoes; but we find + No answer for the thunder. + Be pitiful, O God! + + The battle hurtles on the plains-- + Earth feels new scythes upon her: + We reap our brothers for the wains, + And call the harvest--honor. + Draw face to face, front line to line, + One image all inherit: + Then kill, curse on, by that same sign, + Clay, clay,--and spirit, spirit. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We meet together at the feast-- + To private mirth betake us-- + We stare down in the winecup, lest + Some vacant chair should shake us! + We name delight, and pledge it round-- + "It shall be ours to-morrow!" + God's seraphs! do your voices sound + As sad in naming sorrow? + Be pitiful, O God! + + We sit together, with the skies, + The steadfast skies, above us; + We look into each other's eyes, + "And how long will you love us?" + The eyes grow dim with prophecy, + The voices, low and breathless-- + "Till death us part!"--O words, to be + Our _best_ for love the deathless! + Be pitiful, dear God! + + We tremble by the harmless bed + Of one loved and departed-- + Our tears drop on the lips that said + Last night, "Be stronger-hearted!" + O God,--to clasp those fingers close, + And yet to feel so lonely!-- + To see a light upon such brows, + Which is the daylight only! + Be pitiful, O God! + + The happy children come to us, + And look up in our faces; + They ask us--Was it thus, and thus, + When we were in their places? + We cannot speak--we see anew + The hills we used to live in, + And feel our mother's smile press through + The kisses she is giving. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We pray together at the kirk, + For mercy, mercy, solely-- + Hands weary with the evil work, + We lift them to the Holy! + The corpse is calm below our knee-- + Its spirit bright before Thee-- + Between them, worse than either, we + Without the rest of glory! + Be pitiful, O God! + + And soon all vision waxeth dull-- + Men whisper, "He is dying;" + We cry no more, "Be pitiful!"-- + We have no strength for crying: + No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine, + Look up and triumph rather-- + Lo! in the depth of God's Divine, + The Son adjures the Father-- + BE PITIFUL, O GOD! + + + + ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST + + + Little Ellie sits alone + 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, + By a stream-side on the grass; + And the trees are showering down + Doubles of their leaves in shadow, + On her shining hair and face. + + She has thrown her bonnet by; + And her feet she has been dipping + In the shallow water's flow-- + Now she holds them nakedly + In her hands, all sleek and dripping, + While she rocketh to and fro. + + Little Ellie sits alone, + And the smile she softly uses + Fills the silence like a speech; + While she thinks what shall be done, + And the sweetest pleasure chooses, + For her future within reach. + + Little Ellie in her smile + Chooseth--"I will have a lover, + Riding on a steed of steeds! + He shall love me without guile; + And to _him_ I will discover + That swan's nest among the reeds. + + "And the steed shall be red-roan. + And the lover shall be noble, + With an eye that takes the breath. + And the lute he plays upon + Shall strike ladies into trouble, + As his sword strikes men to death. + + "And the steed it shall be shod + All in silver, housed in _azure_, + And the mane shall swim the wind: + And the hoofs along the sod + Shall flash onward and keep measure, + Till the shepherds look behind. + + "But my lover will not prize + All the glory that he rides in, + When he gazes in my face. + He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes + Build the shrine my soul abides in; + And I kneel here for thy grace.' + + "Then, ay, then--he shall kneel low, + With the red-roan steed anear him, + Which shall seem to understand-- + Till I answer, 'Rise and go! + For the world must love and fear him + Whom I gift with heart and hand.' + + "Then he will arise so pale, + I shall feel my own lips tremble + With a _yes_ I must not say-- + Nathless maiden-brave, 'Fare well,' + I will utter, and dissemble-- + 'Light to-morrow with to-day.' + + "Then he'll ride among the hills + To the wide world past the river, + There to put away all wrong: + To make straight distorted wills, + And to empty the broad quiver + Which the wicked bear along. + + "Three times shall a young foot-page + Swim the stream and climb the mountain + And kneel down beside my feet-- + 'Lo! my master sends this gage, + Lady, for thy pity's counting! + What wilt thou exchange for it?' + + "And the first time I will send + A white rosebud for a guerdon, + And the second time, a glove: + But the third time--I may bend + From my pride, and answer--'Pardon-- + If he come to take my love.' + + "Then the young foot-page will run-- + Then my lover will ride faster, + Till he kneeleth at my knee: + 'I am a duke's eldest son! + Thousand serfs do call me master,-- + But, O Love, I love but _thee!_ + + "He will kiss me on the mouth + Then; and lead me as a lover + Through the crowds that praise his deeds; + And when soul-tied by one troth, + Unto _him_ I will discover + That swan's nest among the reeds." + + Little Ellie, with her smile + Not yet ended, rose up gayly, + Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe-- + And went homeward, round a mile, + Just to see, as she did daily, + What more eggs were with the _two_. + + Pushing through the elm-tree copse + Winding by the stream, light-hearted, + Where the osier pathway leads-- + Past the boughs she stoops--and stops! + Lo! the wild swan had deserted-- + And a rat had gnawed the reeds. + + Ellie went home sad and slow: + If she found the lover ever, + With his red-roan steed of steeds, + Sooth I know not! but I know + She could never show him--never, + That swan's nest among the reeds! + + + + THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD + + WHAT'S the best thing in the world? + June-rose by May-dew impearled; + Sweet south-wind, that means no rain; + Truth, not cruel to a friend; + Pleasure, not in haste to end; + Beauty, not self-decked and curled + Till its pride is over-plain; + Light, that never makes you wink; + Memory, that gives no pain; + Love, when _so_ you're loved again. + What's the best thing in the world?-- + Something out of it, I think. + + + SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE + + + Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! + Unlike our uses and our destinies. + Our ministering two angels look surprise + On one another as they strike athwart + Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art + A guest for queens to social pageantries, + With gages from a hundred brighter eyes + Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part + Of chief musician. What hast _thou_ to do + With looking from the lattice-lights at me, + A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through + The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? + The chrism is on thine head; on mine the dew: + And Death must dig the level where these agree. + + Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor, + Most gracious singer of high poems, where + The dancers will break footing, from the care + Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. + And dost thou lift this house's latch, too poor + For hand of thine? and canst thou think, and bear + To let thy music drop here unaware + In folds of golden fulness at my door? + Look up, and see the casement broken in, + The bats and owlets builders in the roof! + My cricket chirps against thy mandolin. + Hush, call no echo up in further proof + Of desolation! there's a voice within + That weeps--as thou must sing--alone, aloof. + + What can I give thee back, O liberal + And princely giver, who hast brought the gold + And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, + And laid them on the outside of the wall + For such as I to take or leave withal, + In unexpected largesse? Am I cold, + Ungrateful, that for these most manifold + High gifts, I render nothing back at all? + Not so; not cold, but very poor instead. + Ask God, who knows. For frequent tears have run + The colors from my life, and left so dead + And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done + To give the same as pillow to thy head. + Go farther! let it serve to trample on. + + If thou must love me, let it be for naught + Except for love's sake only. Do not say + "I love her for her smile, her look, her way + Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought + That falls in well with mine, and certes brought + A sense of pleasant ease on such a day:" + For these things in themselves, beloved, may + Be changed, or change for thee; and love so wrought + May be unwrought so. Neither love me for + Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry: + A creature might forget to weep, who bore + Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. + But love me for love's sake, that evermore + Thou mayst love on through love's eternity. + + First time he kissed me, he but only kissed + The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; + And ever since it grew more clean and white, + Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh list!" + When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst + I could not wear here plainer to my sight + Than that first kiss. The second passed in height + The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, + Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed! + That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown + With sanctifying sweetness did precede. + The third upon my lips was folded down + In perfect purple state; since when, indeed, + I have been proud, and said "My love, my own!" + + I LIVED with visions for my company, + Instead of men and women, years ago, + And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know + A sweeter music than they played to me. + But soon their trailing purple was not free + Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow, + And I myself grew faint and blind below + Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come--to be, + Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts, + Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same, + As river-water hallowed into fonts), + Met in thee, and from out thee overcame + My soul with satisfaction of all wants, + Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame. + + BELOVED, my beloved, when I think + That thou wast in the world a year ago, + What time I sat alone here in the snow, + And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink + No moment at thy voice, but, link by link, + Went counting all my chains as if that so + They never could fall off at any blow + Struck by thy possible hand--why, thus I drink + Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful, + Never to feel thee thrill the day or night + With personal act or speech, nor ever cull + Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white + Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull, + Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight. + + BECAUSE thou hast the power and own'st the grace + To look through and behind this mask of me, + (Against which years have beat thus blanchingly + With their rains!) and behold my soul's true face, + The dim and weary witness of life's race; + Because thou hast the faith and love to see, + Through that same soul's distracting lethargy, + The patient angel waiting for his place + In the new heavens; because nor sin nor woe, + Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, + Nor all which others viewing, turn to go, + Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,-- + Nothing repels thee.--Dearest, teach me so + To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good! + + I THANK all who have loved me in their hearts, + With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all + Who paused a little near the prison-wall, + To hear my music in its louder parts, + Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's + Or temple's occupation, beyond call. + But thou, who in my voice's sink and fall, + When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's + Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot, + To hearken what I said between my tears, + Instruct me how to thank thee!--Oh, to shoot + My soul's full meaning into future years, + That _they_ should lend it utterance, and salute + Love that endures! with Life that disappears! + + How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. + I love thee to the depth and breadth and height + My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight + For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. + I love thee to the level of every day's + Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. + I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; + I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise; + I love thee with the passion put to use + In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith; + I love thee with a love I seemed to lose + With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, + Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and if God choose, + I shall but love thee better after death. + + + + A FALSE STEP + + + Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart. + Pass! there's a world full of men; + And women as fair as thou art + Must do such things now and then. + + Thou only hast stepped unaware,-- + Malice, not one can impute; + And why should a heart have been there + In the way of a fair woman's foot? + + It was not a stone that could trip, + Nor was it a thorn that could rend: + Put up thy proud underlip! + 'Twas merely the heart of a friend. + + And yet peradventure one day + Thou, sitting alone at the glass, + Remarking the bloom gone away, + Where the smile in its dimplement was, + + And seeking around thee in vain + From hundreds who flattered before, + Such a word as,--"Oh, not in the main + Do I hold thee less precious,--but more!" + + Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy part:-- + "Of all I have known or can know, + I wish I had only that Heart + I trod upon, ages ago!" + + + A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD + + They say that God lives very high! + But if you look above the pines + You cannot see our God. And why? + + And if you dig down in the mines + You never see him in the gold, + Though, from him, all that's glory shines. + + God is so good, he wears a fold + Of heaven and earth across his face-- + Like secrets kept, for love, untold. + + But still I feel that his embrace + Slides down by thrills, through all things made, + Through sight and sound of every place: + + As if my tender mother laid + On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, + Half-waking me at night; and said + "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" + + + CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON + + I think we are too ready with complaint + In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope + Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope + Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be faint + To muse upon eternity's constraint + Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope + Must widen early, is it well to droop + For a few days consumed in loss and taint? + O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted,-- + And like a cheerful traveler, take the road, + Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread + Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod + To meet the flints?--At least it may be said, + "Because the way is _short_, I thank thee, God!" + + + +ROBERT BROWNING + +(1812-1889) + +BY E.L. BURLINGAME + +Robert 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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING.] + +'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:-- + + "I am made up of an intensest life + ... a principle of restlessness + Which would be all, have, see, know, taste, feel, all--" + +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. + +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. + + "Yet, constituted thus and thus endowed, + I failed; I gazed on power till I grew blind. + Power--I could not take my eyes from that; + That only I thought should be preserved, increased. + + * * * * * + + I learned my own deep error: love's undoing + Taught me the worth of love in man's estate, + And what proportion love should hold with power + In his right constitution; love preceding + Power, and with much power always much more love." + +'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. + +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:-- + + "We have all heard of the young architect who forgot to put a + staircase in his house, which contained fine rooms but no way + of getting into them. 