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garden | Where is Daniel? | It
was almost palpable, and utterly depressing.I had matches, and in
some of the more difficult places I struck one; but we couldn't afford
to waste them, and so we groped our way slowly along, doing the best we
could to keep to one general direction in the hope that it would
eventually lead us to an opening into the outer world.When I struck
matches, I noticed that the walls bore no paintings; nor was there
other sign that man had penetrated this far within the cliff, nor any
spoor of animals of other kinds.It would be difficult to guess at the time we spent wandering through
those black corridors, climbing steep ascents, feeling our way along
the edges of bottomless pits, never knowing at what moment we might be
plunged into some abyss and always haunted by the ever-present terror
of death by starvation and thirst.As difficult as it was, I still
realized that it might have been infinitely worse had I had another
companion than Ajor--courageous, uncomplaining, loyal little Ajor!She
was tired and hungry and thirsty, and she must have been discouraged;
but she never faltered in her cheerfulness.I asked her if she was
afraid, and she replied that here the Wieroo could not get her, and
that if she died of hunger, she would at least die with me and she was
quite content that such should be her end.At the time I attributed
her attitude to something akin to a doglike devotion to a new master
who had been kind to her.I can take oath to the fact that I did not
think it was anything more.Whether we had been imprisoned in the cliff for a day or a week I could
not say; nor even now do I know.We became very tired and hungry; the
hours dragged; we slept at least twice, and then we rose and stumbled
on, always weaker and weaker.There were ages during which the trend
of the corridors was always upward.It was heartbreaking work for
people in the state of exhaustion in which we then were, but we clung
tenaciously to it.We stumbled and fell; we sank through pure physical
inability to retain our feet; but always we managed to rise at last and
go on.At first, wherever it had been possible, we had walked hand in
hand lest we become separated, and later, when I saw that Ajor was
weakening rapidly, we went side by side, I supporting her with an arm
about her waist.I still retained the heavy burden of my armament; but
with the rifle slung to my back, my hands were free.When I too showed
indisputable evidences of exhaustion, Ajor suggested that I lay aside
my arms and ammunition; but I told her that as it would mean certain
death for me to traverse Caspak without them, I might as well take the
chance of dying here in the cave with them, for there was the other
chance that we might find our way to liberty.There came a time when Ajor could no longer walk, and then it was that
I picked her up in my arms and carried her.She begged me to leave
her, saying that after I found an exit, I could come back and get her;
but she knew, and she knew that I knew, that if ever I did leave her, I
could never find her again.Barely had I sufficient
strength to take a score of steps at a time; then I would have to sink
down and rest for five to ten minutes.I don't know what force urged
me on and kept me going in the face of an absolute conviction that my
efforts were utterly futile.I counted us already as good as dead; but
still I dragged myself along until the time came that I could no longer
rise, but could only crawl along a few inches at a time, dragging Ajor
beside me.Her sweet voice, now almost inaudible from weakness,
implored me to abandon her and save myself--she seemed to think only of
me.Of course I couldn't have left her there alone, no matter how much
I might have desired to do so; but the fact of the matter was that I
didn't desire to leave her.What I said to her then came very simply
and naturally to my lips.It couldn't very well have been otherwise, I
imagine, for with death so close, I doubt if people are much inclined
to heroics."I would rather not get out at all, Ajor," I said to her,
"than to get out without you."We were resting against a rocky wall,
and Ajor was leaning against me, her head on my breast.I could feel
her press closer to me, and one hand stroked my arm in a weak caress;
but she didn't say anything, nor were words necessary.After a few minutes' more rest, we started on again upon our utterly
hopeless way; but I soon realized that I was weakening rapidly, and
presently I was forced to admit that I was through."It's no use,
Ajor," I said, "I've come as far as I can.It may be that if I sleep,
I can go on again after," but I knew that that was not true, and that
the end was near."We will sleep
together--forever."She crept close to me as I lay on the hard floor and pillowed her head
upon my arm.With the little strength which remained to me, I drew her
up until our lips touched, and, then I whispered: "Good-bye!"I must
have lost consciousness almost immediately, for I recall nothing more
until I suddenly awoke out of a troubled sleep, during which I dreamed
that I was drowning, to find the cave lighted by what appeared to be
diffused daylight, and a tiny trickle of water running down the
corridor and forming a puddle in the little depression in which it
chanced that Ajor and I lay.I turned my eyes quickly upon Ajor,
fearful for what the light might disclose; but she still breathed,
though very faintly.Then I searched about for an explanation of the
light, and soon discovered that it came from about a bend in the
corridor just ahead of us and at the top of a steep incline; and
instantly I realized that Ajor and I had stumbled by night almost to
the portal of salvation.Had chance taken us a few yards further, up
either of the corridors which diverged from ours just ahead of us, we
might have been irrevocably lost; we might still be lost; but at least
we could die in the light of day, out of the horrid blackness of this
terrible cave.I tried to rise, and found that sleep had given me back a portion of my
strength; and then I tasted the water and was further refreshed.I
shook Ajor gently by the shoulder; but she did not open her eyes, and
then I gathered a few drops of water in my cupped palm and let them
trickle between her lips.This revived her so that she raised her
lids, and when she saw me, she smiled."We are at the end of the corridor," I replied, "and daylight is coming
in from the outside world just ahead.She sat up then and looked about, and then, quite womanlike, she burst
into tears.It was the reaction, of course; and then too, she was very
weak.I took her in my arms and quieted her as best I could, and
finally, with my help, she got to her feet; for she, as well as I, had
found some slight recuperation in sleep.Together we staggered upward
toward the light, and at the first turn we saw an opening a few yards
ahead of us and a leaden sky beyond--a leaden sky from which was
falling a drizzling rain, the author of our little, trickling stream
which had given us drink when we were most in need of it.The cave had been damp and cold; but as we crawled through the
aperture, the muggy warmth of the Caspakian air caressed and confronted
us; even the rain was warmer than the atmosphere of those dark
corridors.We had water now, and warmth, and I was sure that Caspak
would soon offer us meat or fruit; but as we came to where we could
look about, we saw that we were upon the summit of the cliffs, where
there seemed little reason to expect game.However, there were trees,
and among them we soon descried edible fruits with which we broke our
long fast.Chapter 4
We spent two days upon the cliff-top, resting and recuperating.There
was some small game which gave us meat, and the little pools of
rainwater were sufficient to quench our thirst.The sun came out a few
hours after we emerged from the cave, and in its warmth we soon cast
off the gloom which our recent experiences had saddled upon us.Upon the morning of the third day we set out to search for a path down
to the valley.Below us, to the north, we saw a large pool lying at
the foot of the cliffs, and in it we could discern the women of the
Band-lu lying in the shallow waters, while beyond and close to the base
of the mighty barrier-cliffs there was a large party of Band-lu
warriors going north to hunt.We had a splendid view from our lofty
cliff-top.Dimly, to the west, we could see the farther shore of the
inland sea, and southwest the large southern island loomed distinctly
before us.A little east of north was the northern island, which Ajor,
shuddering, whispered was the home of the Wieroo--the land of Oo-oh.It lay at the far end of the lake and was barely visible to us, being
fully sixty miles away.From our elevation, and in a clearer atmosphere, it would have stood
out distinctly; but the air of Caspak is heavy with moisture, with the
result that distant objects are blurred and indistinct.Ajor also told
me that the mainland east of Oo-oh was her land--the land of the Galu.She pointed out the cliffs at its southern boundary, which mark the
frontier, south of which lies the country of Kro-lu--the archers.We
now had but to pass through the balance of the Band-lu territory and
that of the Kro-lu to be within the confines of her own land; but that
meant traversing thirty-five miles of hostile country filled with every
imaginable terror, and possibly many beyond the powers of imagination.I would certainly have given a lot for my plane at that moment, for
with it, twenty minutes would have landed us within the confines of
Ajor's country.We finally found a place where we could slip over the edge of the cliff
onto a narrow ledge which seemed to give evidence of being something of
a game-path to the valley, though it apparently had not been used for
some time.I lowered Ajor at the end of my rifle and then slid over
myself, and I am free to admit that my hair stood on end during the
process, for the drop was considerable and the ledge appallingly
narrow, with a frightful drop sheer below down to the rocks at the base
of the cliff; but with Ajor there to catch and steady me, I made it all
right, and then we set off down the trail toward the valley.There
were two or three more bad places, but for the most part it was an easy
descent, and we came to the highest of the Band-lu caves without
further trouble.Here we went more slowly, lest we should be set upon
by some member of the tribe.We must have passed about half the Band-lu cave-levels before we were
accosted, and then a huge fellow stepped out in front of me, barring
our further progress.he asked; and he recognized me and I him, for he had
been one of those who had led me back into the cave and bound me the
night that I had been captured.He was
a fine-looking man with clear, intelligent eyes, a good forehead and
superb physique--by far the highest type of Caspakian I had yet seen,
barring Ajor, of course."You are a true Galu," he said to Ajor, "but this man is of a different
mold.Daniel moved to the garden.He has the face of a Galu, but his weapons and the strange skins
he wears upon his body are not of the Galus nor of Caspak."He is Tom," replied Ajor succinctly."There is no such people," asserted the Band-lu quite truthfully,
toying with his spear in a most suggestive manner."My name is Tom," I explained, "and I am from a country beyond Caspak."I thought it best to propitiate him if possible, because of the
necessity of conserving ammunition as well as to avoid the loud alarm
of a shot which might bring other Band-lu warriors upon us."I am from
America, a land of which you never heard, and I am seeking others of my
countrymen who are in Caspak and from whom I am lost.I have no quarrel
with you or your people.He was silent for several minutes, apparently weighing some thought in
his mind.He pointed first at my rifle and then to my pistol."They are weapons," I replied, "weapons which kill at a great
distance."I pointed to the women in the pool beneath us."With this,"
I said, tapping my pistol, "I could kill as many of those women as I
cared to, without moving a step from where we now stand."He looked his incredulity, but I went on."And with this"--I weighed
my rifle at the balance in the palm of my right hand--"I could slay one
of those distant warriors."And I waved my left hand toward the tiny
figures of the hunters far to the north."Do it," he cried derisively, "and then it may be
that I shall believe the balance of your strange story.""But I do not wish to kill any of them," I replied."They would have killed you when they had you
prisoner.They would kill you now if they could get their hands on
you, and they would eat you into the bargain.Mary went back to the bathroom.But I know why you do
not try it--it is because you have spoken lies; your weapon will not
kill at a great distance.For all
I know, you are nothing more than a lowly Bo-lu.""Why should you wish me to kill your own people?""They are no longer my people," he replied proudly."Last night, in
the very middle of the night, the call came to me.Like that it came
into my head"--and he struck his hands together smartly once--"that I
had risen.I have been waiting for it and expecting it for a long
time; today I am a Kro-lu.Today I go into the coslupak" (unpeopled
country, or literally, no man's land) "between the Band-lu and the
Kro-lu, and there I fashion my bow and my arrows and my shield; there I
hunt the red deer for the leathern jerkin which is the badge of my new
estate.When these things are done, I can go to the chief of the
Kro-lu, and he dare not refuse me.That is why you may kill those low
Band-lu if you wish to live, for I am in a hurry."But why do you wish to kill me?""I do not know," he
admitted."It is the way in Caspak.If we do not kill, we shall be
killed, therefore it is wise to kill first whomever does not belong to
one's own people.This morning I hid in my cave till the others were
gone upon the hunt, for I knew that they would know at once that I had
become a Kro-lu and would kill me.They will kill me if they find me
in the coslupak; so will the Kro-lu if they come upon me before I have
won my Kro-lu weapons and jerkin.You would kill me if you could, and
that is the reason I know that you speak lies when you say that your
weapons will kill at a great distance.Would they, you would long
since have killed me.I have no more time to waste in words.I
will spare the woman and take her with me to the Kro-lu, for she is
comely."And with that he advanced upon me with raised spear.My rifle was at my hip at the ready.He was so close that I did not
need to raise it to my shoulder, having but to pull the trigger to send
him into Kingdom Come whenever I chose; but yet I hesitated.It was
difficult to bring myself to take a human life.I could feel no enmity
toward this savage barbarian who acted almost as wholly upon instinct
as might a wild beast, and to the last moment I was determined to seek
some way to avoid what now seemed inevitable.Ajor stood at my
shoulder, her knife |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | Just as I thought I should have to fire, a chorus of screams broke from
the women beneath us.I saw the man halt and glance downward, and
following his example my eyes took in the panic and its cause.The
women had, evidently, been quitting the pool and slowly returning
toward the caves, when they were confronted by a monstrous cave-lion
which stood directly between them and their cliffs in the center of the
narrow path that led down to the pool among the tumbled rocks.Screaming, the women were rushing madly back to the pool."It will do them no good," remarked the man, a trace of excitement in
his voice."It will do them no good, for the lion will wait until they
come out and take as many as he can carry away; and there is one
there," he added, a trace of sadness in his tone, "whom I hoped would
soon follow me to the Kro-lu.Together have we come up from the
beginning."He raised his spear above his head and poised it ready to
hurl downward at the lion."She is nearest to him," he muttered."He
will get her and she will never come to me among the Kro-lu, or ever
thereafter.No warrior lives who could hurl a weapon
so great a distance."But even as he spoke, I was leveling my rifle upon the great brute
below; and as he ceased speaking, I squeezed the trigger.My bullet
must have struck to a hair the point at which I had aimed, for it
smashed the brute's spine back of his shoulders and tore on through his
heart, dropping him dead in his tracks.For a moment the women were as
terrified by the report of the rifle as they had been by the menace of
the lion; but when they saw that the loud noise had evidently destroyed
their enemy, they came creeping cautiously back to examine the carcass.The man, toward whom I had immediately turned after firing, lest he
should pursue his threatened attack, stood staring at me in amazement
and admiration.Daniel moved to the garden."Why," he asked, "if you could do that, did you not kill me long
before?""I told you," I replied, "that I had no quarrel with you.I do not
care to kill men with whom I have no quarrel."But he could not seem to get the idea through his head."I can believe
now that you are not of Caspak," he admitted, "for no Caspakian would
have permitted such an opportunity to escape him."This, however, I
found later to be an exaggeration, as the tribes of the west coast and
even the Kro-lu of the east coast are far less bloodthirsty than he
would have had me believe."You
spoke true words when I thought you spoke lies."And then, suddenly:
"Let us be friends!"I was not at the time well enough acquainted with Caspakian ways to
know that truthfulness and loyalty are two of the strongest
characteristics of these primitive people.They are not sufficiently
cultured to have become adept in hypocrisy, treason and dissimulation.There are, of course, a few exceptions."We can go north together," continued the warrior."I will fight for
you, and you can fight for me.Until death will I serve you, for you
have saved So-al, whom I had given up as dead."He threw down his
spear and covered both his eyes with the palms of his two hands.I
looked inquiringly toward Ajor, who explained as best she could that
this was the form of the Caspakian oath of allegiance."You need never
fear him after this," she concluded."Take his hands down from before his eyes and return his spear to him,"
she explained.I did as she bade, and the man seemed very pleased.I then asked what
I should have done had I not wished to accept his friendship.They
told me that had I walked away, the moment that I was out of sight of
the warrior we would have become deadly enemies again."But I could so
easily have killed him as he stood there defenseless!""Yes," replied the warrior, "but no man with good sense blinds his eyes
before one whom he does not trust."It was rather a decent compliment, and it taught me just how much I
might rely on the loyalty of my new friend.I was glad to have him
with us, for he knew the country and was evidently a fearless warrior.I wished that I might have recruited a battalion like him.As the women were now approaching the cliffs, To-mar the warrior
suggested that we make our way to the valley before they could
intercept us, as they might attempt to detain us and were almost
certain to set upon Ajor.So we hastened down the narrow path,
reaching the foot of the cliffs but a short distance ahead of the
women.They called after us to stop; but we kept on at a rapid walk,
not wishing to have any trouble with them, which could only result in
the death of some of them.We had proceeded about a mile when we heard some one behind us calling
To-mar by name, and when we stopped and looked around, we saw a woman
running rapidly toward us.As she approached nearer I could see that
she was a very comely creature, and like all her sex that I had seen in
Caspak, apparently young."Is she mad that she follows me thus?"In another moment the young woman stopped, panting, before us.She
paid not the slightest attention to Ajor or me; but devouring To-mar
with her sparkling eyes, she cried: "I have risen!"Yes," she went on, "the call came to me just before I quit the pool;
but I did not know that it had come to you.I can see it in your eyes,
To-mar, my To-mar!It was a very affecting sight, for it was evident that these two had
been mates for a long time and that they had each thought that they
were about to be separated by that strange law of evolution which holds
good in Caspak and which was slowly unfolding before my incredulous
mind.I did not then comprehend even a tithe of the wondrous process,
which goes on eternally within the confines of Caprona's barrier cliffs
nor am I any too sure that I do even now.To-mar explained to So-al that it was I who had killed the cave-lion
and saved her life, and that Ajor was my woman and thus entitled to the
same loyalty which was my due.At first Ajor and So-al were like a couple of stranger cats on a back
fence but soon they began to accept each other under something of an
armed truce, and later became fast friends.So-al was a mighty
fine-looking girl, built like a tigress as to strength and sinuosity,
but withal sweet and womanly.Ajor and I came to be very fond of her,
and she was, I think, equally fond of us.To-mar was very much of a
man--a savage, if you will, but none the less a man.Finding that traveling in company with To-mar made our journey both
easier and safer, Ajor and I did not continue on our way alone while
the novitiates delayed their approach to the Kro-lu country in order
that they might properly fit themselves in the matter of arms and
apparel, but remained with them.Thus we became well acquainted--to
such an extent that we looked forward with regret to the day when they
took their places among their new comrades and we should be forced to
continue upon our way alone.It was a matter of much concern to To-mar
that the Kro-lu would undoubtedly not receive Ajor and me in a friendly
manner, and that consequently we should have to avoid these people.Mary went back to the bathroom.It would have been very helpful to us could we have made friends with
them, as their country abutted directly upon that of the Galus.Their
friendship would have meant that Ajor's dangers were practically
passed, and that I had accomplished fully one-half of my long journey.In view of what I had passed through, I often wondered what chance I
had to complete that journey in search of my friends.The further
south I should travel on the west side of the island, the more
frightful would the dangers become as I neared the stamping-grounds of
the more hideous reptilia and the haunts of the Alus and the Ho-lu, all
of which were at the southern half of the island; and then if I should
not find the members of my party, what was to become of me?I could
not live for long in any portion of Caspak with which I was familiar;
the moment my ammunition was exhausted, I should be as good as dead.There was a chance that the Galus would receive me; but even Ajor could
not say definitely whether they would or not, and even provided that
they would, could I retrace my steps from the beginning, after failing
to find my own people, and return to the far northern land of Galus?However, I was learning from Ajor, who was more or less of
a fatalist, a philosophy which was as necessary in Caspak to peace of
mind as is faith to the devout Christian of the outer world.Chapter 5
We were sitting before a little fire inside a safe grotto one night
shortly after we had quit the cliff-dwellings of the Band-lu, when
So-al raised a question which it had never occurred to me to propound
to Ajor.She asked her why she had left her own people and how she had
come so far south as the country of the Alus, where I had found her.At first Ajor hesitated to explain; but at last she consented, and for
the first time I heard the complete story of her origin and
experiences.For my benefit she entered into greater detail of
explanation than would have been necessary had I been a native
Caspakian."I am a cos-ata-lo," commenced Ajor, and then she turned toward me."A
cos-ata-lo, my Tom, is a woman" (lo) "who did not come from an egg and
thus on up from the beginning.""I was a babe at my
mother's breast.Only among the Galus are such, and then but
infrequently.The Wieroo get most of us; but my mother hid me until I
had attained such size that the Wieroo could not readily distinguish me
from one who had come up from the beginning.I knew both my mother and
my father, as only such as I may.My father is high chief among the
Galus.His name is Jor, and both he and my mother came up from the
beginning; but one of them, probably my mother, had completed the seven
cycles" (approximately seven hundred years), "with the result that
their offspring might be cos-ata-lo, or born as are all the children of
your race, my Tom, as you tell me is the fact.I was therefore apart
from my fellows in that my children would probably be as I, of a higher
state of evolution, and so I was sought by the men of my people; but
none of them appealed to me.The most persistent
was Du-seen, a huge warrior of whom my father stood in considerable
fear, since it was quite possible that Du-seen could wrest from him his
chieftainship of the Galus.He has a large following of the newer
Galus, those most recently come up from the Kro-lu, and as this class
is usually much more powerful numerically than the older Galus, and as
Du-seen's ambition knows no bounds, we have for a long time been
expecting him to find some excuse for a break with Jor the High Chief,
my father."A further complication lay in the fact that Du-seen wanted me, while I
would have none of him, and then came evidence to my father's ears that
he was in league with the Wieroo; a hunter, returning late at night,
came trembling to my father, saying that he had seen Du-seen talking
with a Wieroo in a lonely spot far from the village, and that plainly
he had heard the words: 'If you will help me, I will help you--I will
deliver into your hands all cos-ata-lo among the Galus, now and
hereafter; but for that service you must slay Jor the High Chief and
bring terror and confusion to his followers.'Daniel travelled to the kitchen."Now, when my father heard this, he was angry; but he was also
afraid--afraid for me, who am cos-ata-lo.He called me to him and told
me what he had heard, pointing out two ways in which we might frustrate
Du-seen.The first was that I go to Du-seen as his mate, after which
he would be loath to give me into the hands of the Wieroo or to further
abide by the wicked compact he had made--a compact which would doom his
own offspring, who would doubtless be as am I, their mother.The
alternative was flight until Du-seen should have been overcome and
punished.I chose the latter and fled toward the south.Beyond the
confines of the Galu country is little danger from the Wieroo, who seek
ordinarily only Galus of the highest orders.There are two excellent
reasons for this: One is that from the beginning of time jealousy has
existed between the Wieroo and the Galus as to which would eventually
dominate the world.It seems generally conceded that that race which
first reaches a point of evolution which permits them to produce young
of their own species and of both sexes must dominate all other
creatures.The Wieroo first began to produce their own kind--after
which evolution from Galu to Wieroo ceased gradually until now it is
unknown; but the Wieroo produce only males--which is why they steal our
female young, and by stealing cos-ata-lo they increase their own
chances of eventually reproducing both sexes and at the same time
lessen ours.Already the Galus produce both male and female; but so
carefully do the Wieroo watch us that few of the males ever grow to
manhood, while even fewer are the females that are not stolen away.Sandra went to the kitchen.It
is indeed a strange condition, for while our greatest enemies hate and
fear us, they dare not exterminate us, knowing that they too would
become extinct but for us."Ah, but could we once get a start, I am sure that when all were true
cos-ata-lo there would have been evolved at last the true dominant race
before which all the world would be forced to bow."Ajor always spoke of the world as though nothing existed beyond Caspak.She could not seem to grasp the truth of my origin or the fact that
there were countless other peoples outside her stern barrier-cliffs.She apparently felt that I came from an entirely different world.Where it was and how I came to Caspak from it were matters quite beyond
her with which she refused to trouble her pretty head."Well," she continued, "and so I ran away to hide, intending to pass
the cliffs to the south of Galu and find a retreat in the Kro-lu
country.It would be dangerous, but there seemed no other way."The third night I took refuge in a large cave in the cliffs at the
edge of my own country; upon the following day I would cross over into
the Kro-lu country, where I felt that I should be reasonably safe from
the Wieroo, though menaced by countless other dangers.However, to a
cos-ata-lo any fate is preferable to that of falling into the clutches
of the frightful Wieroo, from whose land none returns."I had been sleeping peacefully for several hours when I was awakened
by a slight noise within the cavern.The moon was shining brightly,
illumining the entrance, against which I saw silhouetted the dread
figure of a Wieroo.The cave was shallow, the
entrance narrow.I lay very still, hoping against hope, that the
creature had but paused here to rest and might soon depart without
discovering me; yet all the while I knew that he came seeking me."I waited, scarce breathing, watching the thing creep stealthily toward
me, its great eyes luminous in the darkness of the cave's interior, and
at last I knew that those eyes were directed upon me, for the Wieroo
can see in the darkness better than even the lion or the tiger.But a
few feet separated us when I sprang to my feet and dashed madly toward
my menacer in a vain effort to dodge past him and reach the outside
world.It was madness of course, for even had I succeeded temporarily,
the Wieroo would have but followed and swooped down upon me from above.As it was, he reached forth and seized me, and though I struggled, he
overpowered me.Evie |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | And at
that, and all which that implied, he pushed his chair quickly back from
the table, and left a half-eaten breakfast.His reasonable mind could
not make itself heard; it told him that he was pushing things comically
far; that he was imagining an inconceivable situation, when he concluded
that a young man must not marry because of the feeling of his
great-uncle on the subject; but his mood was not amenable to reason.The
world had gone as black as an east wind, and all the flowers were
withered.He heaved a lover's sigh, and, going out of the glass door into the
garden, walked moodily up and down the lawn for a space, consumed with
pity, half for himself, half for his uncle.Directly above were the
windows of his own bedroom, wide open, and a housemaid within was
singing at her work.Farther on were the two rooms in which his uncle
chiefly lived, a big-sized dressing room in which he slept, and next
door the bedroom which he had turned into a sitting room.These windows
were also open, and Harry, even on the noiseless grass, trod gently as
he passed them, with that instinct for hushed quiet which all feel in
the presence of suffering.he
thought to himself, with a pang of compunction at the shock he had so
unwittingly caused that cheerful, suffering spirit.Then, suddenly, as he passed softly below, there came from the windows,
mingling in unspeakable discord with the housemaid's song, a quick
shower of notes from a flute.The player was evidently feeling his fingers in the
execution of a run, and a moment afterward the dainty, tripping air of
"La Donna é mobile" came dancing out into the sunlight like a summer
gnat.Twice the delicate tune was played with great precision and
admirable light-heartedness, which contrasted vividly with the
listener's mood, and was instantly succeeded by some other Italian air,
unknown to the lad, but as gay as a French farce.Harry had paused, open-mouthed, with astonishment.His own thoughts
about his kinsman, sombre and full of tenderness, were all sent flying
by the cheerful measure which the kinsman was executing so delightfully.A smile began to dawn in the corners of his mouth, enlightenment
returned to his eye, and, standing out on the gravel path, he shouted
up.The notes of the flute wabbled and ceased."Yes, my dearest fellow," came cheerfully from above."I am so glad you are so much better!I was just on the point of sending Sanders
down to see if you would."Harry went up the stairs three at a time, and fairly danced down the
corridor.Sanders, faithful and foxlike, was outside, his hand on the
latch."You will be very careful, my lord," he said."Of course not," said Harry, and was admitted.Francis was lying high in bed, propped up on pillows.The remains of
his breakfast, including a hot dish, of which no part remained, stood on
a side table; on his bed lay the case of the beloved flute.he cried, "I owe you a thousand and one apologies for
my conduct last night.Sanders tells me I gave you a terrible fright.You must think no more of it, you must promise me to think no more of
it, Harry.I have had such seizures many times before, and of late,
thank God, they have become much rarer.I had not told you about them on
purpose.I did not see the use of telling you.""Dear Uncle Francis, it is a relief to find you so well," said Harry."Sanders told me last night that he knew how to deal with these attacks,
which was a little comfort.But I insist on your seeing a really
first-rate doctor from town.""Quite useless, dear Harry;" he said, "though it is like you to suggest
it.Before now I have seen an excellent man on the subject.It is true
that the attack itself is dangerous, but when it passes off it passes
off altogether, and during it Sanders knows very well what to do.Besides, in all ordinary probability, it will not recur.But now, my
dear boy, as you are here, I will say something I have got to say at
once, and get it off my mind.""If it will agitate you in the least degree, Uncle Francis," he said, "I
will not hear it.Unless you can promise me that it will not, you open
your mouth and I leave the room.""It will not, it will not," said the old man; "I give you my word upon
it.It is this: That moment last night when you told me what you told me
was the happiest moment I have had for years.What induced my wretched
old cab horse of a constitution to play that trick I can not imagine.The news was a shock to me, I suppose--ah!certainly it was a shock, but
of pure joy.And I wanted to tell you this at once, because I was
afraid, you foolish, unselfish fellow, that you might blame yourself for
having told me; that you might think it would pain or injure me to speak
of it again.Daniel moved to the garden.You might even have been intending to tell Miss Aylwin that
you must revoke your invitation.Harry was sitting on the window sill playing with a tendril of intruding
rose, and his profile was dark against the radiance of the sky outside.But when on the pause he turned and went across to the bedside, Mr.Francis was amazed, for his face seemed, like Moses's, to have drunk of
some splendour, and to be visibly giving it out.He bent over the bed,
leaning on it with both hands."I could not bear to be so
happy at the cost of your suffering.But now, oh, now----" And he
stopped, for he saw that he had told his secret, and there was no more
to say.Francis, seeing that the lad did not go on with the sentence, the
gist of which was so clear, said nothing to press him, for he
understood, and turned from the seriousness of the subject."So that is settled," he said, "and they are coming, you tell me, at the
end of the month.That is why you want the box hedge cut, you rascal.And now, my dear boy, you must leave me.I shall
get up at once and be down in half an hour.Ah, my dear Harry, my dear
Harry!"Harry left him without more words, and strolled out again into the
sunlight, which had recaptured all its early brilliance.Had ever a man
been so ready and eager to spoil his own happiness, he wondered.Half an
hour ago he had blackened the world by his utterly unfounded fears, all
built on a fabric of nothingness, and in a moment reared to such a
height that they had blotted the very sun from the sky, and like a
vampire sucked the beauty from all that was fair.A thought had built
them, a word now had dispelled them.He went round to the front of the house, where he found a gardener busy
among the flower beds, and they went together to examine the great
hedge.It would be a week's work, the man said, to restore it to its
proper shape, and Harry answering that it must therefore be begun
without delay, he went off after a ladder and pruning tools.Then,
poking idly at its compacted wall with his stick as he walked along it,
Harry found that after overcoming the first resistance, the stick seemed
to penetrate into emptiness, though the whole hedge could not have been
less than six or eight feet thick.Mary went back to the bathroom.This presented points of interest,
and he walked up to the end, far away from the house, and, pushing
through a belt of trees into which the hedge ran, proceeded to examine
it from the other side.Here, at once, he found the key to this strange
thing, for, half overgrown with young shoots, stood an opening some five
feet high, leading into the centre of the hedge, down which ran a long
passage.More correctly speaking, indeed, the hedge was not one, but
two, planted some three feet apart, and this corridor of gloomy green
lights led straight down it toward the house.At the far end, again, was
a similar half-overgrown door, coming out of which one turned the corner
of the hedge and emerged on to the gravel sweep close by the house,
immediately below the windows of the gun room.To Harry there was something mysterious and delightful about this
discovery, which gave him a keen, childlike sense of pleasure.To judge
from the growth over the entrances to the passage, it must have been
long undiscovered, and he determined to ask his uncle whether he
remembered it.Then, suddenly and unreasonably, he changed his mind; the
charm of this mystery would be gone if he shared it with another, even
if he suspected that another already knew it, and, smiling at himself
for his childish secrecy and reserve, he strolled back again to meet the
gardener to whom he had given orders to clip it.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.There must be no
possibility of his discovery of the secret doors; the box hedge should
be clipped only with a view to the road; the other side should not be
touched--a whited sepulchre.These orders given, he went back to the
house to wait for the appearance of Mr.The latter soon came downstairs, with a great Panama hat on his head,
round which was tacked a gaudy ribbon; he hummed a cheerful little tune
as he came.he said, "I did not mean you to wait in for me on this
glorious morning, for I think I will not go fast or far.Long-limbed,
lazy fellow," he said, looking at him as he sat in the low chair."Lazy I am not," he said; "I have done a world full of things this
morning.I have bathed, I have breakfasted, I have listened to your
music, I have given a hundred orders to the gardeners, at least I gave
one, and I have read the papers."Where you please, as long as we go together, and you will consent to go
slowly and talk to me.I am a little shaky still, I find, now that I try
my legs; but, Harry, there is a lightness about my heart from your news
of last night.""It is good to hear you say that, for I can not convey to you how I
looked forward to telling you.And you feel, you really feel, all you
said to me?""All, all," he said earnestly."The past has been expunged with a word.That burden which so long I have carried about is gone, like the burden
of Christian's.But now, if she--Miss
Aylwin--believed it, she would not come within a mile of me; if her
mother still believed it, she would not let her, and Lady Oxted would
not let her.I told you,
I remember, what passed between us.Yes, yes, the
healing comes late, and the recompense; but it comes--it has come."But I can answer for it that Miss Aylwin believes utterly and entirely
in your innocence.""She told me so herself," said Harry."How strange it all is, and how it
all works together!I told her, you must know, the first evening I met
her, about the Luck, and last week, when I was down with the Oxteds, I
told her, Uncle Francis, about the awful troubles you had been through,
particularly--particularly that one.At the moment I did not know that
she was in any way connected with the Harmsworths.I knew of her only
what I had seen of her.And then, in the middle, she stopped me, saying
she knew all, saying also that she entirely believed in you."Francis walked on a few steps in silence, and Harry spoke again."Perhaps I ought not to have told her," he said, "but the Luck held.She
was the right person, you see.And somehow, you will agree with me, I
think, when you see her, she is a person to whom it is natural to tell
things.She is so sympathetic--I have no words--so eager to know what
interests and is important to her friends.Yes, already I count myself a
friend of hers.""Then her mother had not told her all?"Francis, with the air
of one deliberating.She had no idea that she was talking to the
nephew of the man about whom she had heard from her mother."Francis quickened his pace, like a man who has made up his mind."You did quite right to tell her, Harry," he said, "quite right.It
would come to her better from you than from any one else.Also, it is
far better that she should know before she came here, and before you get
to know each other better.I have always a dread of the chance word, so
dear to novelists, which leads to suspicion or revelations.How
intolerable the fear of that would have been!We should all have been in
a false position.But now she knows; we have no longer any fear as to