'Sordello' is a poem without a + staircase. The author, still in his twenties, essayed a high + thing. For his subject + + 'He singled out + Sordello compassed murkily about + With ravage of six long sad hundred years.' + + "He partially failed; and the British public, with its + accustomed generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage + the others, has never ceased girding at him because, + forty-two years ago, he published at his own charges a little + book of two hundred and fifty pages, which even such of them + as were then able to read could not understand." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _tours de force_ 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 _genre_. But he can well do without them, and +still have the inexhaustible left. + +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 Personae,' +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:-- + + "Even your prime men who appraise their kind + Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel, + See more in a truth than the truth's simple self-- + Confuse themselves--" + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "Dear dead women--with such hair, too: what's become of all the gold + Used to hang and brush their bosoms?--I feel chilly and grown old." + +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. + +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.' + +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. + + "What is he buzzing in my ears? + Now that I come to die. + Do I view the world as a vale of tears? + Ah, reverend sir, not I!" + +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. + +[Illustration: E.L. Burlingame signature] + + + ANDREA DEL SARTO + + CALLED "THE FAULTLESS PAINTER" + + But do not let us quarrel any more; + No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once: + Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. + You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? + I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear, + Treat his own subject after his own way? + Fix his own time, accept too his own price, + And shut the money into this small hand + When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? + Oh, I'll content him,--but to-morrow, Love! + I often am much wearier than you think,-- + This evening more than usual: and it seems + As if--forgive now--should you let me sit + Here by the window, with your hand in mine, + And look a. half-hour forth on Fiesole, + Both of one mind, as married people use, + Quietly, quietly the evening through, + I might get up to-morrow to my work + Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. + To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! + Your soft hand is a woman of itself, + And mine, the man's bared breast she curls inside. + Don't count the time lost, neither: you must serve + For each of the five pictures we require; + It saves a model. So! keep looking so--My + serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds!--How + could you ever prick those perfect ears, + Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet--My + face, my moon, my everybody's moon, + Which everybody looks on and calls his, + And I suppose is looked on by in turn, + While she looks--no one's: very dear, no less. + You smile? why, there's my picture ready made; + There's what we painters call our harmony! + A common grayness silvers everything,-- + All in a twilight, you and I alike-- + You at the point of your first pride in me + (That's gone, you know)--but I at every point, + My youth, my hope, my art being all toned down + To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. + There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top; + That length of convent-wall across the way + Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside; + The last monk leaves the garden; days decrease, + And autumn grows, autumn in everything. + Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape, + As if I saw alike my work and self + And all that I was born to be and do, + A twilight piece. Love, we are in God's hand. + How strange now looks the life he makes us lead; + So free we seem, so fettered fast we are! + I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie! + This chamber, for example--turn your head-- + All that's behind us! You don't understand + Nor care to understand about my art, + But you can hear at least when people speak: + And that cartoon, the second from the door-- + It is the thing, Love! so such things should be; + Behold Madonna!--I am bold to say, + I can do with my pencil what I know, + What I see, what at bottom of my heart + I wish for, if I ever wish so deep-- + Do easily, too--when I say perfectly, + I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are judge, + Who listened to the Legate's talk last week; + And just as much they used to say in France, + At any rate 'tis easy, all of it! + No sketches first, no studies, that's long past: + I do what many dream of, all their lives-- + Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do, + And fail in doing. I could count twenty such + On twice your fingers, and not leave this town, + Who strive--you don't know how the others strive + To paint a little thing like that you smeared + Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,-- + Yet do much less, so much less, Some One says, + (I know his name, no matter)--so much less! + Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged. + There burns a truer light of God in them, + In their vexed, beating, stuffed, and stopped-up brain, + Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt + This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. + Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know, + Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me, + Enter and take their place there sure enough, + Though they come back and cannot tell the world. + My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. + The sudden blood of these men! at a word-- + Praise them, it boils; or blame them, it boils too. + I, painting from myself and to thyself, + Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame + Or their praise either. Somebody remarks + Morello's outline there is wrongly traced, + His hue mistaken: what of that? or else, + Rightly traced and well ordered: what of that? + Speak as they please, what does the mountain care? + Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, + Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-gray, + Placid and perfect with my art: the worse! + I know both what I want and what might gain; + And yet how profitless to know, to sigh + "Had I been two, another and myself, + Our head would have o'erlooked the world" No doubt. + Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth + The Urbinate who died five years ago. + ('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.) + Well, I can fancy how he did it all, + Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, + Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him, + Above and through his art--for it gives way: + That arm is wrongly put--and there again-- + A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, + Its body, so to speak; its soul is right; + He meant right--that, a child may understand. + Still, what an arm! and I could alter it: + But all the play, the insight, and the stretch-- + Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out? + Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, + We might have risen to Rafael, I and you. + Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think-- + More than I merit, yes, by many times. + But had you--oh, with the same perfect brow, + And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth + And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird + The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare-- + Had you, with these, these same, but brought a mind! + Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged + "God and the glory! never care for gain. + The present by the future, what is that? + Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! + Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!" + I might have done it for you. So it seems: + Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. + Beside, incentives come from the soul's self; + The rest avail not. Why do I need you? + What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo? + In this world, who can do a thing, will not; + And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: + Yet the will's somewhat--somewhat, too, the power-- + And thus we half-men struggle. At the end, + God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. + 'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, + That I am something underrated here, + Poor this long while,--despised, to speak the truth. + I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, + For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. + The best is when they pass and look aside; + But they speak sometimes: I must bear it all. + Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time, + And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! + I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, + Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, + In that humane great monarch's golden look,-- + One finger in his beard or twisted curl + Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile, + One arm about my shoulder, around my neck, + The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, + I painting proudly with his breath on me, + All his court round him, seeing with his eyes, + Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls + Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts,-- + And best of all, this, this, this face beyond, + This in the background, waiting on my work, + To crown the issue with a last reward! + A good time, was it not, my kingly days, + And had you not grown restless ... but I know-- + 'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my instinct said; + Too live the life grew, golden and not gray; + And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt + Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. + How could it end in any other way? + You called me, and I came home to your heart. + The triumph was to have ended there; then, if + I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? + Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, + You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! + "Rafael did this, Andrea painted that; + The Roman's is the better when you pray, + But still the other Virgin was his wife"-- + Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge + Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows + My better fortune, I resolve to think, + For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives, + Said one day Agnolo, his very self, + To Rafael--I have known it all these years-- + (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts + Upon a palace wall for Rome to see, + Too lifted up in heart because of it) + "Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub + Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, + Who, were he set to plan and execute + As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, + Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!" + To Rafael's!--and indeed the arm is wrong. + I hardly dare ... yet, only you to see, + Give the chalk here--quick, thus the line should go! + Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! + Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, + (What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? + Do you forget already words like those?) + If really there was such a chance so lost,-- + Is, whether you're--not grateful--but more pleased. + Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed! + This hour has been an hour! Another smile? + If you would sit thus by me every night, + I should work better--do you comprehend? + I mean that I should earn more, give you more. + See, it is settled dusk now: there's a star; + Morello's gone, the watch lights show the wall, + The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. + Come from the window, love,--come in, at last, + Inside the melancholy little house + We built to be so gay with. God is just. + King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights + When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, + The walls become illumined, brick from brick + Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold, + That gold of his I did cement them with! + Let us but love each other. Must you go? + That cousin here again? he waits outside? + Must see you--you, and not with me? Those loans? + More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? + Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? + While hand and eye and something of a heart + Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth? + I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit + The gray remainder of the evening out, + Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly + How I could paint were I but back in France, + One picture, just one more--the Virgin's face, + Not yours this time! I want you at my side + To hear them--that is, Michel Agnolo-- + Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. + Will you? To-morrow satisfy your friend. + I take the subjects for his corridor, + Finish the portrait out of hand--there, there, + And throw him in another thing or two + If he demurs: the whole should prove enough + To pay for this same cousin's freak. Beside, + What's better, and what's all I care about, + Get you the thirteen send for the ruff! + Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he, + The cousin! what does he to please you more? + + I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. + I regret little, I would change still less. + Since there my past life lies, why alter it? + The very wrong to Francis!--it is true + I took his coin, was tempted and complied, + And built this house and sinned, and all is said. + My father and my mother died of want. + Well, had I riches of my own? you see + How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. + They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died; + And I have labored somewhat in my time + And not been paid profusely. Some good son + Paint my two hundred pictures--let him try! + No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes, + You loved me quite enough, it seems to-night. + This must suffice me here. What would one have? + In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance-- + Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, + Meted on each side by the angel's reed, + For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo, and me + To cover--the three first without a wife, + While I have mine! So still they overcome-- + Because there's still Lucrezia,--as I choose. + + Again the cousin's whistle! Go, my love. + + + + A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S + + + O GALLUPI, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find! + I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind: + But although I take your meaning, 'tis with such a heavy mind! + + Have you come with your old music, and here's all the good it brings? + What, they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the + kings, + Where Saint Mark's is, where the Doges used to wed the sea with + rings? + + Ay, because the sea's the street there; and 'tis arched by--what + you call-- + Shylock's bridge with houses on it, where they kept the carnival: + I was never out of England--it's as if I saw it all. + + Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? + Balls and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to mid-day, + When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow, do you say? + + Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red,-- + On her neck the small face buoyant, like a bell-flower on its bed, + O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? + + Well, and it was graceful of them: they'd break talk off and afford-- + She to bite her mask's black velvet, he to finger on his sword, + While you sat and played Toccatas, stately at the clavichord! + + What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on + sigh, + Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions--"Must + we die?" + Those commiserating sevenths--"Life might last! we can but try!" + + "Were you happy?" "Yes."