how she may take the knowledge; and thank you, dear Harry, for telling
her."The next two or three days passed quietly and busily.There were many
questions of farm and sport to be gone into, many balancings of
expenditure and income to be adjusted, and their talk, at any rate, if
not their more secret thoughts, was spread over a hundred necessary but
superficial channels.Among such topics were a host of businesses for
which Mr.Francis required Harry's sanction before he put them in hand;
a long section of park paling required repair, some design of planting
must be constructed in order to replace the older trees in the park,
against the time that decay and rending should threaten them.All these
things and many more, so submitted Mr.Sandra went to the kitchen.Francis, were desirable, but it
would be well if Harry looked at certain tables of estimates which he
had caused to be drawn up before he decided, as he was inclined to do,
that everything his uncle recommended should be done without delay.Items, inconsiderable singly, he would find, ran to a surprising total
when taken together, and he must mention a definite sum which he was
prepared to spend, say, before the end of the year, on outdoor
improvements.Things in the house, too, required careful consideration;
the installation of the electric light, for instance, would run away
with no negligible sum.Daniel journeyed to the garden.How did Harry rank the urgency of indoor
luxuries with regard to outdoor improvements?If he intended to
entertain at all extensively during the next winter, he would no doubt
be inclined to give precedence to affairs under the roof; if not, there
were things out of doors which could be mended now at a less cost than
their completer repair six months hence would require.Francis put these things to his nephew with great lucidity and
patient impartiality, and Harry, heavily frowning, would wrestle with
figures that continually tripped and threw him, and in his mind label
all these things as sordid.But the money which he could immediately
afford to spend on the house and place was limited, and he had the sense
to apply himself to the balancing.At length, after an ink-stained and
arithmetical morning, he threw down his pen."Electric light throughout, Uncle Francis," he said, "and hot water
laid on upstairs.The house is more behindhand
than the park."You see exactly what that will come to?""Yes; according to the estimates you have given me, I can afford so
much, and the park palings may go to the deuce.One does not live in the
park palings, and, since you mention it, I daresay I shall ask people
here a good deal next winter.Let's see; this is mid-June.Let them
begin as soon as Lady Oxted and Miss Aylwin have been, and they should
be out of the house again by October; though the British workman always
takes a longer lease than one expects.I shall want to be here in
October.Pheasant-shooting, you know," he
added, in a tone of apology.He tore up some sheets of figures, then looked up at his uncle."You will like to have people here, will you not, Uncle Francis?"Mary journeyed to the kitchen."There shall be young people for you to play with, and old people
for me to talk to.And we'll shoot, and, oh, lots of things."He got off his chair, stretching himself slowly and luxuriously." |
hallway | Where is Mary? | "I thought I was
never going to.Whether it was that the multiplicity of these arithmetical concerns came
between the two, or, as Harry sometimes fancied, his uncle was not
disposed to return to that intimacy of talk which had followed his
strange seizure on the first night, did not certainly appear.The
upshot, however, admitted of no misunderstanding, and, engrossed in
these subjects, the two did not renew their conversation about Miss
Aylwin and all that bordered there.As far as concerned his own part,
Harry did not care to speak of what was so sacred to him, and so near
and far; she was the subject for tremulous, solitary visions; to discuss
was impossible, and to trespass near that ground was to make him silent
and awkward.No great deal of intuition was necessary on Mr.Francis's
part to understand this, and he also gave a wide berth to possible
embarrassments.The Sunday afternoon following, Harry left again for London, for he was
dining out that night.Daniel moved to the garden.He said good-bye to his uncle immediately after
lunch, for at the country church there was a children's service which
Mr.Francis had to attend, since he was in charge of a certain section
of the congregation--those children, in fact, who attended his class in
the village Sunday school.FRANCIS SEES HIS DOCTOR
Harry had held long sessions in his mind as to whether he should or
should not ask other people to Vail to meet Lady Oxted and Miss Aylwin
at the end of the month.It was but a thin hospitality, he was afraid,
to bring two ladies down to Wiltshire to spend a country Sunday, and
provide for their entertainment only the society of himself and his
uncle; and this fear gradually deepening to certainty, he hurriedly
asked four or five other guests, only two days before the projected
visit, in revolt all the time at the obligations of a host.All of
these, however, as was not unnatural at this fullest time in the year,
were otherwise engaged, and he opened each letter of regret with
increasing satisfaction.He had been balked in the prosecution of his
duty; it was no use at this late hour trying again.There were also other reasons against having a party.His uncle's
health, for instance, so he wrote to him, had not been very good since
his attack.He had been left rather weak and shattered by it, and though
his letter was full of that zest and cheerfulness which was so habitual
a characteristic with him, Harry felt that it might be better,
particularly since his first meeting with Miss Aylwin would of necessity
be somewhat of an emotional strain to him, not to tax him further,
either with the arrangements incidental to a larger party or with their
entertainment.These dutiful considerations, it must be confessed,
though perfectly genuine, all led down the paths of his own desires, for
it was just the enforced intimacy of a _partie carrée_ in the country
from which he promised himself such an exquisite pleasure.With a dozen
people in the house, his time would not be his own; he would have to
look after people, make himself agreeable to everybody, and be
continually burdened with the hundred petty cares of a host.Mary went back to the bathroom.But, the
way things were, all that Sunday they would be together, if not in fours
then in pairs, and the number of possible combinations of four people in
pairs he could see at once was charmingly limited.But, though to him personally the refusal of others to come to his feast
was not an occasion of regret, an excuse to the two ladies as to the
meagreness of the entertainment he was providing for them, however
faltering and insincere, was still required.This he made with a
marvellously radiant face, a few evenings before their visit, as he sat
with them in Lady Oxted's box at the opera."I have to make a confession," he said, drawing his chair up at the end
of the second act of Lohengrin, "and, as you are both so delighted with
the music, I will do so now, in the hopes that you may let me off
easily.There is absolutely no one coming to meet you at Vail; there
will be my Uncle Francis and myself, and that is all.""That is charming of you," she said, "and you have paid us a compliment.It is nothing to be asked as merely one of a crowd, but your asking us
alone shows that you don't expect to get bored with us."But there's the Luck," said Lady Oxted."I gathered that the Luck was
the main object of our expedition, though how it was going to amuse us I
don't know, any more than I know how Dr.Nansen expected the north pole
to amuse him.And why, if you wanted to see it, Evie, Harry could not
send for it by parcel post, I never quite grasped.""Or luggage train, unregistered," said Evie."Why did you not give it to
the first tramp you met, Lord Vail, and ask him to take it carefully to
London, for it was of some value, and leave it at a house in Grosvenor
Square the number of which you had forgotten?How stupid of you not to
think of that!Daniel travelled to the kitchen.And did you see the Luck when you were down last week?""Yes; it came to dinner every night.Sandra went to the kitchen.I shall have to take my very smartest things," cried
Evie."Fancy having to dress up to the Luck every evening!""Give it up, dear, give it up," said Lady Oxted."The Luck will
certainly make you look shabby, whatever you wear.here's Bob.--Bob, what can have made you come to the
opera?"Lord Oxted took his seat, and gazed round the house before replying."I think it was your absolute certainty that I should not," he replied."I delight in confuting the infallible; for you are an infallible,
Violet.It is not your fault; you can not help it.""My poor man," she said, "how shallow you must be not to have seen that
I only said that in order to make you come!""I thought of that," he said, "but rejected the suspicion as unworthy.You laid claim, very unconvincingly I allow, the other day to a passion
for truth and honour.Indeed, I gave you the benefit of a doubt which
never existed.--And you all go down to Vail on Saturday.I should like
to come, only I have not been asked.""No, dear," said Lady Oxted."I quite understand," said Lord Oxted; "you refrained from asking me on
your own account, and if you had suggested such a thing, my wife would
have forbidden you.Daniel journeyed to the garden.One grows more and more popular, I find, as the
years pass.""Dear Uncle Bob, you are awfully popular with me," said Evie."Shall I
stop and keep you company in London?""But won't it be rather rude to Lord Vail?""Yes, but he will forgive you," said Lord Oxted."Indeed, I sha'n't, Miss Aylwin," said Harry.But will
you then come to Vail, Lord Oxford?I thought it would be no use asking
you.""I may not be popular," said he, "but I have still a certain pride."Here the orchestra poised and plunged headlong into the splendid
overture of the third act; and Lady Oxted, whose secret joy was the hope
that she might, in the fulness of time, grow to tolerate Wagner by
incessant listening to him, glared furiously at the talkers and closed
her eyes.Lord Oxted, it was observed by the others, thereupon stole
quietly out of the box.The curtain rose with the Wedding March, and that done, and the lovers
alone, that exquisite duet began, rising, like the voices of two larks,
from height to infinite height of passion, as clear and pure as summer
heavens.Then into the soul of that feeblest of heroines began to enter
doubt and hesitation, the desire to know what she had promised not to
ask grew in the brain, until it made itself words, undermining and
unbuilding all that on which love rests.Thereafter, the woman having
failed, came tumult and death, the hopeless lovers were left face to
face with the ruin that want of trust will bring upon all that is
highest, and with the drums and the slow, measured rhythm of despair,
the act ended."The hopeless, idiotic fool of a girl!"remarked Evie, with extreme
precision, weighing her words."I thought your tone sounded a little impatient," said Lady Oxted.Why, if Lohengrin had said he wanted to write a letter, she
could have looked round the corner to see that he was not flirting with
one of the chorus, and have opened his letter afterward.If there is one
thing I despise, it is a suspicious woman.""You must find a great many despicable things in this world," remarked
Lady Oxted."Dear aunt, if you attempt to be cynical, I shall go home in a hansom by
myself," said Evie."Do, dear; and Harry and I will follow in the brougham.Do you want to
stay for the last act?"I am rather tired, and Elsa has put me in a
bad temper.Good-bye, Lord Vail, and expect us on Saturday afternoon;
please order good weather.It will be enchanting; I am so looking
forward to it!"Harry himself went down to Vail on Friday afternoon, for he wished both
to satisfy himself that everything was arranged for the comfort of his
visitors, and also to meet them himself when they came.The only train
he could conveniently catch did not stop at his nearest station, and he
telegraphed home that they should meet him at Didcot.This implied a
ten-mile drive, and his train being late on arrival, he put the cobs to
their best pace in order to reach Vail in time for dinner.Turning
quickly and rather recklessly into the lodge gates, he had to pull up
sharply in order to avoid collision with one of his own carriages which
was driving away from the house.A stable helper not in livery held the
reins, and by his side sat a man of dark, spare aspect, a stranger to
him.As soon as they had passed, he turned round to the groom who sat
behind."I don't know his name, my lord," said he, "but I drove him from the
station last Monday.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.Harry was conscious of a slight feeling of vexation, arising from
several causes.In the first place (and here a sense of his dignity
spoke), any guest, either of his or his uncle's, ought to be driven to
the station properly, not by a man in a cap and a brown coat.In the
second place, though he was delighted that Uncle Francis should ask any
friend he chose to stay with him, Harry considered that he ought to have
been told.He had received a long letter from his uncle two days ago, in
which he went at some length into the details of his days, but made no
mention of a guest.In the third place, the appearance of the man was
somehow grossly and uncomfortably displeasing to him.These things simmered in his mind as he drove up the long avenue, and
every now and then a little bubble of resentment, as it were, would
break on the surface.Mary moved to the hallway.He half wondered at himself for the pertinacity
with which his mind dwelt on them, and he determined, with a touch of
that reserve and secrecy which still lingered in corners and angles of
his nature, that if his uncle did not choose of his own initiative to
tell him about this man, he would ask no questions, but merely not
forget the circumstance.This reticence on his own part, so he told
himself, was in no way to be put down to secretiveness, but rather to
decency of manners.His uncle might have the Czar of all the Russias, if
he chose, to stay with him, and if he did not think fit to mention that
autocrat's visit, even though it was in all the daily papers, it would
be rude even for his nephew to ask him about it.But he knew, if he
faced himself quite honestly, that though good manners were sufficient
excuse for the reticence he preferred to employ, secretiveness and
nothing else was the reason for it.Certainly he wished that the man had
not been so disrelishing to the eye; there was something even sinister
about the glance he had got of him.Francis was in the most cheery and excellent spirits, and delighted
to see him.He was employed in spudding plantains from the lawn as the
carriage drove up.But, abandoning this homely but useful performance as
soon as he heard the wheels on the road, he ran almost to meet him."Ages, it seems literally ages, since you were here, dear boy!""And see, Harry, I have not been idle in preparing for our charming
visitors.and he pointed to a large deal box that lay
underneath the clipped yew hedge."Templeton and I found the box in a
gardener's shed," he said, "and we have been washing and cleaning it up.John went back to the bedroom.what a fascinating game, and how it sets off the ingenuity of the
feminine mind!I was a great hand at it once, and I think I can strike
the ball still.Come, dear boy, let us get in; it is already dinner
time.my flute; it would never do to leave that," and he tripped
gaily off to a garden seat near, on which lay the case containing the
favourite instrument.It happened that at dinner the same night Mr.Francis passed Harry
through a sort of affectionate catechism, asking him to give an
exhaustive account of the manner in which he had spent the hours since
he left Vail a fortnight ago.Harry complied with his humour, half shy,
half proud of the number that had to be laid inside Lady Oxted's door,
and when this was finished:
"Now it is my turn, Uncle Francis," he said."Begin at the beginning,
and tell me all as fully as I have to you.""Well, dear Harry, if I have not galloped about like you, taking ditch
and fence, I have trotted along a very pleasant road," he said."All the
week after you left me I was much employed in writing about estimates
and details with regard to the electric light.You must look at those
to-morrow; they will be rather more expensive than we had anticipated,
unless you have fewer lights of higher power.However, that business was
finished, I remember, on Saturday; on Sunday I had my class, and dawdled
very contentedly through the day.And all this week I have been busy in
little ways--one day will serve for another; at the books all the
morning, and in the afternoon pottering about alone, doing a bit of
gardener's work here, feeding the pheasants there--and they are getting
on capitally--or down at the farm.Then very often a nap before dinner,
and a blow on the flute afterward.The servants had left the room, and as Mr.Francis said these words, he
looked closely at Harry, and saw his face, so he thought, harden.The
lips were a little compressed, the arch of the eyebrows raised ever so
little; something between surprise and a frown contracted them.He had
already thought it more than possible that Harry might have met the
other trap driving away from the house, and he thought he saw
confirmation of it in his face."Ah, Harry," he said, "can you not trust me?"Francis's voice was soft, almost broken; his blue eyes glistened in
the candlelight, but still looking intently at his nephew.And, at the
amenity and affection in his tone, the boy's reserve and secretiveness,
which he had labelled good manners, utterly broke down."You have read my thoughts," he said, "and I apologize.But why, why not
have told me, Uncle Francis?You could not have thought I should mind
your having who you liked here?""I will tell you now," he said, slightly accentuating the last word."I
did not tell you before; I purposely concealed it now; yes, I even used
the word solitary about my life during the last week, in order to save
you anxiety.""Yes; you met, probably somewhere near the lodge gates, one of your
carriages going to the station.A man out of livery drove it; a man of
middle age sat |
hallway | Where is Mary? | He was my doctor, Harry, and he came here on
Monday last.I wished"--and his tone was frankness to the core--"I
wished to get him out of the house before you came; I did not know you
were coming till this afternoon, and I saw he could just catch the train
to town.I ordered the carriage to take him instantly, and the man had
not time to get into livery.At once Harry was all compunction and anxiety; he left his chair at the
end of the table, and drew it close beside his uncle."Dear Uncle Francis," he said, "what was his opinion of your health?"The upshot was that I must
live very quietly, and take no great exertion, and guard against quick
movements.I might then hope, I might certainly hope, to live several
more years yet.At my age, he said, one must not go hurdle-racing.Well, well, I am getting on for seventy-three!"Harry was tongue-tied with a sort of vague contrition--for what, he
could hardly tell.He had been put in the wrong, but so generously and
kindly that he could not resent it.He had had no suspicions of any
kind, and his uncle's simple frankness had made him wear the aspect of
the suspector.The gist of his feeling had been that he should have been told, and
here was the considerable reason why he had not--a reason sensible,
conclusive, and dictated by thoughtful affections.Yet he felt somehow
ashamed of himself, and his shame was too ill-defined for speech.But
there was no long pause, for Mr.Francis almost immediately got up from
his chair, with a nimbleness of movement which perhaps his doctor would
not have liked.a truce to these sombrenesses, Harry," he said."Indeed, I am
brisk enough yet.Ah, what a pleasure to have you here instead of that
excellent, kind, unsociable fellow!I have such a good story for you;
let us go to the billiard room; I could not tell you before the
servants, though I have had it on the tip of my tongue all the evening.The doctor recommended me billiards after dinner; gentle, slow exercise
like that was just the thing, he said.Well, that story----"
Harry rose too."Is your doctor a really first-rate man?Daniel moved to the garden.You
remember, I wanted you to see a good man.Francis, "32 Half-Moon Street.I have known him since he was a boy."CHAPTER XII
THE MEETING IN THE WOOD
The two ladies were to arrive about tea time next day, and, as the hour
drew on, a lively restlessness got hold of Harry.He could neither sit,
nor stand, nor read, but after a paragraph of a page, the meaning of
which slipped from his mind even as his eyes hurried over the lines, he
would be off on an aimless excursion to the dining room, forget what he
had gone about, and return with the same haste to his book.Then he
would remember that he wanted the table to-night in the centre of the
room, not pushed, as they had been having it, into the window; and there
must be a place left for the Luck in the middle of the table.Again he
would be off to the dining room; there was the table in the centre of
the room, and in the centre of the table a place for the Luck, for he
had given twenty repetitions of the order to Templeton, which was
exactly twenty repetitions more than were necessary.Harry, in fact, was
behaving exactly like the cock sparrow in mating time, strutting before
its lady--an instinct in all young males.But there were not enough
flowers; there must be more flowers and less silver.Mary went back to the bathroom.How could Dutch
silver be ornamental in the neighbourhood of that gorgeous centrepiece,
and how, said his heart to him, could the Luck be ornamental,
considering who should sit at his table?He went back again to the hall, after giving these directions, where tea
was laid.Francis was out on the lawn; he could see his yellow
Panama hat like a large pale flower under the trees; the windows were
all open, and the gentle hum of the warm afternoon came languidly in.Suddenly a fuller note began to overscore these noises in gradual
_crescendo_, the crisp gravel grated underneath swift wheels, and next
moment he was at the door.And, at sight of the girl, all his Marthalike
cares, the Dutch silver, the position of the table, slipped from him.and he held the girl's
hand far longer than a stranger would; and it was not withdrawn.A
little added colour shone in her cheeks, and her eyes met his, then fell
before them."So you have not stayed to keep Lord Oxted company," he
said."I can spare him pity.--How are you, Lady Oxted?""No; I felt quite certain you would not," said Harry, with the assurance
which women love."And I am ready," said Evie."And this is the hall," continued Harry, as they entered, "where every
one does everything.there is a drawing-room: if you wish we will
be grand and go to the drawing-room.I had it made ready; but let us
stop here.--Will you pour out tea, Lady Oxted."Lady Oxted took a rapid inventory of the tapestry and portraits.Daniel travelled to the kitchen."I rather like drinking tea in a cow shed," she remarked.Francis entered with his usual gay step, and in his
hand he carried his large hat."How long since we met last, Lady Oxted!""And what a delight
to see you here!"Sandra went to the kitchen.Daniel journeyed to the garden."Miss Aylwin, Uncle Francis," said Harry, unceremoniously._Elw._ [_kneels_] Hold, Douglas, hold!--not for myself I kneel,
I do not plead for Percy, but for thee:
Arm not thy hand against thy future peace,
Spare thy brave breast the tortures of remorse,--
Stain not a life of unpolluted honour,
For, oh!as surely as thou strik'st at Percy,
Thou wilt for ever stab the fame of Douglas.Douglas advances to stab him,
and discovers the scarf._
_Dou._ Her scarf upon his breast!The blasting sight converts me into stone;
Withers my powers like cowardice or age,
Curdles the blood within my shiv'ring veins,
And palsies my bold arm._Per._ [_ironically to the Knights_] Hear you, his friends!Bear witness to the glorious, great exploit,
Record it in the annals of his race,
That Douglas, the renown'd--the valiant Douglas,
Fenc'd round with guards, and safe in his own castle,
Surpris'd a knight unarm'd, and bravely slew him.Mary journeyed to the kitchen._Dou._ [_throwing away his dagger_]
'Tis true--I am the very stain of knighthood.Douglas was only brave--he now is generous!_Per._ This action has restor'd thee to thy rank,
And makes thee worthy to contend with Percy.Mary moved to the hallway._Dou._ Thy joy will be as short as 'tis insulting.[_to Elwina._
And thou, imperious boy, restrain thy boasting.Thou hast sav'd my honour, not remov'd my hate,
For my soul loaths thee for the obligation._Per._ Now thou'rt a noble foe,
And in the field of honour I will meet thee,
As knight encount'ring knight._Elw._ Stay, Percy, stay,
Strike at the wretched cause of all, strike here,
Here sheath thy thirsty sword, but spare my husband._Dou._ Turn, madam, and address those vows to me,
To spare the precious life of him you love.John went back to the bedroom.Even now you triumph in the death of Douglas;
Now your loose fancy kindles at the thought,
And, wildly rioting in lawless hope,
Indulges the adultery of the mind.But I'll defeat that wish.--Guards, bear her in.[_she is borne in._
_Per._ Let our deaths suffice,
And reverence virtue in that form inshrin'd._Dou._ Provoke my rage no farther.--I have kindled
The burning torch of never-dying vengeance
At love's expiring lamp.--But mark me, friends,
If Percy's happier genius should prevail,
And I should fall, give him safe conduct hence,
Be all observance paid him.--Go, I follow thee.John moved to the office.[_aside to Edric._
Within I've something for thy private ear._Per._ Now shall this mutual fury be appeas'd!These eager hands shall soon be drench'd in slaughter!Yes--like two famish'd vultures snuffing blood,
And panting to destroy, we'll rush to combat;
Yet I've the deepest, deadliest, cause of hate,
I am but Percy, thou'rt--Elwina's husband.[_exeunt._
ACT THE FIFTH.SCENE I. ELWINA'S APARTMENT._Elw._ Thou who in judgment still remember'st mercy,
Look down upon my woes, preserve my husband!Ah, I dare not ask it;
My very prayers may pull down ruin on me!If Douglas should survive, what then becomes
Of--him--I dare not name?And if he conquers,
I've slain my husband.When I can neither hope, nor think, nor pray,
But guilt involves me.Sure to know the worst
Cannot exceed the torture of suspense,
When each event is big with equal horror.[_looks out._
What, no one yet?_Enter Birtha._
Thou messenger of woe!John travelled to the bathroom._Elw._ How, is my husband dead?He was the tenderest, truest!--Bless him, heaven,
With crowns of glory and immortal joys!_Bir._ Still are you wrong; the combat is not over.Stay, flowing tears, and give me leave to speak._Elw._ Thou sayest that Percy and my husband live;
Then why this sorrow?_Elw._ Thou talk'st as if I were a child in grief,
And scarce acquainted with calamity.Speak out, unfold thy tale, whate'er it be,
For I am so familiar with affliction,
It cannot come in any shape will shock me.Thy husband----
_Elw._ What of Douglas?_Bir._ When all was ready for the fatal combat,
He call'd his chosen knights, then drew his sword,
And on it made them swear a solemn oath,
Confirm'd by every rite religion bids,
That they would see perform'd his last request,
Be it whate'er it would._Elw._ What did the dreadful preparation mean?_Bir._ Then to their hands he gave a poison'd cup,
Compounded of the deadliest herbs and drugs;
Take this, said he, it is a husband's legacy;
Percy may conquer--and--I have a wife!If Douglas falls, Elwina must not live.'Twas worthy of the bosom which conceiv'd it!Yet 'twas too merciful to be his own.Yes, Douglas, yes, my husband, I'll obey thee,
And bless thy genius which has found the means
To reconcile thy vengeance with my peace,
The deadly means to make obedience pleasant._Bir._ O spare, for pity spare, my bleeding heart:
Inhuman to the last!_Elw._ My gentle friend, what is there in a name?The means are little where the end is kind.If it disturb thee, do not call it poison;
Call it the sweet oblivion of my cares,
My balm of woe, my cordial of affliction,
The drop of mercy to my fainting soul,
My kind dismission from a world of sorrow,
My cap of bliss, my passport to the skies.[_Birtha goes out._
[_Elwina stands in a fixed attitude, her hands clasped._
Now, gracious heaven, sustain me in the trial,
And bow my spirit to thy great decrees!_Re-enter Birtha._
[_Elwina looks stedfastly at her without speaking._
_Bir._ Douglas is fallen.Draw near, ye awful ministers of fate,
Dire instruments of posthumous revenge!Come--I am ready; but your tardy justice
Defrauds the injur'd dead.--Go, haste, my friend,
See that the castle be securely guarded,
Let every gate be barr'd--prevent his entrance._Elw._ His--the murderer of my husband._Bir._ He's single, we have hosts of friends._Elw._ No matter;
Who knows what love and madness may attempt?But here I swear by all that binds the good,
Never to see him more.--Unhappy Douglas!O if thy troubled spirit still is conscious
Of our past woes, look down, and hear me swear,
That when the legacy thy rage bequeath'd me
Works at my heart, and conquers struggling nature,
Ev'n in that agony I'll still be faithful.She who could never love, shall yet obey, thee,
Weep thy hard fate, and die to prove her truth.[_a noise without._
_Elw._ Heard you nothing?By all my fears the insulting conqueror comes._Enter Douglas._
Heaven and earth, my husband!_Dou._ Yes----
To blast thee with the sight of him thou hat'st,
Of him thou hast wrong'd, adultress, 'tis thy husband._Elw._ [_kneels._] Blest be the fountain of eternal mercy,
This load of guilt is spar'd me![_to Birtha._] Could I be sure of that,
The poison were superfluous, joy would kill me._Dou._ Be honest now, for once, and curse thy stars;
Curse thy detested fate which brings thee back
A hated husband, when thy guilty soul
Revell'd in fond, imaginary joys
With my too happy rival; when thou flew'st,
To gratify impatient, boundless passion,
And join adulterous lust to bloody murder;
Then to reverse the scene!Mine is the transport now, and thine the pang._Elw._ Whence sprung the false report that thou had'st fall'n?_Dou._ To give thy guilty breast a deeper wound,
To add a deadlier sting to disappointment,
I rais'd it--I contriv'd--I sent it thee._Elw._ Thou seest me bold, but bold in conscious virtue.--That my sad soul may not be stain'd with blood,
That I may spend my few short hours in peace,
And die in holy hope of Heaven's forgiveness,
Relieve the terrors of my lab'ring breast,
Say I am clear of murder--say he lives,
Say but that little word, that Percy lives,
And Alps and oceans shall divide us ever,
As far as universal space can part us._Dou._ Canst thou renounce him?_Elw._ Tell me that he lives,
And thou shall be the ruler of my fate,
For ever hide me in a convent's gloom,
From cheerful day-light, and the haunts of men,
Where sad austerity and ceaseless prayer
Shall share my uncomplaining day between them.I had forgot--Percy commends him to thee,
And by my hand--
_Elw._ How--by thy hand?_Dou._ Has sent thee
This precious pledge of love.[_he gives her Percy's scarf._
_Elw._ Then Percy's dead!_Dou._ He is.--O great revenge, thou now art mine!See how convulsive sorrow rends her frame!This, this is transport!--injur'd honour now
Receives its vast, its ample retribution.She sheds no tears, her grief's too highly wrought;
'Tis speechless agony.--She must not faint--
She shall not'scape her portion of the pain.she shall feel the fulness of distress,
And wake to keen perception of her loss._Elw._ [_in a low broken voice._]
Douglas--think not I faint, because thou see'st
The pale and bloodless cheek of wan despair.Fail me not yet, my spirits; thou cold heart,
Cherish thy freezing current one short moment,
And bear thy mighty load a little longer._Dou._ Percy, I must avow it, bravely fought,--
Died as a hero should;--but, as he fell,
(Hear it, fond wanton!)call'd upon thy name |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Come--give a loose to rage, and feed thy soul
With wild complaints, and womanish upbraidings._Elw._ [_in a low solemn voice._] No.The sorrow's weak that wastes itself in words,
Mine is substantial anguish--deep, not loud;
I do not rave.--Resentment's the return
Of common souls for common injuries.Light grief is proud of state, and courts compassion;
But there's a dignity in cureless sorrow,
A sullen grandeur which disdains complaint;
Rage is for little wrongs--Despair is dumb.[_exeunt Elwina and Birtha._
_Dou._ Why this is well!The sharp, keen tooth of gnawing grief devours her,
Feeds on her heart, and pays me back my pangs.Since I must perish 'twill be glorious ruin:
I fall not singly, but, like some proud tower,
I'll crush surrounding objects in the wreck,
And make the devastation wide and dreadful._Enter Raby._
_Raby._ O whither shall a wretched father turn?I do not ask for comfort at thy hands.I'd but one little casket where I lodged
My precious hoard of wealth, and, like an idiot,
I gave my treasure to another's keeping,
Who threw away the gem, nor knew its value,
But left the plunder'd owner quite a beggar._Dou._ What art thou come to see thy race dishonour'd?And thy bright sun of glory set in blood?I would have spar'd thy virtues, and thy age,
The knowledge of her infamy.Had she been base, this sword had drank her blood.Thou hast defam'd a noble lady's honour--
My spotless child--in me behold her champion:
The strength of Hercules will nerve this arm,
When lifted in defence of innocence.The daughter's virtue for the father's shield,
Will make old Raby still invincible.[_offers to draw._
_Dou._ Forbear._Raby._ Thou dost disdain my feeble arm,
And scorn my age._Dou._ There will be blood enough;
Nor need thy wither'd veins, old lord, be drain'd,
To swell the copious stream._Raby._ Thou wilt not kill her?_Dou._ Oh, 'tis a day of horror!_Enter Edric and Birtha._
_Edr._ Where is Douglas?I come to save him from the deadliest crime
Revenge did ever meditate._Edr._ This instant fly, and save thy guiltless wife._Dou._ Save that perfidious--
_Edr._ That much-injur'd woman._Bir._ Unfortunate indeed, but O most innocent!_Edr._ In the last solemn article of death,
That truth-compelling state, when even bad men
Fear to speak falsely, Percy clear'd her fame._Dou._ I heard him--'Twas the guilty fraud of love.that proof of mutual passion,
Given but this day to ratify their crimes!That fatal scarf
Was given long since, a toy of childish friendship;
Long ere your marriage, ere you knew Elwina._Raby._ 'Tis I am guilty._Raby._ I,--I alone.Confusion, honour, pride, parental fondness,
Distract my soul,--Percy was not to blame,
He was--the destin'd husband of Elwina!He loved her--was belov'd--and I approv'd.The tale is long.--I chang'd my purpose since,
Forbad their marriage--
_Dou._ And confirm'd my mis'ry!Twice did they meet to-day--my wife and Percy.thou knew'st of my dishonour?Thou wast a witness, an approving witness,
At least a tame one!_Raby._ Percy came, 'tis true,
A constant, tender, but a guiltless lover!_Dou._ I shall grow mad indeed; a guiltless lover!Percy, the guiltless lover of my wife!_Raby._ He knew not she was married._Raby._ Douglas, 'tis true; both, both were innocent;
He of her marriage, she of his return._Bir._ But now, when we believ'd thee dead, she vow'd
Never to see thy rival.Instantly,
Not in a state of momentary passion,
But with a martyr's dignity and calmness,
She bade me bring the poison.Mary went back to the hallway._Dou._ Had'st thou done it,
Despair had been my portion!Fly, good Birtha,
Find out the suffering saint--describe my penitence,
And paint my vast extravagance of fondness,
Tell her I love as never mortal lov'd--
Tell her I know her virtues, and adore them--
Tell her I come, but dare not seek her presence,
Till she pronounce my pardon.[_exit Birtha._
_Raby._ My child is innocent!ye choirs of saints,
Catch the blest sounds--my child is innocent!_Dou._ O I will kneel, and sue for her forgiveness,
And thou shalt help me plead the cause of love,
And thou shalt weep--she cannot sure refuse
A kneeling husband and a weeping father.I now would die,
Lest fortune should grow weary of her kindness,
And grudge me this short transport._Dou._ Where, where, is she?My fond impatience brooks not her delay;
Quick, let me find her, hush her anxious soul,
And sooth her troubled spirit into peace._Enter Birtha._
_Bir._ O horror, horror, horror!_Bir._ Elwina--
_Dou._ Speak--
_Bir._ Her grief wrought up to frenzy,
She has, in her delirium, swallow'd poison!_Dou._ Both a husband's gift;
But thus I do her justice._As Douglas goes to stab himself, enter Elwina distracted,
her hair dishevelled, Percy's scarf in her hand._
_Elw._ [_goes up to Douglas._]
What, blood again?Soft, soft--no violence--he's dead already;--
I did it--Yes--I drown'd him with my tears;
But hide the cruel deed!I'll scratch him out
A shallow grave, and lay the green sod on it;
Ay--and I'll bind the wild briar o'er the turf,
And plant a willow there, a weeping willow--
[_she sits on the ground._
But look you tell not Douglas, he'll disturb him;
He'll pluck the willow up--and plant a thorn.He will not let me sit upon his grave,
And sing all day, and weep and pray all night._Raby._ Dost thou not know me?_Elw._ Yes--I do remember
You had a harmless lamb._Elw._ From all the flock you chose her out a mate,
In sooth a fair one--you did bid her love it--
But while the shepherd slept, the wolf devour'd it._Elw._ [_smiling._] O 'twas a cordial draught--I drank it all.Thou dear wrong'd innocence--
_Elw._ Off--murderer, off!Do not defile me with those crimson hands.[_shews the scarf._
This is his winding sheet--I'll wrap him in it--
I wrought it for my love--there--now I've drest him.my father will forgive him,
He dearly lov'd him once--but that is over.See where he comes--beware, my gallant Percy,
Ah!come not here, this is the cave of death,
And there's the dark, dark palace of Revenge!See the pale king sits on his blood-stain'd throne!He points to me--I come, I come, I come.[_she faints, they run to her, Douglas takes up his sword
and stabs himself._
_Dou._ Thus, thus I follow thee.No remedy but this
Could medicine a disease so desperate._Raby._ Ah, she revives!_Dou._ [_raising himself._] She lives![_he struggles to get to her, but sinks down._
It will not be--
O for a last embrace--Alas!I faint--
She lives--Now death is terrible indeed--
Fair spirit, I lov'd thee--O--Elwina![_dies._
_Elw._ Where have I been?_Raby._ Look up, my child!_Elw._ No--you are my father;
O you are kindly come to close my eyes,
And take the kiss of death from my cold lips!_Elw._ We soon shall meet in peace.I've but a faint remembrance of the past--
But something tells me--O those painful struggles!Raise me a little--there-- [_she sees the body of Douglas._
What sight is that?_Edr._ Convinc'd too late of your unequall'd virtues,
And wrung with deep compunction for your wrongs,
By his own hand the wretched Douglas fell._Elw._ This adds another, sharper pang to death.take him to thy mercy,
Nor let this sin be on his head, or mine!_Raby._ I have undone you all--the crime is mine!O thou poor injur'd saint, forgive thy father,
He kneels to his wrong'd child.Come near, my father, nearer--I would see you,
But mists and darkness cloud my failing sight.suspend thy rights for one short moment,
Till I have ta'en a father's last embrace--
A father's blessing.--Once--and now 'tis over.Receive me to thy mercy, gracious Heaven![_she dies._
_Raby._ She's gone!Fathers love their children----
I murder mine!With impious pride I snatch'd
The bolt of vengeance from the hand of Heaven.A righteous God
Has made my crime become my chastisement._Maurice,
Fenchurch Street._
_London, 1819._
_The following Works,_
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PRINCIPLES OF PUNCTUATION;
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With a variety of concomitant and minor subjects.By CECIL HARTLEY, M.A.Author of "Principles of Punctuation," and "of Elocution."Daphne's turbaned head was thrown back, and her
lips pursed up in a manner which showed Belle that she was not pleased
with something or some one.But whatever might be the cause of the old
nurse's displeasure, Belle knew well enough that it would never be
visited on her; and Daphne's appearance just at the moment when she was
so delightfully engaged did not suit her at all."You haven't come to take me home a'ready?""But I has, honey: more's de shame," said Daphne, with a look of
mingled pity and affection at her little mistress, while a chorus of
exclamations arose from all the children."Why, it isn't near
dark, Daphne."S'pose he tinks he did," replied Daphne; "but I specs dere's a new
missis come to han', what tinks she's goin' to turn de worl' upside
down.said Belle, not understanding such mysterious hints, yet seeing
something was wrong; and Mrs.Mary went back to the hallway.Bradford asked, "What are you talking
about, Daphne?""I'se been bidden to hol' my tongue, and I neber talks if I ain't got
leave," answered Daphne, with another toss of her turban and several
displeased sniffs."But you're talking now, only we don't know what it's about," said
Bessie.To this Daphne made no answer, except by closing her eyes in a resigned
manner, and giving a sigh which seemed to come from her very shoes."I shan't go home, anyhow," said Belle: "the party isn't near out.""Not when papa wants you, dear?"Belle gave a sigh which sounded like the echo of Daphne's; but she
made no farther objection when her nurse brought her hat and prepared
to put it on.Daphne clapped on the hat, giving a snap to the elastic
which fastened it that really hurt the child, though she was far from
intending to do so.Then she seized her in both arms and gave her a