--"And are you still as happy?" + "Yes. And you?"-- + "Then, more kisses!" "Did _I_ stop them, when a million seemed so few?" + Hark, the dominant's persistence till it must be answered to! + + So, an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, I dare say! + "Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay! + I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play!" + + Then they left you for their pleasure; till in due time, one by one, + Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone, + Death stepped tacitly, and took them where they never see the sun. + + But when I sit down to reason, think to take my stand nor swerve, + While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve, + In you come with your cold music till I creep through every nerve. + + Yes, you, like a ghostly cricket, creaking where a house was burned. + "Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice earned. + The soul, doubtless, is immortal--where a soul can be discerned. + + "Yours for instance: you know physics, something of geology, + Mathematics are your pastime; souls shall rise in their degree; + Butterflies may dread extinction,--you'll not die, it cannot be! + + "As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop, + Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop; + What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop? + + "Dust and ashes!" So you creak it, and I want the heart to scold. + Dear dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the gold + Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. + + + + + CONFESSIONS + + What is he buzzing in my ears? + "Now that I come to die + Do I view the world as a vale of tears?" + Ah, reverend sir, not I! + + What I viewed there once,--what I viewed again + Where the physic bottles stand + On the table's edge,--is a suburb lane, + With a wall to my bedside hand. + + That lane sloped, much as the bottles do, + From a house you could descry + O'er the garden wall: is the curtain blue, + Or green to a healthy eye? + + To mine, it serves for the old June weather + Blue above lane and wall; + And that farthest bottle labeled "Ether" + Is the house o'ertopping all. + + At a terrace, somewhat near the stopper, + There watched for me, one June, + A girl: I know, sir, it's improper, + My poor mind's out of tune. + + Only, there was a way--you crept + Close by the side, to dodge + Eyes in the house, two eyes except: + They styled their house "The Lodge" + + What right had a lounger up their lane? + But by creeping very close, + With the good wall's help,--their eyes might strain + And stretch themselves to O's, + + Yet never catch her and me together, + As she left the attic there, + By the rim of the bottle labeled "Ether," + And stole from stair to stair, + + And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas, + We loved, sir--used to meet: + How sad and bad and mad it was-- + But then, how it was sweet! + + + + LOVE AMONG THE RUINS + + + Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles, + Miles and miles, + On the solitary pastures where our sheep + Half asleep + Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop + As they crop-- + Was the site once of a city great and gay + (So they say); + Of our country's very capital, its prince, + Ages since, + Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far + Peace or war. + + Now,--the country does not even boast a tree, + As you see; + To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills + From the hills + Intersect and give a name to (else they run + Into one). + Where the domed and daring palace shot in spires + Up like fires + O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall + Bounding all, + Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, + Twelve abreast. + + And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass + Never was! + Such a carpet as this summer-time o'erspreads + And imbeds + Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, + Stock or stone-- + Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe + Long ago; + Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame + Struck them tame; + And that glory and that shame alike, the gold + Bought and sold. + + Now,--the single little turret that remains + On the plains, + By the caper overrooted, by the gourd + Overscored, + While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks + Through the chinks-- + Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time + Sprang sublime, + And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced + As they raced, + And the monarch and his minions and his dames + Viewed the games. + + And I know--while thus the quiet-colored eve + Smiles to leave + To their folding all our many-tinkling fleece + In such peace, + And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray + Melt away-- + That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair + Waits me there + In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul + For the goal, + When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb, + Till I come. + + But he looked upon the city every side, + Far and wide, + All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades + Colonnades, + All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,--and then, + All the men! + When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, + Either hand + On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace + Of my face, + Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech + Each on each. + + In one year they sent a million fighters forth + South and North, + And they built their gods a brazen pillar high + As the sky, + Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force-- + Gold, of course. + O heart! O blood that freezes, blood that burns! + Earth's returns + For whole centuries of folly, noise, and sin! + Shut them in, + With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! + Love is best. + + + + A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL + + SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE + + Let us begin and carry up this corpse, + Singing together. + Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, + Each in its tether, + Sleeping safe in the bosom of the plain, + Cared-for till cock-crow: + Look out if yonder be not day again + Rimming the rock-row! + That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, + Rarer, intenser, + Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, + Chafes in the censer. + Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; + Seek we sepulture + On a tall mountain, citied to the top, + Crowded with culture! + All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels: + Clouds overcome it; + No, yonder sparkle is the citadel's + Circling its summit. + Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights! + Wait ye the warning? + Our low life was the level's and the night's: + He's for the morning. + Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, + 'Ware the beholders! + This is our master, famous, calm, and dead, + Borne on our shoulders. + + Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, + Safe from the weather! + He whom we convoy to his grave aloft, + Singing together, + He was a man born with thy face and throat, + Lyric Apollo! + Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note + Winter would follow? + Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone! + Cramped and diminished, + Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon! + My dance is finished"? + No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain side, + Make for the city!) + He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride + Over men's pity; + Left play for work, and grappled with the world + Bent on escaping: + "What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled? + Show me their shaping, + Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,-- + Give!" so he gowned him, + Straight got by heart that book to its last page; + Learned, we found him. + Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead. + Accents uncertain: + "Time to taste life," another would have said, + "Up with the curtain!" + This man said rather, "Actual life comes next? + Patience a moment! + Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, + Still there's the comment. + Let me know all! Prate not of most or least, + Painful or easy! + Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast, + Ay, nor feel queasy." + Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, + When he had learned it, + When he had gathered all books had to give! + Sooner, he spurned it. + Image the whole, then execute the parts-- + Fancy the fabric + Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, + Ere mortar dab brick! + + (Here's the town-gate reached; there's the market-place + Gaping before us.) + Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace: + (Hearten our chorus!) + That before living he'd learn how to live-- + No end to learning: + Earn the means first--God surely will contrive + Use for our earning. + Others mistrust and say, "But time escapes! + Live now or never!" + He said, "What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes! + Man has Forever." + Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head; + _Calculus_ racked him; + Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead; + _Tussis_ attacked him. + "Now, master, take a little rest!"--not he! + (Caution redoubled! + Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!) + Not a whit troubled, + Back to his studies, fresher than at first, + Fierce as a dragon + He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) + Sucked at the flagon. + + Oh, if we draw a circle premature, + Heedless of far gain, + Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure + Bad is our bargain! + Was it not great? did not he throw on God + (He loves the burthen)-- + God's task to make the heavenly period + Perfect the earthen? + Did not he magnify the mind, show clear + Just what it all meant? + He would not discount life, as fools do here + Paid by installment. + He ventured neck or nothing--heaven's success + Found, or earth's failure: + "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered, "Yes! + Hence with life's pale lure!" + That low man seeks a little thing to do, + Sees it and does it: + This high man, with a great thing to pursue, + Dies ere he knows it. + That low man goes on adding one to one, + His hundred's soon hit: + This high man, aiming at a million, + Misses an unit. + That, has the world here--should he need the next. + Let the world mind him! + This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed + Seeking shall find him. + So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, + Ground he at grammar; + Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife: + While he could stammer + He settled _Hoti's_ business--let it be!-- + Properly based _Oun_-- + Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic _De_, + Dead from the waist down. + + Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: + Hail to your purlieus, + All ye highfliers of the feathered race, + Swallows and curlews! + Here's the top-peak; the multitude below + Live, for they can, there: + This man decided not to Live but Know-- + Bury this man there? + Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, + Lightnings are loosened, + Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, + Peace let the dew send! + Lofty designs must close in like effects: + Loftily lying, + Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, + Living and dying. + + + MY LAST DUCHESS + + FERRARA + + + That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, + Looking as if she were alive. I call + That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands + Worked busily a day, and there she stands. + Will't please you sit and look at her? I said + "Fra Pandolf" by design: for never read + Strangers like you that pictured countenance, + The depth and passion of its earnest glance, + But to myself they turned (since none puts by + The curtain I have drawn for you, but I), + And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, + How such a glance came there; so, not the first + Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not + Her husband's presence only, called that spot + Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps + Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps + Over my lady's wrists too much," or "Paint + Must never hope to reproduce the faint + Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff + Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough + For calling up that spot of joy. She had + A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, + Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er + She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. + Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, + The dropping of the daylight in the West, + The bough of cherries some officious fool + Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule + She rode with round the terrace,--all and each + Would draw from her alike the approving speech, + Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked + Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked + My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name + With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame + This sort of trifling? Even had you skill + In speech (which I have not) to make your will + Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this + Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, + Or there exceed the mark,"--and if she let + Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set + Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,-- + E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose + Never to stoop. O sir! she smiled, no doubt, + When'er I passed her; but who passed without + Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; + Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands + As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet + The company below, then. I repeat, + The Count your master's known munificence + Is ample warrant that no just pretense + Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; + Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed + At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go + Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, + Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, + Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + + + UP AT A VILLA--DOWN IN THE CITY + + (As DISTINGUISHED BY AN ITALIAN PERSON OF QUALITY) + + + Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, + The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square; + Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there! + + Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least! + There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast; + While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast. + + Well, now, look at our villa! stuck like the horn of a bull + Just on a mountain edge as bare as the creature's skull, + Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull!-- + scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair's turned wool. + + But the city, oh the city--the square with the houses! Why! + They are stone-faced, white as a curd; there's something to take the + eye! + Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry; + You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by; + Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high; + And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly. + + What of a villa? Though winter be over in March by rights, + 'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the + heights; + You've the brown-plowed land before, where the oxen steam and + wheeze, + And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive-trees. + + Is it better in May, I ask you? You've summer all at once; + In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns. + 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, + The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell + Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell. + + Is it ever hot in the square? There's a fountain to spout and splash! + In the shade it sings and springs; in the shine such foam-bows flash + On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and + pash + Round the lady atop in her conch--fifty gazers do not abash, + Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort + of sash. + + All the year long at the villa, nothing to see though you linger, + Except yon cypress that points like death's lean lifted forefinger. + Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix i' the corn and mingle, + Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle. + Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill, + And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on + the hill. + Enough of the seasons,--I spare you the months of the fever and + chill. + + Ere you open your eyes in the city, the blessed church-bells begin; + No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in: + You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin. + By and by there's the traveling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws + teeth, + Or the Pulcinella-trumpet breaks up the market beneath. + At the post-office such a scene picture--the new play, piping hot! + And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot. + Above it, behold the Archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes, + And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of + the Duke's! + Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so + Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, St. Jerome, and Cicero, + "And moreover" (the sonnet goes rhyming), "the skirts of St. Paul + has reached, + Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever + he preached." + Noon strikes,--here sweeps the procession! our Lady borne smiling + and smart, + With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her + heart! + _Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum, _tootle-te-tootle_ the fife; + No keeping one's haunches still: it's the greatest pleasure in life. + + But bless you, it's dear--it's dear! fowls, wine, at double the rate; + They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing + the gate + It's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the city! + Beggars can scarcely be choosers: but still--ah, the pity, the pity! + Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and + sandals, + And then penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow + candles; + One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles, + And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention + of scandals: + _Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum, _tootle-te-tootle_ the fife, + Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life! + + + + IN THREE DAYS + + + So, I shall see her in three days + And just one night,--but nights are short,-- + Then two long hours, and that is morn. + See how I come, unchanged, unworn-- + Feel, where my life broke off from thine, + How fresh the splinters keep and fine,--Only + a touch and we combine! + + Too long, this time of year, the days! + But nights--at least the nights are short, + As night shows where her one moon is, + A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss, + So, life's night gives my lady birth + And my eyes hold her! What is worth + The rest of heaven, the rest of earth? + + O loaded curls, release your store + Of warmth and scent, as once before + The tingling hair did, lights and darks + Outbreaking into fairy sparks + When under curl and curl I pried + After the warmth and scent inside, + Through lights and darks how manifold--The + dark inspired, the light controlled! + As early Art embrowned the gold. + + What great fear--should one say, "Three days + That change the world might change as well + Your fortune; and if joy delays, + Be happy that no worse befell." + What small fear--if another says, + "Three days and one short night beside + May throw no shadow on your ways; + But years must teem with change untried, + With chance not easily defied, + With an end somewhere undescried." + No fear!--or if a fear be born + This minute, it dies out in scorn. + Fear? I shall see her in three days + And one night,--now the nights are short,-- + Then just two hours, and that is morn. + + + IN A YEAR + + Never any more, + While I live, + Need I hope to see his face + As before. + Once his love grown chill, + Mine may strive: + Bitterly we re-embrace, + Single still. + + Was it something said, + Something done, + Vexed him? was it touch of hand, + Turn of head? + Strange! that very way + Love begun: + I as little understand + Love's decay. + + When I sewed or drew, + I recall + How he looked as if I sung,-- + Sweetly too. + If I spoke a word, + First of all + Up his cheek the color sprung, + Then he heard. + + Sitting by my side, + At my feet, + So he breathed but air I breathed, + Satisfied! + I, too, at love's brim + Touched the sweet: + I would die if death bequeathed + Sweet to him. + + "Speak, I love thee best!" + He exclaimed: + "Let thy love my own foretell!" + I confessed: + "Clasp my heart on thine + Now unblamed, + Since upon thy soul as well + Hangeth mine!" + + Was it wrong to own, + Being truth? + Why should all the giving prove + His alone? + I had wealth and ease, + Beauty, youth: + Since my lover gave me love, + I gave these. + + That was all I meant,-- + To be just, + And the passion I had raised + To content. + Since he chose to change + Gold for dust, + If I gave him what he praised + Was it strange? + Would he loved me yet, + On and on, + While I found some way undreamed-- + Paid my debt! + Gave more life and more, + Till all gone, + He should smile--"She never seemed + Mine before. + + "What, she felt the while, + Must I think? + Love's so different with us men!" + He should smile: + "Dying for my sake-- + White and pink! + Can't we touch these bubbles then + But they break?" + + Dear, the pang is brief, + Do thy part, + Have thy pleasure! How perplexed + Grows belief! + Well, this cold clay clod + Was man's heart: + Crumble it, and what comes next? + Is it God? + + + EVELYN HOPE + + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! + Sit and watch by her side an hour. + That is her book-shelf, this her bed: + She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, + Beginning to die too, in the glass: + Little has yet been changed, I think; + The shutters are shut, no light may pass + Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. + + Sixteen years old when she died! + Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; + It was not her time to love; beside, + Her life had many a hope and aim, + Duties enough and little cares, + And now was quiet, now astir, + Till God's hand beckoned unawares-- + And the sweet white brow is all of her. + + Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? + What, your soul was pure and true, + The good stars met in your horoscope, + Made you of spirit, fire, and dew + And just because I was thrice as old, + And our paths in the world diverged so wide, + Each was naught to each, must I be told? + We were fellow mortals, naught beside? + + No, indeed! for God above + Is great to grant, as mighty to make, + And creates the love to reward the love: + I claim you still, for my own love's sake! + Delayed it may be for more lives yet, + Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; + Much is to learn, much to forget + Ere the time be come for taking you. + + But the time will come,--at last it will, + When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) + In the lower earth, in the years long still, + That body and soul so pure and gay? + Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, + And your mouth of your own geranium's red-- + And what would you do with me, in fine, + In the new life come in the old one's stead? + + I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, + Given up myself so many times, + Gained me the gains of various men, + Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; + Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, + Either I missed or itself missed me: + And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! + What is the issue? let us see! + + I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! + My heart seemed full as it could hold; + There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, + And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. + So hush,--I will give you this leaf to keep; + See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand! + There, that is our secret: go to sleep! + You will wake, and remember, and understand. + + * * * * * + + PROSPICE + + Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat, + The mist in my face, + When the snows begin, and the blasts denote + I am nearing the place, + The power of the night, the press of the storm, + The post of the foe; + Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible form, + Yet the strong man must go: + For the journey is done and the summit attained, + And the barriers fall, + Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, + The reward of it all. + I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, + The best and the last! + I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, + And bade me creep past. + No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers + The heroes of old, + Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears + Of pain, darkness, and cold. + For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, + The black minute's at end, + And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, + Shall dwindle, shall blend, + Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, + Then a light, then thy breast, + O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, + And with God be the rest! + + + + THE PATRIOT + + AN OLD STORY + + + It was roses, roses, all the way, + With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: + The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, + The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, + A year ago on this very day. + + The air broke into a mist with bells, + The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. + Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels-- + But give me your sun from yonder skies" + They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" + + Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun + To give it my loving friends to keep! + Naught man could do have I left undone; + And you see my harvest, what I reap + This very day, now a year is run. + + There's nobody on the housetops now-- + Just a palsied few at the windows set; + For the best of the sight is, all allow, + At the Shambles' Gate--or, better yet, + By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. + + I go in the rain, and, more than needs, + A rope cuts both my wrists behind; + And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, + For they fling, whoever has a mind, + Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. + + Thus I entered, and thus I go! + In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. + "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe + Me?"--God might question; now instead, + 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so. + + + + ONE WORD MORE + + To E.B.B. + + London, September, 1855 + + + There they are, my fifty men and women, + Naming me the fifty poems finished! + Take them, Love, the book and me together: + Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also. + + Raphael made a century of sonnets, + Made and wrote them in a certain volume + Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil + Else he only used to draw Madonnas: + These, the world might view--but one, the volume. + Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you. + Did she live and love it all her lifetime? + Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets, + Die and let it drop beside her pillow, + Where it lay in place of Raphael's glory, + Raphael's cheek so duteous and so loving-- + Cheek the world was wont to hail a painter's, + Raphael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's? + + You and I would rather read that volume + (Taken to his beating bosom by it), + Lean and list the bosom-beats of Raphael, + Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas-- + Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno, + Her, that visits Florence in a vision, + Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre-- + Seen by us and all the world in circle. + + You and I will never read that volume. + Guido Reni like his own eye's apple + Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it. + Guido Reni dying, all Bologna + Cried, and the world cried too, "Ours the treasure!" + Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. + + Dante once prepared to paint an angel: + Whom to please? You whisper "Beatrice." + While he mused and traced it and retraced it, + (Peradventure with a pen corroded + Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for + When, his left hand i' the hair o' the wicked, + Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma, + Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment, + Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle, + Let the wretch go festering through Florence)-- + Dante, who loved well because he hated, + Hated wickedness that hinders loving, + Dante standing, studying his angel-- + In there broke the folk of his Inferno. + Says he--"Certain people of importance" + (Such he gave his daily dreadful line to) + "Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet." + Says the poet--"Then I stopped my painting." + + You and I would rather see that angel + Painted by the tenderness of Dante-- + Would we not?--than read a fresh Inferno. + + You and I will never see that picture. + While he mused on love and Beatrice, + While he softened o'er his outlined angel, + In they broke, those "people of importance"; + We and Bice bear the loss forever. + + What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture? + This: no artist lives and loves, that longs not + Once, and only once, and for one only, + (Ah, the prize!) to find his love a language + Fit and fair and simple and sufficient-- + Using nature that's an art to others, + Not, this one time, art that's turned his nature. + Ay, of all the artists living, loving, + None but would forego his proper dowry. + Does he paint? he fain would write a poem: + Does he write? he fain would paint a picture: + Put to proof art alien to the artist's, + Once, and only once, and for one only, + So to be the man and leave the artist, + Gain the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow. + + Wherefore? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatement! + He who smites the rock and spreads the water, + Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him, + Even he the minute makes immortal + Proves perchance but mortal in the minute, + Desecrates belike the deed in doing. + While he smites, how can he but remember + So he smote before, in such a peril, + When they stood and mocked--"Shall smiting help us?" + When they drank and sneered--"A stroke is easy!" + When they wiped their mouths and went their journey, + Throwing him for thanks--"But drought was pleasant." + Thus old memories mar the actual triumph; + Thus the doing savors of disrelish; + Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat; + O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate, + Carelessness or consciousness--the gesture. + For he bears an ancient wrong about him, + Sees and knows again those phalanxed faces, + Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude-- + "How shouldst thou, of all men, smite, and save us?" + Guesses what is like to prove the sequel-- + "Egypt's flesh-pots--nay, the drought was better." + + Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant! + Theirs the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilliance, + Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat. + Never dares the man put off the prophet. + + Did he love one face from out the thousands + (Were she Jethro's daughter, white and wifely, + Were she but the AEthiopian bondslave), + He would envy yon dumb patient camel, + Keeping a reserve of scanty water + Meant to save his own life in the desert; + Ready in the desert to deliver + (Kneeling down to let his breast be opened) + Hoard and life together for his mistress. + + I shall never, in the years remaining, + Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues. + Make you music that should all-express me; + So it seems: I stand on my attainment. + This of verse alone, one life allows me; + Verse and nothing else have I to give you. + Other heights in other lives, God willing: + All the gifts from all the heights, your own, Love! + + Yet a semblance of resource avails us-- + Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize it. + Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly, + Lines I write the first time and the last time. + He who works in fresco, steals a hair-brush, + Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly, + Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little, + Makes a strange art of an art familiar, + Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets. + He who blows through bronze may breathe through silver, + Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess. + He who writes may write for once as I do. + + Love, you saw me gather men and women, + Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy, + Enter each and all, and use their service, + Speak from every mouth,--the speech a poem. + Hardly shall I tell my joys and sorrows, + Hopes and fears, belief and disbelieving: + I am mine and yours--the rest be all men's, + Karshish, Cleon, Norbert, and the fifty. + Let me speak this once in my true person, + Not as Lippo, Roland, or Andrea, + Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence: + Pray you, look on these, my men and women, + Take and keep my fifty poems finished; + Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also! + Poor the speech; be how I speak, for all things. + + Not but that you know me! Lo, the moon's self! + Here in London, yonder late in Florence, + Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. + Curving on a sky imbrued with color, + Drifted over Fiesole by twilight, + Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth. + Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato, + Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder, + Perfect till the nightingales applauded. + Now, a piece of her old self, impoverished, + Hard to greet, she traverses the house-roofs, + Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver, + Goes dispiritedly, glad to finish. + What, there's nothing in the moon noteworthy? + Nay: for if that moon could love a mortal, + Use to charm him (so to fit a fancy), + All her magic ('tis the old sweet mythos). + She would turn a new side to her mortal, + Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman-- + Blank to Zoroaster on his terrace, + Blind to Galileo on his turret, + Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats--him, even! + Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal-- + When she turns round, comes again in heaven, + Opens out anew for worse or better! + Proves she like some portent of an iceberg + Swimming full upon the ship it founders, + Hungry with huge teeth of splintered crystals? + Proves she as the paved work of a sapphire + Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain? + Moses, Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu + Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, + Stand upon the paved work of a sapphire. + Like the bodied heaven in his clearness + Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved work, + When they ate and drank and saw God also! + + What were seen? None knows, none ever shall know. + Only this is sure--the sight were other, + Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence, + Dying now impoverished here in London. + God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures + Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, + One to show a woman when he loves her! + + This I say of me, but think of you, Love! + This to you--yourself my moon of poets! + Ah, but that's the world's side, there's the wonder; + Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you! + There, in turn I stand with them and praise you-- + Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. + But the best is when I glide from out them, + + Cross a step or two of dubious twilight, + Come out on the other side, the novel + Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of, + Where I hush and bless myself with silence. + + Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, + Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno, + Wrote one song--and in my brain I sing it, + Drew one angel--borne, see, on my bosom! + + R.B. + + + +ORESTES AUGUSTUS BROWNSON + +(1803-1876) + +Orestes 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. + +[Illustration: ORESTES BROWNSON] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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). + + + + + +SAINT-SIMONISM + +From 'The Convert' + +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 Bouillie. 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. + +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'Ecole +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _mode_. 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. + +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. + +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 +Barthelemy Prosper Enfantin.... + +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, _savans_, 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 _savans_, 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, _Pere Supreme_, and a Supreme Mother, _Mere Supreme_. + +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. + +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, _Mere Supreme_, 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 _Mere Supreme_. 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 Pere +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +FERDINAND BRUNETIERE + +(1849-) + +BY ADOLPHE COHN + +Ferdinand Brunetiere, 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 Lycee Louis le Grand, where in the class of +philosophy he came under Professor Emile 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 Ecole +Normale Superieure, 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. + +[Illustration: Ferdiand Brunetiere] + +For several years after leaving the Lycee Louis le Grand, while +completing his literary outfit by wonderfully extensive reading, +Ferdinand Brunetiere 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, +Bailliere 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. Francois +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 Francois Buloz was a man who seldom +made mistakes. + +French literary criticism was just then at a very low ebb. Sainte-Beuve +had been dead about five years; his own contemporaries, Edmond Scherer +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 +Brunetiere had become the regular literary critic of the Revue des +Deux Mondes. + +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 +Brunetiere 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 Brunetiere 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, Brunetiere 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.' + +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 Lemaitre 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. +Brunetiere'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 Brunetiere'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 Brunetiere'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. + +Of late years, moreover, it must be acknowledged that Brunetiere'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. Brunetiere'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.). + +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. + +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 Brunetiere'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 +Brunetiere 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 Brunetiere'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. + +TAINE AND PRINCE NAPOLEON + +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. + +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, _he_ 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. + +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 _slandering_. 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 +Remusat,' 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 "deboulonneur" among those who, in 1871, pulled down the +Colonne Vendome. + +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 Regime,' 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. + +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 _wish_ to know anything; I do not need it, since I _know_, +from other sources, that 'Bourrienne's Memoirs' are hardly less spurious +than, say, the 'Souvenirs of the Marquise de Crequi' 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 _he_ wrote nothing? ... + +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 _has_ 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. + + + +THE LITERATURES OF FRANCE, ENGLAND, AND GERMANY + +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 mediaeval poems, our +'Chansons de Geste,' our 'Romances of the Round Table,' our _fabliaux_ +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? + +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.... + +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 _humor_, 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 _individualism_ 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 _eccentricity_ 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. + +That is also all I claim, in stating that the essential character of the +literature of Germany is, that it is _philosophical_. 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, _suggestive_ 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 _we_ do not blame their literature +for not being the same as ours. + +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 Moliere 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. + + + +GIORDANO BRUNO + +(1548-1600) + +Fillippo 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. + +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. + +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 Manvissiere. 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. + +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. + +Bruno, the knight-errant of these truths, devoted all his life to +scourging pedantry, and dissented _in toto_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + + + +A DISCOURSE OF POETS + +From 'The Heroic Enthusiasts' + +_Cicada_--Say, what do you mean by those who vaunt themselves of myrtle +and laurel? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--There are then many species of poets and crowns? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--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. + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--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? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--How then are the true poets to be known? + +_Tansillo_--By the singing of their verses: in that singing they give +delight, or they edify, or they edify and delight together. + +_Cicada_--To whom then are the rules of Aristotle useful? + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--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. + +_Tansillo_--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: + + "O Friar Leek! O Poetaster! + That in Milan didst buckle on thy wreath + Composed of salad, sausage, and the pepper-caster." + +_Cicada_--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!" + +_Tansillo_--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. + +_Cicada_--For to die in one age makes us live in all the rest. + + + + CANTICLE OF THE SHINING ONES + + A Tribute to English Women, from 'The Nolan' + + + "Nothing I envy, Jove, from this thy sky," + Spake Neptune thus, and raised his lofty crest. + "God of the waves," said Jove, "thy pride runs high; + What more wouldst add to own thy stern behest?" + + "Thou," spake the god, "dost rule the fiery span, + The circling spheres, the glittering shafts of day; + Greater am I, who in the realm of man + Rule Thames, with all his Nymphs in fair array. + + "In this my breast I hold the fruitful land, + The vasty reaches of the trembling sea; + And what in night's bright dome, or day's, shall stand + Before these radiant maids who dwell with me?" + + "Not thine," said Jove, "god of the watery mount, + To exceed my lot; but thou my lot shalt share: + Thy heavenly maids among my stars I'll count, + And thou shalt own the stars beyond compare!" + + + THE SONG OF THE NINE SINGERS + + [_The first sings and plays the cithern_.] + + O cliffs and rocks! O thorny woods! O shore! + O hills and dales! O valleys, rivers, seas! + How do your new-discovered beauties please? + O Nymph, 'tis yours the guerdon rare, + If now the open skies shine fair; + O happy wanderings, well spent and o'er! + + [_The second sings and plays to his mandolin_.] + + O happy wanderings, well spent and o'er! + Say then, O Circe, these heroic tears, + These griefs, endured through tedious months and years, + Were as a grace divine bestowed + If now our weary travail is no more. + + [_The third sings and plays to his lyre_.] + + If now our weary travail is no more! + If this sweet haven be our destined rest, + Then naught remains but to be blest, + To thank our God for all his gifts, + Who from our eyes the veil uplifts, + Where shines the light upon the heavenly shore, + + [_The fourth sings to the viol_.] + + Where shines the light upon the heavenly shore! + O blindness, dearer far than others' sight! + O sweeter grief than earth's most sweet delight! + For ye have led the erring soul + By gradual steps to this fair goal, + And through the darkness into light we soar. + + [_The fifth sings to a Spanish timbrel_.] + + And through the darkness into light we soar! + To full fruition all high thought is brought, + With such brave patience that ev'n we + At least the only path can see, + And in his noblest work our God adore. + + [_The sixth sings to a lute_.] + + And in his noblest work our God adore! + God doth not will joy should to joy succeed, + Nor ill shall be of other ill the seed; + But in his hand the wheel of fate + Turns, now depressed and now elate, + Evolving day from night for evermore. + + [_The seventh sings to the Irish harp_.] + + Evolving day from night for evermore! + And as yon robe of glorious nightly fire + Pales when the morning beams to noon aspire, + Thus He who rules with law eternal, + Creating order fair diurnal, + Casts down the proud and doth exalt the poor. + + [_The eighth plays with a viol and bow_.] + + Casts down the proud and doth exalt the poor! + And with an equal hand maintains + The boundless worlds which He sustains, + And scatters all our finite sense + At thought of His omnipotence, + Clouded awhile, to be revealed once more. + + [_The ninth plays upon the rebeck_.] + + Clouded awhile, to be revealed once more! + Thus neither doubt nor fear avails; + O'er all the incomparable End prevails, + O'er fair champaign and mountain, + O'er river-brink and fountain, + And o'er the shocks of seas and perils of the shore. + + Translation of Isa Blagden. + + + + OF IMMENSITY + + From Frith's 'Life of Giordano Bruno' + + + 'Tis thou, O Spirit, dost within my soul + This weakly thought with thine own life amend; + Rejoicing, dost thy rapid pinions lend + Me, and dost wing me to that lofty goal + Where secret portals ope and fetters break, + And thou dost grant me, by thy grace complete, + Fortune to spurn, and death; O high retreat, + Which few attain, and fewer yet forsake! + Girdled with gates of brass in every part, + Prisoned and bound in vain, 'tis mine to rise + Through sparkling fields of air to pierce the skies, + Sped and accoutred by no doubting heart, + Till, raised on clouds of contemplation vast, + Light, leader, law, Creator, I attain at last. + + + + + LIFE WELL LOST + + + Winged by desire and thee, O dear delight! + As still