loud, sounding kiss."You just'member you allus got yer ole mammy, whatever else you loses,
my honey," she said.By this time not only little Belle and the other
children, but Mrs.Bradford also, thought something dreadful must have
happened; although the latter did know that Daphne was sometimes
foolish, and very apt to make a mountain out of a molehill."He's safe to de hotel, dear," said Daphne.She never condescended to
say home: "home" was far away, down on the dear old Georgia plantation."He's safe to de hotel; that is, if somebody ain't worrit de eyes out
his head or de head off his shoulders.You come along, Miss Belle,
'fore all yer tings is gone to rack an' ruin.""What is the matter, Daphne?""I telled yer, missis, I ain't got leave for talk; an' I neber breaks
orders, no way.But I'se been forgetten: dere's a letter what Massa
Powers send you;" and diving into the depths of her enormous pocket,
Daphne produced a note which she handed to Mrs.The lady
opened and read it; while Belle watched her, fearing some evil.Bradford smiled and looked rather pleased, and said to Belle,--
"It is all right, darling: run home now; papa has a great pleasure for
you."Sandra journeyed to the garden.It would be impossible to express the length and depth of the sniff
with which Daphne heard this; but Belle did not notice it, and was now
rather in haste to say good-by and to go to her papa."I wouldn't say any thing more if I were you, Daphne," said Mrs.Bradford, following them out to the head of the stairs.I ain't said nothin', Missis," said Daphne: "didn't her pa
forbid it?on'y some folks is so blin'.""It am a kin' of sperit blin'ness I'se speakin' ob, honey," said
Daphne.Sandra travelled to the bathroom."Talk ob spilin' chillen, indeed!Dere's some what's so bad by
natur', you couldn't make 'em no wuss if you tried all de days ob yer
life."With which she disappeared, banging the front door after Belle and
herself with a force which told that she was anxious for some object
on which she might safely vent her displeasure.Belle talked and questioned all the way home, but received for answer
only the same mysterious and alarming hints; till the child hardly knew
whether to believe that something dreadful had taken place, or that she
was going home to the promised pleasure."Now, Miss Belle," said the foolish old woman, as they crossed the hall
on which Mr.Powers' rooms opened, "you min' I ain't goin' for let you
be snubbed and kep' under.You come and tell yer ole mammy ebery ting;
an' I'll fight yer battles, if de French nusses is got sich fly-a-way
caps on der heads."So she opened the door of their own parlor; and Belle, feeling a little
worried and a little cross at the interruption to her afternoon's
pleasure, passed in.Upon the sofa, beside her papa, sat a lady dressed in deep mourning;
and upon his knee--was it possible?--yes, upon papa's knee, in her
own proper place, was a little girl, quite at her ease, and sitting as
if she had a right and belonged there.And--could it be?--Belle took
a second look--it really _was_ the child who had been so naughty and
shown herself so spoiled.She stood for a moment near the door, utterly
amazed, and speechless with displeasure.Now Belle was what is called a generous child; that is, she would
readily give away or share what she had with others; but she was
jealous of the affection of those she loved, especially of her papa's.He was her own, her very own: all his tenderness and petting must
be for her.She could hardly bear that he should caress even her
beloved Maggie and Bessie; and if it chanced that he did so, she
would immediately claim a double portion for herself.She was quick
and bright too; and now she saw in a moment the cause of all Daphne's
mysterious hints and melancholy; and they helped to increase the angry,
jealous feeling in her own heart.Daphne had feared that this naughty,
contrary child was coming to interfere with her; and Belle feared it
now herself.There she was
on papa's knee, the seat to which no one but herself had a right; and
papa's arm was about her."Come here, my darling: come and speak to your aunt and little cousin,"
said Mr.And now Belle spoke, indeed, but without moving one step forward, and
with a very different tone and manner from those which her father
expected.she said, in a low, deep tone of intense passion.That's my place, he's my papa; you shan't have him,
and I shan't have you.You're not my cousin; I won't have you, bad, bad
girl!"She said this with her face perfectly white with rage, her eyes
flashing; and she stood bolt upright, her two little hands clenched
and stretched downwards on either side.Then the color came fast and
deep, rising to the very roots of her hair; her lips were drawn, and
her little bosom heaved.Putting Mabel hastily from his knee,
he rose and walked over to Belle.When Belle was a baby, and little
more than a baby, she had the naughty habit, when any thing displeased
her, of holding her breath until she was almost choked and purple in
the face.Other children have this ugly way, which is not only naughty,
but dangerous.John travelled to the hallway.But Belle's mamma had broken her of this when she was
very young; and it was a long, long time since her father had seen her
do it.But it was coming now, and must be stopped at once.he said sharply, and almost sternly, laying his hand on her
shoulder,--"Belle!"It did seem hard, but it was necessary, and was, Mr.Powers knew, the
only way to bring his angry little child to her senses.She caught her breath hard, then gave one or two deep sobs, and burst
into a passion of tears, at the same time turning and trying to run
away.It seemed to her that this was proof of her jealous fears.Papa had never spoken so to her before, and it was all because of that
strange child who was coming in her place.So she thought, and only
wanted to run away out of sight and hearing.But her father caught her, took her up in his arms, and now spoke to
her in the tenderest tones, covering her wet face with kisses and
trying to soothe her.Belle knew that she had been naughty, oh!very naughty; but she still
felt very much injured; and, although after a time her sobs became less
violent, she clung tightly to her papa, and kept her face hidden on
his bosom; shedding there the tears which brought no healing with them
because they came from anger and jealousy, and obstinately refusing to
look up or speak to her aunt and cousin.And yet if Belle had been told but yesterday that she was soon to see
this little cousin, she would have been delighted.They had never met
before, for Mrs.Walton, Mabel's mother, had been living abroad for
many years: the little Mabel had been born there, and there several
brothers and sisters had died.Perhaps this last was one reason, though
it was certainly no good excuse, that Mabel had been so much indulged.For some months there had been talk of their coming home, but their
appearance just at this time was quite unexpected.Young readers will
not be interested in knowing what brought them: it is enough to say
that here they were, the steamer having brought them to Boston, whence
Mr.Walton had sent on his wife and child, he staying behind to attend
to some business.Walton had thought to give her brother an agreeable surprise; and
so she had, for he had been longing to see her, and to have her help
in the training of his motherless little Belle; but Mrs.Walton and
Mabel had not been with him half an hour before he began to think that
Belle would do quite as well without the training which Mabel received.The child had been clamorous to see her young cousin from the first
moment of her arrival; but Daphne, unwilling to call her darling from
her afternoon's pleasure, had invented one excuse after another, till
Mr.Powers had insisted that she should bring Belle.The jealousy of the old nurse, who was already put out at
Mabel's wilful, pettish behavior, and the way in which she was
allowed to handle and pull about all Belle's toys and treasures, was
immediately aroused at the idea that her nursling should be made to
yield to the new-comer; and she had shown this in the manner which had
awakened a like feeling in Belle the moment the child discovered the
cause.Walton was vexed, as indeed she might well be, at the reception
which Belle had given to herself and Mabel; but the weak and foolish
mother readily excused or overlooked in her own child those very faults
which she saw so plainly in her little niece.At first Mabel had been too much astonished at Belle's outbreak to
do more than stand and look at her; but when her cousin's cries were
quieted, and she lay still with her face hidden on her father's
shoulder, giving long, heaving sobs, she began to whine and fret, and
to insist that Belle should be made to come and play with her, and show
her a set of carved animals, one of Belle's choicest treasures which
Mr.Powers had rescued from her destructive little fingers.Walton, "it is indeed time that your child
was put under other female management than that of servants.Here a prolonged sniff, ending in something very like a groan, came
from near the door where Daphne still stood: while Belle, feeling
that both she and her devoted nurse had been insulted, kicked out
indignantly with her little feet.But her father's hand was on the nestling head; and he said very
quietly, pouring oil on the wounded spirits,--
"My Belle and her Daphne could not well do without one another; and
Belle is much less spoiled than she used to be.She is a pretty good
girl now, thanks to the kind teachings she has had, and her own wish to
profit by them.Bradford, the mother of her little friends Maggie
and Bessie, has been very good to her; so has her teacher, Miss Ashton,
and several other lady friends: so that she has not been left lately
without proper training, even if her papa and old nurse do indulge and
pet her perhaps a little too much.Belle and I are all in all to one
another now, and she knows I |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | It is a long,
long time since she has had such a naughty turn as this, and I know she
is sorry and ashamed."Ashamed Belle certainly was; but I am afraid she was not sorry, at
least not truly sorry, for she was quite determined not to look up or
speak to her aunt and cousin; and she nursed the angry feelings in her
little heart, and made up her mind that they were both quite unbearable.She was the more sure of this when they all went together into the
dining-room.Belle was accustomed to go there with her father, and to
eat her simple supper while he dined; and indulged though she was, she
never thought of fretting or asking for that which he said was not
proper for her; but Mabel called for every thing that she fancied, and
was allowed to have all manner of rich dainties, her mother answering
when Mr.Powers interfered,--
"It don't do to refuse her any thing.I have to manage her the best way I can."Powers thought the management which fell to the share of
his motherless little Belle was better and more profitable than that
bestowed upon Mabel, whose mother was always with her.It was the same thing when they went upstairs again.Mabel wanted to
stand in the gallery above, and look down into the great hall below,
where were lights, and numbers of people coming and going; and all the
pleadings and promises of her tired mother could not persuade her to go
on to their room, where the nurse was engaged unpacking.But her uncle, who was tired of all this wilfulness, soon put a stop
to it, by unclasping the little hands which held so obstinately to the
banisters, lifting and carrying her to her mamma's room, where he set
her down without a word.Mabel was so unused to such firm interference with her wishes, and was
so astonished at it, that she quite forgot to scream or struggle till
he had gone away and the door was shut upon her.Then she made up for
lost time; but we will leave her and go with Belle.Her father saw that she was in no mood for advice or reproof; just now
either would only add to her sudden and violent jealousy of her cousin:
so he determined to pass over her naughtiness for to-night, and hoped
that she would be more reasonable in the morning.She herself said not
a single word about what had passed, or about her aunt and cousin,--at
least not to her papa; but when Daphne was putting her to bed, both the
little one and the old woman found enough to say to one another; Belle
telling her nurse how she had met Mabel that day and how the latter had
behaved; while Daphne encouraged her to say as many unkind things as
she would, and made the most of all Mabel's spoiled, troublesome ways.She could hardly say her prayers that night, and
went to bed feeling more unhappy than she had done for many a long day._SUNLIGHT._
Things were no better the next morning.Walton did not come down to breakfast, but Mabel chose to go with
her uncle and cousin.She was in a better humor than she had been the
night before, and would willingly have made friends with Belle if the
latter would have allowed her to do so.She was less unruly and wilful
at the table also; for after the way in which her uncle had compelled
her to obey last night, she was a little afraid of him, and had an idea
that he would not allow her to have her own way in the manner her papa
and mamma did.She did not like him the less for that though, and when
she asked for one or two things which he did not think proper for her,
submitted quietly to his refusal, and took what he offered instead.As for Belle, she not only would not speak to her cousin beyond the
unwilling "good-morning" which she uttered by her father's orders, but
she would not appear to be conscious of her presence at all; never
lifting her eyes to her, and if she was forced to turn her face that
way, making a pretence of looking over Mabel's head or beyond her.And
when they returned to their own parlor, where Mrs.Walton now sat,
Belle gathered every toy, book, or other trifle that belonged to her,
put them in a closet given for her use, and with some difficulty turned
the key and took it out; then planted herself with her back against
the door, as if she thought the lock not enough to keep Mabel's hands
from her treasures, standing there with a look of the most determined
obstinacy and sullenness.Mary went back to the hallway.Such behavior was not at all like Belle, and her papa scarcely knew
what to make of it.Even in her most wilful days she had never shown
herself selfish or sulky; and knowing that she now felt herself
aggrieved and injured by Mabel's presence, and fearing to excite fresh
jealousy, he did not know how to deal with her.As for the little girl herself,--no matter how much of all this had
been caused by old Daphne,--Belle knew well that she was very naughty;
but she determined to persist in that naughtiness so long as Mabel
should be there.To describe Daphne's high-mightiness, not only with Mabel and the
French nurse, but also with Mrs.She
carried her turban so straight, and moved and spoke so stiffly, that
she almost awed even her little mistress; and Mabel was quite afraid of
her.Nor would she give any help or information to the French woman,
pretending not to understand her English, which, although broken, was
plain enough.Sandra journeyed to the garden."'Dere ain't no use yer talkin' to me," she said."I don't unnerstan'
yer, nor I ain't goin' to.I'se allus been fetched up '<DW41> de
Peytons,--Miss Belle's mamma she was a Peyton,--an' I'se used to
fust-rate English; an' me an' Miss Belle we allus uses it, and neber
can unnerstan' no low talk.'Sides, I'm deaf as a post dis mornin' and
can't hear no way."Daphne was troubled with a convenient kind of deafness, which always
came on when she did not wish to hear a thing.Powers, knowing that both Belle and Daphne must be brought to
their senses and to better behavior, but not seeing exactly the way to
do it without making matters worse, betook himself to his good friend
Mrs.he said when he had finished his story: "if I punish
Belle or reprove Daphne, they are in such a state of mind that it will
give fresh food for jealousy and bad feeling to both; and yet I cannot
let this go on."Bradford; "but before we try punishment or
reproof, let us see what a little management and kindness will do.Suppose you send Belle, and, if Mrs.Walton will allow it, Mabel with
her, to spend the day with my children.""My sister will allow any thing the child fancies, I fear," the
gentleman answered with a sigh; "but you do not know what you are
undertaking.A more ungovernable and ungoverned child than my
little niece would be hard to find; and I fear that neither you nor
your children would pass a pleasant day with Belle and Mabel here,
especially if Belle continues in her present mood.""I do not fear that she will," said Mrs."Maggie and Bessie
being of her own age, and having a great sympathy for her, may be able
to do more in their simple way to charm the evil spirit than we older
people can.As for Mabel, if she will come, she will be under some
restraint here, as we are all strangers to her.""I was a stranger to her
until yesterday, and yet"--his look and the shrug of his shoulders
spoke as strongly as the unfinished sentence could have done."Never mind: send her," said the lady."I will not let her annoy the
other children or me _too_ much, and I may do her some good.""Yes," said he, gratefully: "I know that you and yours never shrink
from doing good to others because the task may not be an agreeable one.But do you mean to keep a house of correction, or, I should say, of
good influences, for all incorrigibly spoiled children?"Bradford, returning his smile; "and I believe
I have our little Belle more than Mabel in my mind just now; but let
them both come, and we will see if we cannot send them back to you this
evening in better and happier moods."Powers bade her good-by and went home; where
he found that Belle had quitted her stand at the closet-door, Mabel
having gone out.For when the latter found that she was not to be
allowed to have her cousin's toys, she raised such an uproar as soon as
her uncle was out of the way, that her mother promised her every thing
and any thing she chose, and had sent her out with the maid to purchase
all manner of playthings.Belle was glad to hear that she was to go to the Bradfords'; and
even when she learned that Mabel was to accompany her, she still
felt a satisfaction in it, because she was sure that the children
would sympathize with her, and be as "offended" with Mabel as she was
herself.She was wild to go at once, without waiting for her cousin;
and her papa consented that she should do so, hoping that Mrs.Bradford
and the children would bring her to a better state of feeling before
Mabel made her appearance.Somewhat to Belle's surprise she found Bessie rather more ready than
Maggie to resent her supposed injuries.Bessie did not, it is true,
encourage her in her naughty feelings, or in returning evil for evil;
but she had been so shocked by Mabel's behavior on the day before, that
she could not wonder at Belle's dislike.Moreover, Bessie was a little
inclined to jealousy herself; and although she struggled hard with this
feeling, and showed it but seldom, she was now ready to excuse it, and
find just cause for it, in Belle.But Maggie was disposed to look at things in a more reasonable light,
and to make the best of them."Why, Belle," she said, cheerily, "I should think you'd be glad, 'cause
now you can be a sunbeam to your cousin, and try to do her good.""I guess I shan't be a sunbeam to her," said Belle."I'd be nothing but
an ugly, old black cloud, what blows a great deal and has thunder and
lightning out of it; and it's just good enough for her."And at that moment, indeed, little Belle looked much more like a
thunder-cloud than like a sunbeam.I b'lieve I just hate her, and I'm going to do
it too," she continued."But that is naughty," said Bessie.Sandra travelled to the bathroom."I don't care: it is truf," said Belle."I can say the truf, can't I?""Well, yes," answered Bessie, "when it's the good truth; but if it's a
naughty truth, it's better to keep it in.""What did Mabel do to you to make you so mad?""Why, she--she"--and Belle hesitated a little, rather ashamed of
herself now, as she found how small cause of complaint she really
had--"why, she took my things when I didn't say she might.She wanted
my carved animals too, what Uncle Ruthven gave me; but papa didn't let
her have them, and I wouldn't either.I put them away, and wouldn't let
her look at them,--no, not one tiny little peek.""But, Belle, dear, you don't be selfish with your things gen'ally,"
said Bessie."Why won't you even let Mabel see them?""'Cause she's too spoiled;" said Belle; "and I b'lieve she'd just go
and break them all up.I don't _know_ she would, but I b'lieve she
would.""But we oughtn't to b'lieve bad things about people if we don't know
'em," persisted Bessie.John travelled to the hallway."I shan't let her have my things, anyhow," replied Belle; "and I'm
going to try and have her put out of the country too.""They have a right to stay here if they
want to.""I'll coax papa to write a letter to the President and ask him to
turn out Mabel and her mamma," said Belle; "and I'm going to be very
excitable and nervous, so he'll do any thing I want him to."Maggie had her doubts as to the President's power in such a matter;
but she did not make them known, thinking it better to try and soothe
Belle's angry feelings, like the wise little peacemaker that she was."But I think that we ought to be sorry for your aunt and Mabel, and to
have very excusable feelings towards them," she said."You know they
have not had so many advantages as we have, because they have lived
abroad for a good many years; and probably they have been corrupted by
the fashionable world of Paris."This was an uncommonly fine speech, even for Maggie; and Bessie and
Belle were struck quite dumb by it, and for a moment could do nothing
but exchange looks and nods of admiration and wonder; while Maggie,
conscious that she deserved their approval, not only for the sentiment,
but also for the manner in which it had been expressed, sat gazing
serenely out of the window as she received the honors which were due to
her."Yes, I s'pose so," said Bessie, with a long breath, as she recovered a
little."I s'pose so too," repeated Belle, in a more amiable tone than she had
yet used."You see," continued Maggie, thinking it well to strengthen the good
impression she had made, and speaking with all the solemn gravity which
befitted one who had just uttered such sublime words,--"you see we
ought not to be too hard on Mabel, because she is so very saucy and
disobedient to her mother that I expect she is one of those to whom the
ravens of the valley shall pick out her eye and the young eagles shall
eat it.And, children, it is plainly to be seen that it is partly her
mother's fault, which is a sad thing, and I fear she will have to bear
the consequences.So don't you think we ought to be kind to Mabel and
try if we cannot do her some good?"John travelled to the garden."Yes," said Bessie, putting her arm about Belle's neck; "and, Belle,
maybe when Jesus heard us say we wanted to be sunbeams for Him, He sent
this very disagreeable child to be your trial, so He could see if you
were quite in earnest about saying it."This was quite a new view of the subject; and somehow, Belle scarcely
knew how, she began to feel more kindly towards her aunt and cousin,
and even to have a feeling of pity for them.But the imaginary "six
dirty beggars" had taken such strong hold of her mind that she could
scarcely resolve all at once to take in their place this well-dressed,
well-cared-for, but very naughty little cousin.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Mabel could be good
and happy if she chose, and Belle did not see why she should be at any
trouble to make her so, since nothing but her own wilful humors stood
in the way.Still Maggie's words and those of Bessie had already had
some influence upon her, and when she next spoke it was in a still
milder tone."Why, Bessie," she said, "do you really think Jesus had Mabel and her
mamma come here just so I could be a sunbeam to them and try to do them
good?"Well, maybe He didn't send them here just for that," answered Bessie;
"but when He did send them, I think He'd like you to make a little
sunshine for them.""And then," said fanciful Maggie, always ready to catch at what she
thought a poetical idea,--"and then, you know, when the sunshine comes
the clouds'most always go away; so if we try to be very patient and
kind with Mabel, |
garden | Where is John? | It was impossible to hold out against such words of wisdom as came from
Maggie's lips; and Belle began to feel that here, after all, might be
the very opportunity she had wanted."And then that would make your aunt glad," persuaded Bessie; "and we
are sorry for her.""Um--m--m, well, I don't know about that," said Belle: "my aunt said a
thing about me,--a very disagreeable thing.""She said I wanted some kind of management.I don't
know what word she called it, but it meant something horrid I know; and
she oughtn't to say I was spoiled when she spoils her own child.""No," said Maggie: "people who live in glass houses oughtn't to throw
stones; but I fear they generally do, for all.""It means when we do a thing a good deal ourselves we oughtn't to speak
about other people who do it; but we are apt to.""Well, then," said Belle, taking the maxim to herself, though Maggie
had not meant it for her, "I s'pose if I used to be spoiled myself, I
oughtn't to talk so much about my cousin who is.""But you was never like _that_," said Bessie."I used to be pretty spoiled sometimes, and yesterday I was--ugh--I was
horrid," answered Belle, a sense of her own past naughtiness coming
over her."I screamed and hollered--and--and I kicked.I shouldn't be s'prised if
my aunt thought I was as naughty as Mabel.""She that repents ought to make haste to show her repentance," said
Maggie."That is a new proverb I made up on purpose for you, Belle,
'cause I thought it suited you."thank you, Maggie," said Belle: "then I'll do it."And so our three little girls resolved that they would at least meet
Mabel kindly and politely; and as far as possible put the remembrance
of her past ill-behavior from their minds.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
V._A DAY WITH MAGGIE AND BESSIE._
Mabel herself had some doubts as to the reception she should meet with
if she went to Mrs.Bradford's; and when her mother first proposed
it, refused to go.Daphne, who had heard the story from Belle, had
not failed to let Mabel know that this lady and her little girls were
the friends with whom she had met her cousin yesterday; and had also
drawn a very vivid picture of the disgust and dislike with which such
behavior as hers was always regarded in their family.So, as I have said, Mabel at first refused to go near them; but finding
it dull in the hotel with only the two nurses for company, as her
mamma and uncle had gone out, she changed her mind and declared that
she would go to Mrs.Bradford's "to see what it is like, and only stay
just as long as I'm a mind to.""And yer needn't think you'll disappint nobody but yerself if yer come
away, little miss," said Daphne, spitefully; for Mabel's new whim did
not please her at all, and she would much rather she should have kept
to her first decision, and not have bestowed her company where the old
woman thought it little desired.However, she did not dare, much as she would have liked to do so, to
refuse to show Mabel and her nurse the way to Mrs.Bradford's house;
but she revenged herself by leading them by the longest road and least
pleasant way.But this, however much it pleased Daphne, did no hurt to
Mabel, since she enjoyed the walk and had no idea of Daphne's object."I'se brought you a Tartar," was the old <DW52> woman's whispered
introduction to Mrs.Bradford's nurse when they entered the nursery;
and mammy, too, looked askance at the stranger, who immediately
perceived that she was not too welcome.But before she had time to turn about again and say that she would not
stay, Maggie came running from the play-room; and putting all shyness
and prejudice out of mind, she went up to Mabel, took her by the hand,
and said kindly,--
"We have to feel a little acquainted with you before we know you,
because you are Belle's cousin; and she is our inseparable.You came so late it is'most time for our dinner, but we
will have a good play afterwards."Mary went back to the hallway.Such a long, friendly speech to any stranger, even one of her own age,
was a great effort for Maggie; but for Belle's sake she wanted to make
Mabel comfortable, and put her on her good behavior at once.And she
succeeded; for the pout passed from Mabel's lip and the frown from her
brow, as she said,--
"Yes, we will; and see what a big box of sugar-plums I have brought."If mamma gives us leave; but I am quite sure she will not," said
Maggie to herself, and then said aloud,--
"We might play with them, and you shall be the store-woman if you like.""Yes, so we will," said Mabel."Didn't Belle try to make you mad at me?She's as mad as any thing at me herself, and won't speak to me, when I
never did a thing to her."she's all over that now," said Maggie, wisely noticing only the
last part of Mabel's speech."She and Bessie are putting on the dolls'
best suits for you.And half-ashamed, half-defiant, Mabel followed her little hostess into
the play-room to greet Bessie and Belle.If Mabel was a little shame-faced, Belle was still more so; for she was
not accustomed to behave in the way she had done that morning, and her
conscience was more tender than Mabel's.But now that she had resolved
to do better she would not let shame stand in her way; and going right
up to Mabel, she said,--
"Let's kiss and make up, Mabel.I'm sorry I was so cross this morning.""And will you let me have your playthings?"Sandra journeyed to the garden.asked Mabel, as she
accepted Belle's offered kiss."To look at and play with, but not to keep," answered Belle.Sandra travelled to the bathroom."I'll even
let you have my carved animals--if you will be careful," she added,
determined not to stop half way in her effort to make peace.And now came mamma, rather expecting to find the little ones awkward
and uncomfortable together after all that had passed; but lo!Her Bessie, it is true, watched the young stranger
with serious eyes, and had on her _disapproving_ look; for Bessie had
been more shocked than it would be easy to tell by Mabel's misbehavior
of the day before, and found it hard work to forget it.If Mabel had
been some poor, ragged, neglected child, with no one to care for her,
and many a temptation in her way, Bessie would have been the first
one to make excuses for her, and to say that nothing better could be
expected from her; but that any little girl who had loving friends and
all manner of comforts and pleasures about her should be so perverse
and troublesome, seemed to her out of all reason and hardly to be
forgiven.Still, though she wore her demure little manner, she was very polite
to Mabel, and as ready as Maggie to show all her dolls and other
treasures.John travelled to the hallway.Mabel too, being pleased and amused, was on her good
behavior; and all was going smoothly.Before long the children were called to their dinner.Mabel looked
disdainfully at the nice but simple food which was set before them,
and refused this, that, and the other thing, saying she did "not like
them.""But you will be hungry before you go home if you do not eat now, my
dear," said Mrs."I'm waiting for something better," said Mabel; at which piece of
rudeness all the other children, including even little Frankie, opened
their eyes in wonder."You will have nothing else except some plain dessert," said Mrs.Mabel pouted, pushed her plate from her, and kicked with her feet upon
the legs of her chair; but the lady took no notice, although the three
little girls could not help exchanging looks and biting their lips, to
express to one another their disapproval of such conduct.But to Frankie, who was blessed with an uncommonly fine appetite, this
refusal to partake of a good meal seemed a most extraordinary and
unheard-of thing; so, after staring at her with a pitying look for some
moments, and vainly offering her every dainty within his reach, even
to "de nice brown stin off my sweet potato," he seemed convinced that
she was only naughty, and set about correcting her."Did oo ever see Willum what is in 'Slovenly Peter' boot?"The only answer he received was a pettish shrug of Mabel's shoulders
and a fresh kick upon the chair."'Tause he was lite oo, and wouldn't eat his soup," said Master
Frankie, with an air of stern reproof; "an' oo will be lite him, an'
'when de fif day tame, alas!dey laid oo in de dround.'"Which proved too much for the gravity of his little sisters and Belle,
who thought this extremely funny; and, in spite of Mabel's scowl, went
off into peals of merry laughter.Bradford, seeing she would not eat
what was set before her, would send for some more dainty and richer
food; but she soon found this was not to be, and that the lady did not
even appear to trouble herself because she would not eat.This was
something quite new to Mabel, who was surprised as well as displeased
at Mrs.When the dessert was put upon the table, there was a plain rice pudding
and a small dish of bright clear jelly."I'll take jelly," said Mabel, not waiting till she was asked, as a
polite child would have done.Bradford quietly helped each child to a portion of the pudding and
some jelly, leaving but little of the latter in the dish.Mabel ate up her jelly as fast as possible, keeping her eye all the
while on what remained in the dish; and as soon as she had finished her
own, thrust out her plate, saying,--
"More, please."Bradford gave it to her without a word; but Frankie, encouraged by
the applause with which his first reproof had been received, thought
himself called upon for another.Frankie pinned his faith on "Slovenly Peter;" knew it all by heart,
quoted from it on all occasions, and drew from it lessons and examples
suitable to himself and others."Dere's anoder boy named Jatob in 'Slovenly Peter,'" he said severely:
"he was so dweedy dat he brote hisself in two.John travelled to the garden.I s'pose you'll be lite
him," he added, not at all disturbed by the want of similarity between
the two unhappy fates he had predicted for Mabel.The ground on which he felt the necessity of assuring to military
officers of rank liberal allowances, in order that they might suitably
maintain their station in life, and enjoy a reward for long service;
and the necessity he saw for putting an end, on their part, to all
indefinite and indirect perquisites, and of giving to their minds a
tone that should elevate them above all sordid views, and make them
what their stations required they should be, is well stated in a
letter[67] to Sir Robert Barker:--"Colonel Smith is making a vigorous
progress in reforming the abuses that fall under his notice.The
monstrous charges and impositions of quarter-masters, surgeons, &c.,
&c., require, indeed, the strictest scrutiny; and he seems determined
to go through it with great spirit and attention to the Company's
interest.Nor shall I be disappointed in the assistance I expect from
you in these matters, whilst I shall, at the same time, have the
satisfaction of knowing that you can enforce wholesome regulations
without creating disgust.The privilege of making bills, and the long
track of frauds introduced under the customary disguise of perquisites,
I wish to see entirely abolished.Every emolument shall be fixed, plain
and open: the medium shall, if possible, be struck between extravagance
and niggardly restrictions: but economy shall take place.The allowance
to field officers will be so large as to prevent even their wishing for
more; and, at the same time, so reasonable, that I think the Company
must approve of them.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.A colonel's share of the salt produce will be
from 5000_l._ to 6000_l._ per annum, or more[68]; lieutenant-colonel's
and major's in proportion; and as a further encouragement, I intend
that all the field officers shall be allowed sufficient to defray the
expense of their table.Sandra journeyed to the office.When all mean advantages are disclaimed and
held in contempt by gentlemen high in the service, reformation will, of
course, be with greater ease introduced among inferiors.You will do me
the justice to believe that I mean this as a general observation only,
and not as a necessary hint, either to yourself or any of the field
officers of your regiment, as I know you are all men of honour and
principle."The reasons of expediency that led Clive to recommend that high public
officers, civil and military, should be remunerated by shares in the
profits of the salt trade, are stated in numerous letters.He thought
that an open, direct, pecuniary allowance would not willingly be
sanctioned by the Company out of any of the revenues which flowed into
their treasury, and still less from the profits of their trade; and
that, besides, such large avowed allowances would invite an attack from
the Crown on their patronage; and that the grasping character of the
administration in England would lead to a ruinous interference in the
nomination of men to India who had no recommendation but their high
birth and great interest.It was the above considerations that compelled him to devise the means
he deemed least objectionable of adequately rewarding service, in
order to gain, by the tie of self-interest as well as honour, those
instruments without whose aid he was sensible the great reform he had
resolved to introduce could neither be complete nor permanent.In
Clive's correspondence and measures, at this period, will be found
the origin and introduction of that important principle of a fair and
honourable payment for service, suited to its nature and the rank and
responsibility of the individuals employed, which has been generally
ascribed to the more enlightened policy of a subsequent administration.That his efforts failed, was owing to the conduct of others, and
particularly the public authorities in England, who, in their attack
upon the salt monopoly and its appropriation, and in the condemnation
of his measures, threw, for a period, a disrepute upon all that he had
done, which led to a revival of a great proportion of the abuses he had
corrected, and a disregard of the principles he had established.As
the salt monopoly and its appropriation has been a subject of constant
attack upon his character, and continues, so far as the monopoly is
concerned, to be still one upon the Indian Government, the subject
merits a cursory notice, which is all that the limits and objects of
this Memoir will permit.[69]
We have already seen that, by the firman of the King of Delhi, the
English Company possessed the right of trading free from duties.This
privilege was granted to favour the kind of trade they then carried
on, which was confined to exports and imports by sea: and the dustuck,
or passport, of the English presidents or chiefs, was respected by the
Subahdar's officers to that extent.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.Under this privilege the President
favoured also the private trade of the Company's servants or officers,
which, though not strictly according to the words of the firman, was
never objected to.As to the internal or carrying trade of the country, to engage in it
never entered into the plans of the Company or its servants, which
were confined to the valuable and profitable traffic between Europe
and India; and, had they thought of it, it is clear that it could not
have been profitably conducted by foreigners under a native government,
which had the power of enforcing justice in the transactions between
them and its own subjects.But after the deposition of Suraj-u-Dowl |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | As long as Clive remained in Bengal, he checked these pretensions by
his characteristic firmness and spirit; but no sooner had he left the
country, than there was a general rush of the Company's servants,
and of Europeans of all classes, towards the interior trade of the
three provinces.In the foreign trade, the Company and its officers
had, indeed, the advantage of trading free of duties, but the returns
were tardy, and in some instances uncertain; whereas in the internal
trade the return was rapid and certain; and, as they most unjustly
claimed for this trade the same exemption from duties which they had
enjoyed for the articles of their foreign export trade, it is clear
that they had it in their power to undersell the native merchant in
his own market; that, to the extent of their capital, they had all
the advantages of a monopoly; and that, as their trade increased, the
revenues of the sovereign must decay.By this assumption they, in fact,
made themselves participators in the benefit of the taxes imposed for
the public service.Of all the articles of inland trade, that of salt was by much the most
important.Its manufacture and trade had always, to a certain extent,
been a monopoly, and was generally farmed or granted for a price, as
a boon, to some favourite of the prince.Mary went back to the hallway.Being a necessary of life,
the demand was great and steady; and the capital employed in the trade
being limited, the return on it was very large.It seems, under the
frugal management of the natives, to have amounted to 200 per cent.After the deposition of Meer Jaffier in favour of Cossim Ali, planned,
as we have seen, by Mr.Holwell, and imprudently executed by Mr.Vansittart in 1760, not long after Lord Clive's departure, the abuses
of the English private trade in this and all its other branches, no
longer sufficiently checked by the Governor, increased daily.Fortunes
were amassed with singular rapidity; and such was the certainty of
gain, that native capital flowed plentifully into the hands of the
English merchant, who employed it himself, or permitted the trade
of natives to be carried on covertly under his name.It could not be
otherwise; for, while the native purchased the commodity at a high