the vast and succoring air I tread, + So, mounting still, on swifter pinions sped, + I scorn the world, and heaven receives my flight. + And if the end of Ikaros be nigh, + I will submit, for I shall know no pain: + And falling dead to earth, shall rise again; + What lowly life with such high death can vie? + Then speaks my heart from out the upper air, + "Whither dost lead me? sorrow and despair + Attend the rash." and thus I make reply:-- + "Fear thou no fall, nor lofty ruin sent; + Safely divide the clouds, and die content, + When such proud death is dealt thee from on high." + + + + PARNASSUS WITHIN + + + O heart, 'tis you my chief Parnassus are, + Where for my safety I must ever climb. + My winged thoughts are Muses, who from far + Bring gifts of beauty to the court of Time; + And Helicon, that fair unwasted rill, + Springs newly in my tears upon the earth, + And by those streams and nymphs, and by that hill, + It pleased the gods to give a poet birth. + No favoring hand that comes of lofty race, + No priestly unction, nor the grant of kings, + Can on me lay such lustre and such grace, + Nor add such heritage; for one who sings + Hath a crowned head, and by the sacred bay, + His heart, his thoughts, his tears, are consecrate alway. + + + + + COMPENSATION + + + The moth beholds not death as forth he flies + Into the splendor of the living flame; + The hart athirst to crystal water hies, + Nor heeds the shaft, nor fears the hunter's aim; + The timid bird, returning from above + To join his mate, deems not the net is nigh; + Unto the light, the fount, and to my love, + Seeing the flame, the shaft, the chains, I fly; + So high a torch, love-lighted in the skies, + Consumes my soul; and with this bow divine + Of piercing sweetness what terrestrial vies? + This net of dear delight doth prison mine; + And I to life's last day have this desire-- + Be mine thine arrows, love, and mine thy fire. + + + + + LIFE FOR SONG + + + Come Muse, O Muse, so often scorned by me, + The hope of sorrow and the balm of care,-- + Give to me speech and song, that I may be + Unchid by grief; grant me such graces rare + As other ministering souls may never see + Who boast thy laurel, and thy myrtle wear. + I know no joy wherein thou hast not part, + My speeding wind, my anchor, and my goal, + Come, fair Parnassus, lift thou up my heart; + Come, Helicon, renew my thirsty soul. + A cypress crown, O Muse, is thine to give, + And pain eternal: take this weary frame, + Touch me with fire, and this my death shall live + On all men's lips and in undying fame. + + + +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT + +(1794-1878) + +BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP + +Distinguished 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +[Illustration: WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.] + +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. + +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 + + "Forced to drudge for the dregs of men, + And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, + And mingle among the jostling crowd, + Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: Signature: George Parsons Lathrop] + +[All Bryant's poems were originally published by D. Appleton and +Company.] + + + + THANATOPSIS + + To him who in the love of Nature holds + Communion with her visible forms, she speaks + A various language; for his gayer hours + She has a voice of gladness, and a smile + And eloquence of beauty, and she glides + Into his darker musings, with a mild + And healing sympathy, that steals away + Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts + Of the last bitter hour come like a blight + Over thy spirit, and sad images + Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, + And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, + Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;-- + Go forth, under the open sky, and list + To Nature's teachings, while from all around-- + Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-- + Comes a still voice:-- + + Yet a few days, and thee + The all-beholding sun shall see no more + In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, + Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, + Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist + Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim + Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, + And, lost each human trace, surrendering up + Thine individual being, shalt thou go + To mix for ever with the elements, + To be a brother to the insensible rock + And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain + Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak + Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. + + Yet not to thine eternal resting-place + Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish + Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down + With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings, + The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good, + Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, + All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills + Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales + Stretching in pensive quietness between; + The venerable woods--rivers that move + In majesty, and the complaining brooks + That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, + Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- + Are but the solemn decorations all + Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, + The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, + Are shining on the sad abodes of death, + Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread + The globe are but a handful to the tribes + That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings + Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, + Or lose thyself in the continuous woods + Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound + Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there; + And millions in those solitudes, since first + The flight of years began, have laid them down + In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone. + + So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw + In silence from the living, and no friend + Take note of thy departure? All that breathe + Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh + When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care + Plod on, and each one as before will chase + His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave + Their mirth and their employments, and shall come + And make their bed with thee. As the long train + Of ages glides away, the sons of men,-- + The youth in life's fresh spring and he who goes + In the full strength of years, matron and maid, + The speechless babe and the gray-headed man-- + Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, + By those who in their turn shall follow them. + + So live, that when thy summons comes to join + The innumerable caravan which moves + To that mysterious realm where each shall take + His chamber in the silent halls of death, + Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, + Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave + Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch + About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. + + + + + THE CROWDED STREET + + + Let me move slowly through the street, + Filled with an ever-shifting train, + Amid the sound of steps that beat + The murmuring walks like autumn rain. + + How fast the flitting figures come! + The mild, the fierce, the stony face-- + Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some + Where secret tears have lost their trace. + + They pass to toil, to strife, to rest-- + To halls in which the feast is spread-- + To chambers where the funeral guest + In silence sits beside the dead. + + And some to happy homes repair, + Where children, pressing cheek to cheek, + With mute caresses shall declare + The tenderness they cannot speak. + + And some, who walk in calmness here, + Shall shudder as they reach the door + Where one who made their dwelling dear, + Its flower, its light, is seen no more. + + Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, + And dreams of greatness in thine eye! + Go'st thou to build an early name, + Or early in the task to die? + + Keen son of trade, with eager brow! + Who is now fluttering in thy snare? + Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, + Or melt the glittering spires in air? + + Who of this crowd to-night shall tread + The dance till daylight gleam again? + Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? + Who writhe in throes of mortal pain? + + Some, famine-struck, shall think how long + The cold dark hours, how slow the light; + And some who flaunt amid the throng + Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. + + Each where his tasks or pleasures call, + They pass, and heed each other not. + There is Who heeds, Who holds them all + In His large love and boundless thought. + + These struggling tides of life, that seem + In wayward, aimless course to tend, + Are eddies of the mighty stream + That rolls to its appointed end. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS + + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, + Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. + Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; + They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. + The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, + And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. + + Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang + and stood + In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? + Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers + Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. + The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain + Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. + + The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague + on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and + glen. + + And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will + come, + To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; + When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are + still, + And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, + The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he + bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. + + And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, + The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. + In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, + And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; + Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours, + So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. + + + THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE + + Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, + And yet the monument proclaims it not, + Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought + The emblems of a fame that never dies,-- + Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf, + Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf. + A simple name alone, + To the great world unknown, + Is graven here, and wild-flowers rising round, + Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, + Lean lovingly against the humble stone. + + Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart + No man of iron mold and bloody hands, + Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands + The passions that consumed his restless heart: + But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, + Gentlest, in mien and mind, + Of gentle womankind, + Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame; + One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made + Its haunts, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, + Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade + Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. + + Nor deem that when the hand that molders here + Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear, + And armies mustered at the sign, as when + Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East-- + Gray captains leading bands of veteran men + And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast. + Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave + The victory to her who fills this grave: + Alone her task was wrought, + Alone the battle fought; + Through that long strife her constant hope was staid + On God alone, nor looked for other aid. + + She met the hosts of Sorrow with a look + That altered not beneath the frown they wore, + And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took + Meekly her gentle rule, and frowned no more. + Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath, + And calmly broke in twain + The fiery shafts of pain, + And rent the nets of passion from her path. + By that victorious hand despair was slain. + With love she vanquished hate and overcame + Evil with good, in her Great Master's name. + + Her glory is not of this shadowy state, + Glory that with the fleeting season dies; + But when she entered at the sapphire gate + What joy was radiant in celestial eyes! + How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, + And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung! + And He who long before, + Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, + The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet, + Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat; + He who returning, glorious, from the grave, + Dragged Death disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave. + + See, as I linger here, the sun grows low; + Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near. + O gentle sleeper, from the grave I go, + Consoled though sad, in hope and yet in fear. + Brief is the time, I know, + The warfare scarce begun; + Yet all may win the triumphs thou hast won. + Still flows the fount whose waters strengthened thee; + The victors' names are yet too few to fill + Heaven's mighty roll; the glorious armory + That ministered to thee, is open still. + + + + + THE-BATTLE-FIELD + + + Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, + Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, + And fiery hearts and armed hands + Encountered in the battle-cloud. + + Ah! never shall the land forget + How gushed the life-blood of her brave-- + Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, + Upon the soil they sought to save. + + Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; + Alone the chirp of flitting bird, + And talk of children on the hill, + And bell of wandering kine are heard. + + No solemn host goes trailing by + The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; + Men start not at the battle-cry-- + Oh, be it never heard again! + + Soon rested those who fought; but thou + Who minglest in the harder strife + For truths which men receive not now, + Thy warfare only ends with life. + + A friendless warfare! lingering long + Through weary day and weary year; + A wild and many-weaponed throng + Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. + + Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, + And blench not at thy chosen lot; + The timid good may stand aloof, + The sage may frown--yet faint thou not. + + Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, + The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; + For with thy side shall dwell, at last, + The victory of endurance born. + + Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again-- + The eternal years of God are hers; + But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, + And dies among his worshipers. + + Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, + When they who helped thee flee in fear, + Die full of hope and manly trust, + Like those who fell in battle here! + + Another hand thy sword shall wield, + Another hand the standard wave, + Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed + The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + + TO A WATERFOWL + + + Whither, 'midst falling dew, + While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, + Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue + Thy solitary way? + + Vainly the fowler's eye + Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, + As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, + Thy figure floats along, + + Seek'st thou the plashy brink + Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, + Or where the rocking billows rise and sink + On the chafed ocean-side? + + There is a Power whose care + Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-- + The desert and illimitable air-- + Lone wandering, but not lost. + + All day thy wings have fanned, + At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, + Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, + Though the dark night is near. + + And soon that toil shall end; + Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, + And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, + Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. + + Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven + Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart + Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, + And shall not soon depart. + + He who, from zone to zone, + Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, + In the long way that I must tread alone, + Will lead my steps aright. + + + ROBERT OF LINCOLN + + Merrily swinging on brier and weed, + Near to the nest of his little dame, + Over the mountain-side or mead, + Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Snug and safe is that nest of ours, + Hidden among the summer flowers. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, + Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; + White are his shoulders and white his crest. + Hear him call in his merry note:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Look what a nice new coat is mine, + Sure there was never a bird so fine. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, + Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, + Passing at home a patient life, + Broods in the grass while her husband sings: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink: + Brood, kind creature; you need not fear + Thieves and robbers while I am here. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Modest and shy as a nun is she; + One weak chirp is her only note. + Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, + Pouring boasts from his little throat:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink: + Never was I afraid of man; + Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! + Chee, chee, chee. + + Six white eggs on a bed of hay, + Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! + There as the mother sits all day, + Robert is singing with all his might:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Nice good wife, that never goes out, + Keeping house while I frolic about. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Soon as the little ones chip the shell, + Six wide mouths are open for food; + Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, + Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + This new life is likely to be + Hard for a gay young fellow like me. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln at length is made + Sober with work, and silent with care; + Off is his holiday garment laid, + Half forgotten that merry air: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Nobody knows but my mate and I + Where our nest and our nestlings lie. + Chee, chee, chee. + + Summer wanes; the children are grown; + Fun and frolic no more he knows; + Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; + Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:-- + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + When you can pipe that merry old strain, + Robert of Lincoln, come back again. + Chee, chee, chee. + + + _1855_ + + + JUNE + + I gazed upon the glorious sky + And the green mountains round; + And thought that when I came to lie + At rest within the ground, + 'Twere pleasant that in flowery June, + When brooks send up a cheerful tune + And groves a joyous sound, + The sexton's hand, my grave to make, + The rich green mountain turf should break. + + A cell within the frozen mold, + A coffin borne through sleet, + And icy clods above it rolled, + While fierce the tempests beat-- + Away! I will not think of these: + Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, + Earth green beneath the feet, + And be the damp mold gently pressed + Into my narrow place of rest. + + There through the long, long summer hours + The golden light should lie, + And thick young herbs and groups of flowers + Stand in their beauty by; + The oriole should build and tell + His love-tale close beside my cell; + The idle butterfly + Should rest him there, and there be heard + The housewife bee and humming-bird. + + And what if cheerful shouts at noon + Come, from the village sent, + Or songs of maids beneath the moon, + With fairy laughter blent? + And what if, in the evening light, + Betrothed lovers walk in sight + Of my low monument? + I would the lovely scene around + Might know no sadder sight nor sound. + + I know that I no more should see + The season's glorious show, + Nor would its brightness shine for me, + Nor its wild music flow; + But if, around my place of sleep. + The friends I love should come to weep, + They might not haste to go. + Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, + Should keep them lingering by my tomb. + + These to their softened hearts should bear + The thought of what has been, + And speak of one who cannot share + The gladness of the scene; + Whose part in all the pomp that fills + The circuit of the summer hills + Is--that his grave is green; + And deeply would their hearts rejoice + To hear again his living voice. + + + TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN + + Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, + And colored with the heaven's own blue, + That openest when the quiet light + Succeeds the keen and frosty night; + + Thou comest not when violets lean + O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, + Or columbines, in purple dressed, + Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. + + Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, + When woods are bare and birds are flown, + And frost and shortening days portend + The aged Year is near his end. + + Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye + Look through its fringes to the sky, + Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall + A flower from its cerulean wall. + + I would that thus, when I shall see + The hour of death draw near to me, + Hope, blossoming within my heart, + May look to heaven as I depart. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + THE FUTURE LIFE + + How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps + The disembodied spirits of the dead, + When all of thee that time could wither sleeps + And perishes among the dust we tread? + + For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain + If there I meet thy gentle presence not; + Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again + In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. + + Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? + That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? + My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, + And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? + + In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, + In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, + And larger movements of the unfettered mind, + Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? + + The love that lived through all the stormy past, + And meekly with my harsher nature bore, + And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, + Shall it expire with life, and be no more? + + A happier lot than mine, and larger light, + Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will + In cheerful homage to the rule of right, + And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. + + For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell + Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; + And wrath has left its scar--that fire of hell + Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. + + Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, + Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, + The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, + Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? + + Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, + The wisdom that I learned so ill in this-- + The wisdom which is love--till I become + Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + TO THE PAST + + Thou unrelenting Past! + Stern are the fetters round thy dark domain, + And fetters, sure and fast, + Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. + + Far in thy realm withdrawn + Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, + And glorious ages gone + Lie deep within the shadows of thy womb. + + Childhood, with all its mirth, + Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, + And last, Man's Life on earth, + Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. + + Thou hast my better years, + Thou hast my earlier friends--the good, the kind-- + Yielded to thee with tears-- + The venerable form, the exalted mind. + + My spirit yearns to bring + The lost ones back; yearns with desire intense, + And struggles hard to wring + Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. + + In vain!--Thy gates deny + All passage save to those who hence depart. + Nor to the streaming eye + Thou givest them back, nor to the broken heart. + + In thy abysses hide + Beauty and excellence unknown. To thee + Earth's wonder and her pride + Are gathered, as the waters to the sea. + + Labors of good to man, + Unpublished charity, unbroken faith; + Love, that 'midst grief began, + And grew with years, and faltered not in death. + + Full many a mighty name + Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered. + With thee are silent Fame, + Forgotten Arts, and Wisdom disappeared. + + Thine for a space are they. + Yet thou shalt yield thy treasures up at last; + Thy gates shall yet give way, + Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! + + All that of good and fair + Has gone into thy womb from earliest time + Shall then come forth, to wear + The glory and the beauty of its prime. + + They have not perished--no! + Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, + Smiles, radiant long ago, + And features, the great soul's apparent seat: + + All shall come back. Each tie + Of pure affection shall be knit again: + Alone shall Evil die, + And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. + + And then shall I behold + Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung; + And her who, still and cold, + Fills the next grave--the beautiful and young. + + + D. Appleton and Company, New York. + + + +JAMES BRYCE + +(1838-) + +James 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. + +[Illustration: JAMES BRYCE] + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +THE POSITION OF WOMEN IN THE UNITED STATES + +From 'The American Commonwealth' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _haus-frau_, 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +What have been the results on the character and usefulness of women +themselves? + +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. + +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? + +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. + +By permission of James Bryce and the Macmillan Company. + + * * * * * + +THE ASCENT OF ARARAT + +From 'Trans-Caucasia and Ararat' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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.... + +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 _faja_, 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. + + + +THE WORK OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE + +From 'The Holy Roman Empire' + +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: + + "There was in the world as Caesar 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 Caesar'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 Caesar had sprung up,--many who owed him, and who owe him + still, their national individuality." + +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 mediaeval 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. + + + +FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND + +(1826-1880) + +Certainly, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +A HUNT IN A HORSE-POND + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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 AEsop'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.... + +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:-- + + "The water-snake whom fish and paddocks feed, + With staring scales lies poisoned."--DRYDEN. + +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 _laub-frosch,_ 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. + + + +ON RATS + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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,' + + "Shot and missed my mark, + And shot the old sow right bang through the heart." + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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!" + +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.... + +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. + +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. + + + +SNAKES AND THEIR POISON + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +MY MONKEY JACKO + +From 'Curiosities of Natural History' + +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 _securely_--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 AEneas, + + "Obstupni, steteruntque comae et vox fancibus haesit[5]." + +[Footnote 5: + "Aghast, astonished, and struck dumb with fear, + I stood; like bristles rose my stiffened hair."--DRYDEN. +] + +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.... + +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. + +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 _all_ animals?" The employe 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." + + + +HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE + +(1821-1862) + +Henry 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + + "The written word remains long after the writer; + The writer is resting under the earth, but his works endure." + +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. + +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:-- + + "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 + _general_ relations I intend to make a _particular_ + 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." + +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. + +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:-- + + "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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +MORAL VERSUS INTELLECTUAL PRINCIPLES IN HUMAN PROGRESS + +From the 'History of Civilization in England' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Caesars 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +THE MYTHICAL ORIGIN OF HISTORY + +From the 'History of Civilization in England' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The annals of the North afford another curious instance of this source +of error. A tribe of Finns called Quaens occupied a considerable part of +the eastern coast of the Gulf of Bothnia. Their country was known as +Quaenland; 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 +Abo, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +GEORGE LOUIS LE CLERC BUFFON + +(1707-1788) + +BY SPENCER TROTTER + +A 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 Linnaeus, whose intellect and labor laid the foundations of +much of the scientific knowledge of to-day. + +[ILLUSTRATION: BUFFON] + +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 L12,000. 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. + +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. + +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 Abbe 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. + +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 Naturae 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. + +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 _not_ a naturalist. + +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.' + +[Illustration: Signature: Spencer Trotter] + + + +NATURE + +From the 'Natural History' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +THE HUMMING-BIRD + +From the 'Natural History' + +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, _maxime miranda in minimis_. 