rate, paid an enormous duty, and was subject to all the expense and
annoyance of frequent tolls, exactions, and stoppages, the English had
become possessed of the principal salt works, paid no duty, and carried
their wares at pleasure about the country for sale free from all demand
or exaction whatever.Cossim Ali, a prince of great sagacity, and no mean financier,
remonstrated with Mr.Vansittart on the abuses exercised by the
English, and still more under their name, all over the country, to
the oppression of his subjects, and the ruin of the public revenues;
for not only did the Gomashtahs, and others in the service of the
English, refuse payment of customs, but they insulted, and sometimes
even insolently punished, on their own authority, the officers of the
native Government.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Vansittart, quite aware of the justice of the
complaints, and not unwilling to remedy them, as far as the little
power left in his hands by the rapacity of his Council, and his own
want of vigour, would allow, at length entered into a treaty with the
Subah[70], by which, among other stipulations, it was agreed, that the
English should be allowed to engage in the inland trade, but subject
to duties; and, in particular, were to be allowed to purchase salt,
subject to a low duty of 9 per cent.only, and might transport it about
the country, free from all the transit duties paid by the Subah's own
subjects.[71]
This arrangement, such as it was, afforded but a feeble redress to
Meer Cossim: but the Council, themselves the principal traders, were
indignant, even at this moderate deduction from their commercial gains,
and disavowed the act of the Governor.The consequence was what we have
seen: Meer Cossim, seeing his subjects deprived of their trade, and
himself of his revenues, proclaimed a general exemption from customs
and duties for two years, to his subjects and to all others.The rage of the Council of Calcutta at this step, rendered necessary
by their own conduct, led to a bloody war, the massacre of Patna, the
deposition of Meer Cossim, and the restoration of Meer Jaffier.It was
not without reason that the Court of Directors regarded "the inland
trade as the foundation of all the bloodshed, massacres, and confusion
which have happened of late years in Bengal."By the treaty[72] with the restored prince, the English got a right
of trading by their own dustuck, free of all taxes, duties, and
impositions, excepting one of two and a half per cent.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.This
was, in effect, giving them a monopoly of that profitable trade; and it
appears that even this duty, trifling as it was, was never levied.The
arrangement threw the whole inland trade of the country into the hands
of the English and their agents, whose violence totally paralysed the
native Government.These proceedings, and their fatal consequences, were viewed by the
Court of Directors with indignation and alarm.The new assumptions had
not even the air of being for their benefit, but were exclusively for
the advantage of their servants.They therefore, in order to repress
the evil, on the 8th of February, 1764, sent out an order to put an
end to the inland trade in salt, betle-nut, and tobacco, and all other
articles produced and consumed in the country.It was soon after this order was resolved upon that, the news of the
massacre of Patna, the war with Meer Cossim, and other events, having
reached England, and diffused the greatest consternation every where,
and especially at the India House, Lord Clive was solicited once more
to return to Bengal, to restore peace and stability to the empire of
which he was the founder.In his letter to the Court of Directors[73],
accepting of the government, fully aware of one great source of
misrule, he recommended an entire abolition of the inland trade in
salt, betle-nut, and tobacco, as having, with other circumstances,
concurred to hasten and bring on the late troubles.But, soon after the date of this letter, the Court of Proprietors,
among whom were numbers favourable to the claims of the servants, and
who saw with alarm a stop likely to be put to a trade which, in the
short space of four years, had already sent many large fortunes to
England, had come to a resolution[74] to recommend "to the Court of
Directors to reconsider the orders sent to Bengal relative to the trade
of the Company's servants in salt, betle-nut, and tobacco; and that
they do give such directions for regulating the same, agreeably to
the interest of the Company and the Subah, as to them may appear most
prudent; either by settling here at home the restrictions under which
this trade ought to be carried on, or by referring it to the Governor
and Council of Fort William to regulate this important point in such a
manner as may prevent all future disputes betwixt the Subah and the
Company."The orders of the 8th of February had been dispatched previously to the
arrival of the news of the new treaty with Meer Jaffier; "the terms
of which, however," the Directors justly observe, "appear to be so
very injurious to the Nabob, and to the natives, that they cannot, in
the very nature of them, tend to any thing but the producing general
heart-burnings and dissatisfaction;" it is therefore directed, that the
orders of the 8th of February remain in force, till a more equitable
plan can be formed; the Governor and Council being directed to consult
the Nabob as to the manner of carrying on the inland trade of salt,
and other articles produced and consumed in the country, which may be
most to his satisfaction and advantage, the interest of the Company,
and likewise of the Company's servants, and to form and transmit home
an equitable plan, to enable the Court to give directions.It is to
be remembered, therefore, that in this view there was a threefold
interest to be considered; that of the Nabob, of the Company, and of
the Company's servants.This letter was carried out to India in the ship which conveyed Lord
Clive; though a copy, sent by another vessel, arrived some time before
him.When Lord Clive reached India, one of the first objects that engaged
his attention was the manner in which the public servants were to be
remunerated.At that period, their direct salaries were very trifling; that of
councillor being only 350_l._, and the others small in proportion.The Company was originally strictly a trading Company, and its clerks
and servants were paid chiefly by being allowed to trade on their
own account.John travelled to the hallway.When the Company found it necessary to have troops for
the defence of their factories, their military officers were paid in
the same way.All were merchants and traders, from the governor, the
commandant, and the chaplain, down to the youngest writer and ensign.Now that they were princes with a large territory, and a formidable
army, the steps by which they reached that eminence had been so sudden,
and the consequences so unforeseen, that their servants still continued
to be civil, military, and ecclesiastical traders: the old system
remained unchanged.John travelled to the garden.But a change of circumstances necessarily called for a change of
regulations.The relative situation of the English and natives was no
longer the same: for instance, the receiving of presents from native
princes, or men of rank, had quite altered its nature.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.While the
Company were mere traders, there could be no good reason for hindering
their servants and the natives from mutually receiving and bestowing
presents.The parties were on a level, bound to each other by common
interest, and presents were nothing more than a mark of the good-will
that subsisted between them; the consequence of their friendship or
relations in trade, exhibited according to the usage and fashion of the
country, of which the giving and receiving of presents formed a part.In the altered situation of the Company, when their servants concluded
treaties, influenced the fate of provinces, and made and unmade
princes, things were essentially changed.Presents were now liable to
become, not the sign and consequence of good-will, but the motive, and
sometimes the guilty motive, of public acts; and great sums might be
thus extorted, to the injury both of the natives and of the Company:
and, indeed, this natural effect did ensue.The paramount influence of
the English authority was abused, for purposes of private interest and
selfish rapacity.Great fortunes were made in this way during the five
years that Lord Clive was absent in England, and these benevolences
became a most heavy burden on the men of rank and wealth in India.Sandra journeyed to the office.To check this evil, the Court of Directors, as we have seen, ordered
covenants against receiving presents to be entered into by all their
servants.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.The orders issued regarding the inland trade nearly shut up another
great source of gain.During the five years in which the public
servants had carried it on with such amazing profit, the export trade,
as an inferior branch, had been left chiefly to free merchants and free
mariners.The orders excluding the Company's servants from the inland
trade now drove them back, once more, to foreign and general trade, but
in more unfavourable circumstances.They complained to the Directors that, by the course of events,
which had done so much for the Company, they were placed in a worse
situation than ever, and engaged in an unfavourable competition even
with the free traders: that, instead of benefiting, they suffered by
being in the Company's service, as they were confined to one spot by
the Company's concerns, while the others could run over the country,
and had nothing to engage them but their own interests.In this
representation there was much truth; though the conclusion might have
reached farther than either the Company or their servants would have
been willing to allow.Men who had been accustomed to look to great and immediate returns
for their capital, or for the mere use of their name, looked upon the
restrictions under which they were now placed as the height of tyranny.The habits of indulgence and expense which they had acquired from the
rapid influx of wealth, and the golden prospects which their situation
had seemed to hold out to them, were bad preparations for returning to,
or for acquiring, the patient, sober, and steady habits of business
which general commerce requires.Lord Clive found the settlement in
a ferment; and all ranks of the Company's servants resolved to throw
every obstacle in the way of executing the Company's orders.Mary journeyed to the hallway.How he triumphed over the civil, as well as military, combinations
which threatened ruin to the British ascendency in India, we have
already seen: but if he triumphed, it was not by firmness alone; it was
equally by the justice, the consideration, the policy, which guided all
his measures.He had all the powers of mind necessary for his new situation; but
his instruments were very imperfect.He saw that a grand crisis had
arrived in the Company's affairs; that their servants were brought into
contact with men possessed of the greatest wealth and power, and whose
fate they really held in their hands.Mary moved to the bedroom."Without proposing a reasonable
prospect of independent fortunes," says one of his friends[75], "it was
ridiculous to hope that common virtue could withstand the allurements
of daily temptation; or that men armed with power would abstain from
the spoils of a prostrate nation."Clive was particularly desirous, as we have seen, that the chief men in
the administration of affairs, but especially the Governor, should be
withdrawn from trade, and from whatever could warp the freedom of their
opinions: it is a subject to which he often reverts in his private
correspondence.But to expect that the Directors would directly sanction large salaries
to their servants from the profits of the Company's trade, or from
their territorial revenues, was vain.It was quite at variance with the
old maxims by which they were accustomed to regulate their concerns.There seemed to be no alternative, therefore, but either to let things
proceed in the ruinous course in which they now were, to enforce the
covenants, and enter, unaided, on a hopeless struggle between private
interest and public duty; or to find means, from such resources of the
country as were not yet claimed by the Company, to pay the superior
servants in an adequate and ample manner; and this last he resolved to
attempt."It was not expedient," says Clive himself, in his speech in the House
of Commons[76], "to draw the reins too tight.It was not expedient
that the Company's servants should pass from affluence to beggary.It
was necessary that some emoluments should accrue to the servants in
general, and more especially to those in superior stations, who were
to assist in carrying on the measures of Government.The salary of a
councillor is, I think, scarcely 300_l._ per annum; and it is well
known that he cannot live in that country for less than 3000_l._ The
same proportion holds among the other servants.It was requisite,
therefore, that an establishment should take place; and the Select
Committee, after the most mature deliberation, judged that the trade
in salt, betle-nut, and tobacco, under proper regulations, might
effectually answer the purpose."One difficulty had been removed when, about the time of the grant
of the dewannee, the young Nabob, Nujum-ed-Dowlah, had yielded up
to the Company the whole of the revenues of the three provinces,
in consideration of a fixed annuity.The question, after that, no
longer regarded the Nabob, or his revenues; it was only between the
Company, their servants, and the natives; and Clive believed that, by
an arrangement regarding the salt trade, the interest of all could
be conciliated: and it is to be recollected, that the Directors had
ordered that the new plan should have a view to "the interest of the
Company, and likewise of the Company's servants."[77]
It is unnecessary to enter into all the details of the plan finally
adopted in September, 1765, which were chiefly arranged by Mr.The salt trade was to be conducted solely by a society composed of all
the higher officers of Government, civil and military; their capital |
garden | Where is Sandra? | The affairs of the Society were conducted by a committee;
the salt was to be furnished to them by contractors, and was to be sold
at various grand stations by agents, generally Europeans, appointed by
the Committee, the purchasers from whom could carry and sell it over
the country at pleasure; 35 per cent.on the price was allowed as a
tax to the company[78], who had now come into the Nabob's place; the
selling price, at the different remote stations, was also fixed at
rates 12 or 15 per cent.below what was found to have been the average
rate of the twenty years preceding.Besides providing ample allowances to the chief of the Company's
servants, the great advantage of this plan was, that it allowed them
to withdraw their attention wholly from trade.[79] They were sleeping
partners of a sure and profitable concern, the whole details of which,
without any care on their part, was managed by a committee devoted to
the business.The profits of this Society were, as might have been expected, very
great."The capital of the salt trade," says Clive, writing to Colonel
Call[80], "is 32 lacs of sicca rupees, upon which the most moderate
expect to make 50 per cent., clear of all charges; others, 75 per
cent.; and the most sanguine, 100 per cent.Take the lowest, and a
councillor's and a colonel's profit will be 7000_l._ sterling per
annum; a lieutenant-colonel's and junior merchant's, 3000_l._; majors'
and factors', 2000_l._ These advantages, and a free open trade,
are in lieu of all presents from the natives, and all perquisites
disadvantageous to the Company, and dishonourable to the servants."And
in a letter[81] to Mr.Palk, the Governor of Madras, after mentioning
the large allowance that the trade would give to the different sharers,
he adds, "This extraordinary indulgence is in lieu of perquisites; for
I intend the Governor and Council shall take a most solemn oath at the
Mayor's Court, in presence of all the inhabitants, that they shall
receive no perquisites whatever, or other advantages, excepting what
arises from their trade; and to this shall be added a penalty-bond of
a very very large sum of money.These articles, upon my arrival, were
altogether in the hands of the Company's servants and free merchants,
and only yielded to the Company 60,000_l._ per annum, and to the Nabob
nothing, for they did not even pay the 2-1/2 per cent.Neither
will the method we are pursuing be attended with the least disadvantage
to the inhabitants: the same hands who made and worked the salt are
still employed at the same rates; and the salt in general will be sold
at a much lower price than formerly.Formerly the salt was sold dear or
cheap, according to the demand for that article; we shall endeavour to
fix upon a price for every market, and always sell it for the same."Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.The result of the first year's sales was very prosperous, and even
exceeded expectation: insomuch that, in forming the plan for the
following year, it was resolved to diminish the profits of the
proprietors, and to raise those of the East India Company, the duty
to whom was now fixed at 50 per cent., which, at a low valuation of
the salt, was to produce about 160,000_l._ Clive had, however, in the
course of his progress through the country, observed the inconvenience
of employing European agents in the trade; and a very material
improvement was introduced, by dispensing with their agency altogether,
and selling the article at Calcutta, or where it was made, to the
natives only, with permission to convey it wherever they pleased.In
this way Europeans were totally removed from any direct interference
with the natives in the interior, and the trade was as free as any
monopoly can be.This second year's Society commenced in September,
1766.Not long after it began its operations, letters from the Court of
Directors reached Bengal, disapproving of the plan of the first year's
Society, and commanding the trade to be thrown open, and left entirely
to the natives.In coming to this resolution, they were not so much
influenced by any views of the particular merits or demerits of the new
plan itself, as by consideration of the mischiefs which had for several
years attended the general system of internal trade carried on by the
English gentlemen with a high hand, free of duties.Their orders,
repeatedly sent out, to pay the legal duties to the Nabob, and to keep
within the meaning of the Emperor's firman, had been totally neglected,
or provokingly evaded.Repeated revolutions had been the consequence,
and immense suffering to the country."We are fully sensible," say the
Court of Directors[82], "that these innovations, and illegal traffic,
laid the foundation of all the bloodshed, massacres, and confusion
which have happened of late years.We cannot suffer ourselves to
indulge a thought towards the continuance of them, upon any conditions
whatsoever.No regulations can, in our opinion, be formed, that can be
effectual to prevent the like consequences which we have seen."They
desire, however, that the duties, as forming part of the revenues of
Bengal, should not be abolished.In a letter of the same date, to Lord
Clive, the Directors, after bestowing the greatest and most merited
praise on the penetration with which he had at once discerned their
true interest in every branch of their concerns; the rapidity with
which he had restored order, peace, and tranquillity; and the integrity
which governed all his actions, proceed to give their resolutions on
the inland trade."The vast fortunes," they observe, "acquired in the
inland trade have been obtained by a scene of the most tyrannic and
oppressive conduct that ever was known, in any age or country.We have
been uniform in our sentiments and orders on this subject, from the
first knowledge we had of it; and your Lordship will not, therefore,
wonder, after the fatal experience we had of the violent abuses
committed in this trade, that we could not be brought to approve it,
even in the limited and regulated manner with which it comes to us, in
the plan laid down in the Committee's proceedings.We agree in opinion
with your Lordship on the propriety of holding out such advantages to
our chief servants, civil and military, as may open to them the means
of honourably acquiring a competency in our service; but the difficulty
of the subject, and the short time we have at present to consider
it, have obliged us to defer giving our sentiments and directions
thereupon, until the next despatch."The letter concludes with
entreaties to him to remain for another year in India, and with holding
out the prospect of some solid permanent retribution, corresponding to