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 aerial 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, "_screp, screp_," 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. + + + +EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON + +(1803-1873) + +BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, _et id genus +omne_, 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. + +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. + +[Illustration: BULWER-LYTTON.] + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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 naive 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! + +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 _is_ the true real; the only absurdity lies in the pomp and +circumstance wherewith that simple truth is introduced. There _is_ 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. + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Moliere or even Lope de Vega. But we often +value our best faculties least. + +'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. + +[Illustration: Signature:] + +THE AMPHITHEATRE + +From 'The Last Days of Pompeii' + +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 _velaria_) 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against a shield and sword?" + +"That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia: the retiarius has +generally the best of it." + +"But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked--is it not quite +improper? By Venus! but his limbs are beautifully shaped!" + +"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." + +"He is a proper man, this Lydon; and the women, I am sure, are on his +side." + +"So are not the experienced bettors: Clodius offers three to one against +him." + +"Oh, Jove! how beautiful!" exclaimed the widow, as two gladiators, armed +_cap-a-pie,_ 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. + +"The one is named Berbix: he has conquered twelve times. The other +assumes the arrogant Nobilior. They are both Gauls." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"Well done, Nobilior!" cried the praetor, giving the first vent to the +popular excitement. + +"Bravely struck, my Berbix!" answered Clodius from his seat. + +And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shout, echoed from side to side. + +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. + +"Nobilior! Nobilior!" shouted the populace. + +"I have lost ten sestertia," said Clodius, between his teeth. + +"_Habet_!" (He has it) said Pansa deliberately. + +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. + +"It is a pity it was so soon over--there was little enough for one's +trouble," said the widow Fulvia. + +"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." + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _pluck_, 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. + +"Guard thyself!" growled Tetraides, moving nearer and nearer to his foe, +who rather shifted round him than receded. + +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. + +"You are unlucky to-day," said Lepidus to Clodius: "you have lost one +bet; you will lose another." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Three to one still on Tetraides! What say you, Lepidus?" + +"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." + +"Fool--success blinds him--he should be cautious. Lydon's eye is like a +lynx's!" said Clodius, between his teeth. + +"Ha, Clodius! saw you that? Your man totters! Another blow--he falls--he +falls!" + +"Earth revives him then. He is once more up; but the blood rolls down +his face." + +"By the Thunderer! Lydon wins it. See how he presses on him! That blow +on the temple would have crushed an ox! it _has_ crushed Tetraides. He +falls again--he cannot move--_habet_!--_habet_!" + +"_Habet_!" repeated Pansa. "Take them out and give them the armor and +swords." ... + +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. + +"My gallant boy!" said he, and wiped his eyes. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 _secutor_[6] 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. + +[Footnote 6: So called from the office of that tribe of gladiators in +_following_ the foe the moment the net was cast, in order to smite him +ere he could have time to re-arrange it.] + +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. + +"Ho!" said Clodius, "the game is nearly over. If Eumolpus rights now the +quiet fight, the other will gradually bleed himself away." + +"But, thank the gods! he does _not_ 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!" + +"Why do I ever bet but at the dice?" groaned Clodius to himself;--"or +why cannot one cog a gladiator?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _mimic_ fight had ceased +to charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the +thirst of death! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The aedile 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. + +"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." + +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! + +"Noble aedile!" 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." + +The people shouted louder than before. + +"Four to one against Lydon!" said Clodius to Lepidus. + +"I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very Achilles, and +this poor fellow is but a tyro!" + +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. + +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. + +It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the praetor 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Prayers!" answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful mien than he had +yet maintained. + +"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!" + +There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A fierce blow +from Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon to his knee. + +"_Habet_!--he has it!" cried a shrill female voice; "he has it!" + +It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated the +sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts. + +"Be silent, child!" said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. "_Non habet!_--he +is _not_ wounded!" + +"I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon," muttered the girl. + +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. + +"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!" + +"And my father still enslaved!" groaned Lydon to himself. "No! death or +his freedom." + +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, aedile 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 +aedile 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. + +"Look to him," said the aedile; "he has done his duty!" + +The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium. + +"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. + +Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the attendants +sprinkled fresh sand over the arena. + +"Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian," said the aedile. + +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. + + * * * * * + +The door swung gratingly back--the gleam of spears shot along the wall. + +"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a loud and clear voice; +"the lion awaits thee." + +"I am ready," said the Athenian. "Brother and co-mate, one last embrace! +Bless me--and farewell!" + +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. + +"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!'" + +"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." + +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. + +"Courage!" said one; "thou art young, active, well knit. They give thee +a weapon! despair not, and thou mayst yet conquer." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _one_ well-directed thrust (for he knew +that he should have time but for _one_) might penetrate through the eye +to the brain of his grim foe. + +But to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast seemed not even +aware of the presence of the criminal. + +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. + +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. + +The editor called to the keeper:--"How is this? Take the goad, prick him +forth, and then close the door of the den." + +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 +Apaecides!" + +[Illustration: _IN THE ARENA,_ Photogravure from a Drawing by Frank +Kirchbach. + +"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 _one_ well-directed thrust (for he knew +that he should have time but for _one_) might penetrate through the eye +to the brain of his grim foe. But to the unutterable astonishment of +all, the beast seemed not even aware of the presence of the criminal." ] + +[Illustration: Untitled] + +"Art thou mad, O Sallust!" said the praetor, rising from his seat. "What +means this raving?" + +"Remove the Athenian!--Quick! or his blood be on your head. Praetor, +delay, and you answer with your own life to the Emperor! I bring with me +the eye-witness to the death of the priest Apaecides. Room there, stand +back, give way. People of Pompeii, fix every eye upon Arbaces; there he +sits! Room there for the priest Calenus!" + +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! + +"The priest Calenus--Calenus!" cried the mob. "It is he? No--it is a +dead man!" + +"It is the priest Calenus," said the praetor, gravely. "What hast thou to +say?" + +"Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apaecides, 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--_he_ is +innocent!" + +"It is for this, then, that the lion spared him, A miracle! a miracle!" +cried Pansa. + +"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people; "remove the +Athenian--_Arbaces to the lion_." + +And that shout echoed from hill to vale--from coast to sea--_Arbaces to +the lion_. + +"Officers, remove the accused Glaucus--remove, but guard him yet," said +the praetor. "The gods lavish their wonders upon this day." + +As the praetor 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. + +"Silence!" said the grave praetor; "who is there?" + +"The blind girl--Nydia," answered Sallust; "it is her hand that has +raised Calenus from the grave, and delivered Glaucus from the lion." + +"Of this hereafter," said the praetor. "Calenus, priest of Isis, thou +accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apaecides?" + +"I do!" + +"Thou didst behold the deed?" + +"Praetor--with these eyes--" + +"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?" + +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 praetor, he said, in +that accent so peculiarly tranquil and commanding which characterized +his tones:-- + +"Praetor, 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! +Praetor, I am innocent!" + +"Sallust," said the magistrate, "where found you Calenus?" + +"In the dungeons of Arbaces." + +"Egyptian," said the praetor, frowning, "thou didst, then, dare to +imprison a priest of the gods--and wherefore?" + +[Illustration: NYDIA The blind flower-girl of Bulwer's Last Days of +Pompeii. Photogravure from a Painting by C. Von Bodenhausen.] + +[Illustration] + +"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 praetor--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?--_then_ I had not detained +or concealed him. Why did he not proclaim my guilt when I proclaimed +that of Glaucus? Praetor, 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." + +"He says right." said the praetor. "Ho! guards--remove Arbaces--guard +Calenus! Sallust, we hold you responsible for your accusation. Let the +sports be resumed." + +"What!" cried Calenus, turning round to the people, "shall Isis be thus +contemned? Shall the blood of Apaecides 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! _To the lion--to the lion with Arbaces_!" + +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. + +"It is a god that inspires the holy man! _To the lion with the +Egyptian_!" + +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 aedile command; in vain did the praetor 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 praetor 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! + +He stretched his hand on high; over his lofty brow and royal features +there came an expression, of unutterable solemnity and command. + +"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!" + +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! + +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! + +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! + +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! + + + +KENELM AND LILY + +From 'Kenelm Chillingly' + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"And pray who is Mrs. Cameron?" + +"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?" + +"Very! emblematic of a spinster that does not spin, with a white head +and a thin stalk." + +"Then the name belies my Lily; as you will see." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!'" ... + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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 _she_ seems to have run away to +hide herself." + +"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?" + +"No; so that is Lily? You shall introduce me to her." + +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.... + +Before he had reached the place, Mrs. Braefield met him. + +"Lily is come!" + +"I know it--I have seen her." + +"Is not she beautiful?" + +"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?" + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"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. + +"My husband," said Mrs. Braefield with a certain pride in her look. + +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. + +"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." + +Kenelm hesitated. + +"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. + +"I cannot resist so tempting an invitation," said Kenelm, and he fell +back a little behind Lily and her companion. + +"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." + +"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." + +"If so," said Kenelm to Lily, "may I come too? Of all flowers that grow, +heart's-ease is the one I most prize." + +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. + +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. + +"Do you collect insects?" said that philosopher, as much surprised as it +was his nature to be at anything. + +"Only butterflies," answered Lily; "they are not insects, you know; they +are souls." + +"Emblems of souls, you mean--at least so the Greeks prettily represented +them to be." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I don't know," replied Lily, looking very much puzzled: "perhaps I +learned it in a book, or perhaps I dreamed it." + +"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?" + +"Impale them! How can you talk so cruelly? You deserve to be pinched by +the fairies." + +"I am afraid," thought Kenelm, compassionately, "that my companion has +no mind to be formed; what is euphoniously called 'an innocent.'" + +He shook his head and remained silent. + +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." + +"Then you have kept them a year; they ought to have turned into +fairies." + +"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." + +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:-- + +"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:-- + + 'Wave your tops, ye pines; + With every plant, in sign of worship wave.' + +What an interchange of music there must be between Nature and a poet!" + +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:-- + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + + +End of Volume VI. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Library Of The World's Best +Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol 6, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + +***** This file should be named 13623.txt or 13623.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/6/2/13623/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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