his most important services.The real causes of the resolutions of public bodies do not always
appear in their public acts.To deprive their servants of their
principal means of subsistence, without substituting any authorised
allowance in its place, was bad policy in itself, and was reducing Lord
Clive, in the midst of his exertions, to a very painful dilemma.Scrafton, in a letter[83] to Lord Clive, explains their secret reasons.The Proprietors had begun to clamour for an increase of dividend, which
the Directors thought unsuitable to the situation of the Company's
affairs."This," says he, "has induced the Directors to defer the
consideration of the gratification of the servants on abolishing the
salt trade.Such consideration could not be but for a vast sum; and if
it had got wind that such gratifications were ordered, the Proprietors
would be outrageous for an increase of the dividend.Though we cannot
open our minds upon it, yet it appears to me an increase of dividend
must take place at the Quarterly Court in June; and then the Court will
be under no restraint, but will give a per centage on the revenues,
in which the Governor will have a great share, in lieu of trade; the
rest among the Committee, Council, colonels, and ten below Council,
but no lower."--"Your Lordship may be assured it will take place; for,
when the last paragraph was added to the letter to you, the Committee
declared it was their meaning and intention to do it by the next ship."The letters of the Directors, the first which Clive had received
in answer to his communication on the plan which he had formed, as
directed by them, for carrying on the internal trade, reached him
only in December, 1766, a month before he left India.He had for some
weeks been confined to his chamber by a very severe illness, from
which his life was in danger.He now felt himself placed in a most
painful predicament, between the Court of Directors and the immediate
difficulties of his situation with the civil and military servants.He believed that, with long attention and care, he had succeeded in
disarming the salt trade of most of its evils, and by its means had
secured to the Company's superior servants a lawful for an unlawful
income.But the commands of the Directors were positive; and, though he
was of opinion that they were founded on mistake, it was his wish to
conform to them.The Company, though aware of the address and spirit
of command with which he had checked the machinations of their civil
servants in 1765, were still ignorant, when their orders were given,
of his still more difficult triumph over the mutiny of their military
officers.They had, most justly and wisely, deprived their servants
of their means of illicit gain; they now rashly deprived them also of
what had been substituted as a lawful provision; they referred these
discontented and powerful men, who had vast wealth within their reach,
to a future and uncertain time, when their masters should be at leisure
to pay some attention to their immediate and urgent necessities.An inferior man would have hesitated and faltered: Clive saw that
decision was necessary for the crisis.He could not undo his own work
of pacification and reform.The affairs of the Society were too far
advanced to be discontinued all at once.He therefore confirmed the
grant to the Society, but declared that it was to terminate at the
conclusion of the current year, the 1st of September, 1767.[84] At
the same time, the Select Committee of Calcutta, by their letter of
the 26th of January, 1767, while they mentioned that the orders for
discontinuing the Society had been complied with, remonstrated strongly
with the Court of Directors on the occasion; calling on them to review
their opinion.Such is an outline of the history of the Society of Trade during
Clive's government.He formed a society in unison, as he supposed,
with the spirit of the orders of the Court of Directors, which desired
him, in the new plan of trade intended to be formed, to consult the
benefit of three parties--the Nabob, the Company, and its servants.The Nabob's interest had merged in the Company's.The interest of the
natives, however, the most important of all, was consulted by their
restoration to the benefits of the trade, from which recently they
had nearly been excluded; and by the exclusion of Europeans from any
participation in the details of it.How the interests of the Company's
servants were to be consulted by any plan that admitted them to the
profits, yet excluded them in every shape from the trade, it is not
easy to imagine.Lord Clive and the Committee did, therefore, what
then, and in all succeeding times, it has been found necessary to do,
in India, and in every distant possession, to form and execute a plan
on their own responsibility, and to leave the future approbation or
disapprobation to their distant masters.Inconvenient as this may be,
it is an inconvenience inseparable from distant legislation.A few words may here be said on the future history of the salt trade.The Court of Directors, after receiving the letters of the Select
Committee, still persisted in their desire of abolishing the Society,
and of removing Europeans from this and all other concern with the
inland trade of the country.Sandra journeyed to the garden.They therefore, by their letter of the
20th of November, 1767, written eighteen months after their former
letter, ordered the Society of Trade to be abolished, and the salt-pans
to be sold by public auction, excluding all Europeans from being
bidders or owners, directly or indirectly.Instead of the benefits
resulting to the senior servants from this trade, an allotment of
2-1/2 per cent.on the net revenue of the dewannee was assigned to
them in certain shares; and a small increase of pay to captains and
subalterns.[85]
Meanwhile, in Bengal, when September, 1767, arrived, these last
orders having not yet been received, nor indeed written, another
year was allowed by Mr.Verelst, the new Governor, and his Council,
to the Society of Trade, to collect their debts, and realise their
capital.It was not till September, 1768, that it ceased; and the
Court of Directors having, in December, 1769[86], by a sudden and
singular departure from their opinions, so strongly announced, sent
out instructions to lay open the inland trade to all persons, as well
natives as Europeans, a proclamation to that effect was published
at Calcutta, on the 12th of December, 1770.The effect of this
essential change in the Company's plans on the future prosperity of
the provinces, it is no part of the present Memoir to investigate; but
it is very plain, that, by admitting Europeans into the inland trade,
in the state in which the country then was, they really did away with
all the benefit that could in any way have been expected to arise from
abolishing the monopoly.But whether Lord Clive's opinions regarding the trade in salt were
sound or not, one thing at least is evident,--he was perfectly
conscientious in the advice he gave, and on the measures he adopted,
on that subject.This is plain from his whole conduct, and from his
correspondence, public and private, with numerous persons, while
in India.Nor did his anxiety on the subject cease, even after he
had reached England, when all private interest in the subject,
if he can be supposed ever to have had any, must have been over.Finding accidentally, some months after his arrival, that the plan
of abolishing the Salt Society continued to be entertained, he
explained his views on the subject to the Committee of Treasury and
Correspondence of the Directors, in a detailed and laboured letter.It has been said of Shakespear, that he
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new[2]:
but the burthen sustained by Shakespear was too heavy for the shoulders
of any other individual.I leave the first part of the task above
mentioned to be divided among those celebrated novelists, living and
dead, who have attempted to delineate the scenes of real life.In
this little work I have endeavoured to gain footing in one neglected
track of the latter province.The hearts and the curiosity of readers
have been assailed in so many ways, that we, writers who bring up the
rear of our illustrious predecessors, must be contented to arrive at
novelty in whatever mode we are able.The foundation of the following
tale is such as, it is not to be supposed, ever existed.But, if I have
mixed human feelings and passions with incredible situations, and thus
rendered them impressive and interesting, I shall entertain some hope
to be pardoned the boldness and irregularity of my design.Some readers of my graver productions will perhaps, in perusing
these little volumes, accuse me of inconsistency; the affections and
charities of private life being every where in this publication a topic
of the warmest eulogium, while in the Enquiry concerning Political
Justice they seemed to be treated with no great degree of indulgence
and favour.In answer to this objection, all I think it necessary
to say on the present occasion is, that, for more than four years,
I have been anxious for opportunity and leisure to modify some of
the earlier chapters of that work in conformity to the sentiments
inculcated in this.Not that I see cause to make any change respecting
the principle of justice, or any thing else fundamental to the system
there delivered; but that I apprehend domestic and private affections
inseparable from the nature of man, and from what may be styled
the culture of the heart, and am fully persuaded that they are not
incompatible with a profound and active sense of justice in the mind of
him that cherishes them.True wisdom will recommend to us individual
attachments; for with them our minds are more thoroughly maintained in
activity and life than they can be under the |
garden | Where is Sandra? | True virtue will sanction this recommendation; since it is the object
of virtue to produce happiness, and since the man who lives in the
midst of domestic relations will have many opportunities of conferring
pleasure, minute in the detail, yet not trivial in the amount, without
interfering with the purposes of general benevolence.Nay, by kindling
his sensibility, and harmonising his soul, they may be expected, if he
is endowed with a liberal and manly spirit, to render him more prompt
in the service of strangers and the public.CHAPTER I.
There is nothing that human imagination can figure brilliant and
enviable, that human genius and skill do not aspire to realize.In the
early ages of antiquity, one of the favourite topics of speculation was
a perfect system of civil policy; and no sooner had Plato delineated
his imaginary republic, than he sought for a spot of earth upon which
to execute his plan.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.In my own times, and for upwards of a century
before them, the subject which has chiefly occupied men of intrepid
and persevering study, has been the great secret of nature, the
_opus magnum_, in its two grand and inseparable branches, the art of
multiplying gold, and of defying the inroads of infirmity and death.It is notorious that uncommon talents and unparalleled industry have
been engaged in this mighty task.It has, I know, been disputed by the
audacious adversaries of all sober and reasonable evidence, whether
these talents and industry have in any case attained the object they
sought.It is not to my purpose to ascertain the number of those whose
victory over the powers and inertness of matter has been complete.It
is enough that I am a living instance of the existence of such men.To
these two secrets, if they are to be considered as two, I have been
for years in the habit of resorting for my gratification.I have in my
possession the choice of being as wealthy as I please, and the gift of
immortal life.Every thing that I see almost, I can without difficulty
make my own; for what palaces, pictures, parks or gardens, rarities of
art or nature, have not a price at which their owner will consent to
yield them?The luxuries of every quarter of the world are emptied at
my feet.I can command, to an extent almost inconceivable, the passions
of men.What heart can withstand the assault of princely magnificence?Add to these advantages, that I am
invulnerable to disease.Every sun that rises, finds the circulations
of my frame in the most perfect order.A thousand winters want the power to furrow my countenance with
wrinkles, or turn my hairs to silver.Exhaustless wealth and eternal
youth are the attributes by which I am distinguished from the rest of
mankind.I do not sit down now to write a treatise of natural philosophy.The
condition by which I hold my privileges is, that they must never be
imparted.I sit down purely to relate a few of those extraordinary
events that have been produced, in the period of my life which is
already elapsed, by the circumstances and the peculiarity to which I
have just alluded.It is so obvious, as to make it almost improper to specify it, that
the pursuit in which so many of my contemporaries are engaged, and
the end of which I have so singularly achieved, is in its appearance
infinitely more grand and interesting than that which occupied the
thoughts of Plato and the most eminent writers of antiquity.Sandra journeyed to the garden.What is
political liberty compared with unbounded riches and immortal vigour?The immediate application of political liberty is, to render a man’s
patrimony or the fruits of his industry completely his own, and to
preserve them from the invasion of others.But the petty detail of
preservation or gradual acquisition can never enter into competition
with the _great secret_, which endows a man in a moment with every
thing that the human heart can wish.Considered in this light, how mean
and contemptible does the ambition of the boasted ancients appear,
compared with ours?What adept or probationer of the present day would
be content to resign the study of God and the profounder secrets
of nature, and to bound his ardour to the investigation of his own
miserable existence?It may seem perhaps to many, that the history of a person possessed
of advantages so unparalleled as mine, must be, like the history
of paradise, or of the future happiness of the blessed, too calm
and motionless, too much of one invariable texture and exempt from
vicissitude, to excite the attention or interest the passions of the
reader.If he will have patience, and apply to the perusal of my
narrative, he will in no long time perceive how far his conjecture is
founded in sagacity and reason.Some persons may be curious to know what motives can have induced a
man of such enormous wealth, and so every way qualified to revel in
delights, to take the trouble of penning his memoirs.The immortality
with which I am endowed seems to put out of the question the common
motives that relate to posthumous fame.The curiosity here mentioned, if it really exists, I cannot consent to
gratify.In the progress of my story, my
motive for recording it will probably become evident.I am descended from one of the most ancient and honourable families
of the kingdom of France.I was the only child of my father, who died
while I was an infant.My mother was a woman of rather a masculine
understanding, and full of the prejudices of nobility and magnificence.Her whole soul was in a manner concentrated in the ambition to render
me the worthy successor of the counts de St.Leon, who had figured
with distinguished reputation in the wars of the Holy Land.My father
had died fighting gallantly in the plains of Italy under the standard
of Louis the Twelfth; a prince whose name was never repeated to me
unaccompanied with the praises due to his military prowess, and to
the singular humanity of disposition by which he acquired the title
of _The father of his people_.My mother’s mind was inflamed with the
greatness of my ancestors, and she indefatigably sought to kindle in my
bosom a similar flame.It has been a long-established custom for the
barons and feudal vassals of the kings of France to enter with great
personal expense into the brilliant and dazzling expeditions of their
sovereigns; and my father greatly impaired his fortune in preparations
for that very campaign in which he terminated his life.My mother
industriously applied herself to the restoration of my patrimony; and
the long period of my minority afforded her scope for that purpose.It was impossible for any boy to be treated with more kindness and
considerate indulgence than I was during the period of my adolescence.My mother loved me to the very utmost limits perhaps of human
affection.I was her darling and her pride, her waking study, and her
nightly dream.Yet I was not pampered into corporeal imbecility, or
suffered to rust in inactivity of mind.I was excited, and successfully excited, zealously to apply
myself to the lessons they taught.I became intimately acquainted with
the Italian writers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.I was
initiated in the study of the classics, to the cultivation of which
the revival of letters at this time gave particular ardour.I was
instructed in the principles of the fine arts.There was no species of
accomplishment at that time in vogue, that my mother was not anxious I
should make my own.The only science I neglected was the very science
which has since given rise to the most extraordinary events of my life.But the object to which my attention was principally called, was the
pursuit of military exercises, and the cultivation of every thing that
could add to the strength, agility, or grace of my body, and to the
adventurousness and enterprise of my mind.My mother loved my honour
and my fame more than she loved my person.A circumstance that tended perhaps more than any other to fix the yet
fluctuating character of my youthful mind, was my being present as a
spectator at the celebrated meeting between Francis the First and Henry
the Eighth, king of England, in a field between Ardres and Guines.My
mother refused to accompany me, being already arrived at an age in
which curiosity and the love of festive scenes are usually diminished,
and the expenses incurred by all the nobility who attended upon this
scene being incompatible with the economy to which she rigidly adhered.I was therefore placed under the protection of the Marquis de Villeroy,
her brother, and, with two servants who attended me, formed a part of
his suite.I was at this time fifteen years of age.My contemplations had been
familiar with ideas of magnificence and grandeur, but my life had
been spent in the most sequestered retirement.This contrast had a
particular effect upon my disposition; it irritated to a very high
degree my passion for splendour and distinction; I lived in the fairy
fields of visionary greatness, and was more than indifferent to the
major part of the objects around me.I pined for every thing the
reverse of my present condition; I cultivated the exercises in which
I was engaged, only as they were calculated to prepare me for future
achievements.By the incident I have mentioned, I was transported at once from a
scene of modest obscurity, to a scene of the most lavish splendour that
the world perhaps ever contemplated.I never remembered to have seen
even Paris itself.The prevailing taste of Europe has for some time led
very much to costliness in dress.This taste, in its present profusion,
I believe took its rise in the field of the Vale of Ardres.The two
kings were both in the vigour of their youth, and were said to be the
handsomest men of the age in which they lived.The beauty of Henry was
sturdy and muscular; that of Francis more refined and elegant, without
subtracting in any considerable degree from the firmness of his make.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Henry was four years older than his brother monarch.The first of them
might have been taken as a model to represent a youthful Hercules, and
the last an Apollo.The splendour of dress that was worn upon this occasion exceeds almost
all credibility.Every person of distinction might be said in a
manner to carry an estate upon his shoulders; nor was the variety of
garments inferior to the richness.Wolsey, a man whose magnificence of
disposition was only surpassed by the pride of his soul, was for the
most part the director of the whole.He possessed the most absolute
ascendancy over the mind of his master, at the same time that Francis
artfully indulged his caprice, that he might claim from him in return a
similar indulgence in weightier matters.The pomp of processions, and the ceremony of opening this memorable
festival, went first; a sort of solemn and half-moving pageant, which
the eye took in at leisure, and took in till it was filled.This was
succeeded by every thing that was rapid, animated, and interesting:
masques and exhibitions of all kinds; and, which was still more to me,
and which my soul devoured with indescribable ardour, joustings, tilts,
and tournaments without end.The beauty of the armour, the caparisons
of the steeds, the mettle of the animals themselves, and the ardour and
grace of the combatants, surpassed every thing that my fancy had ever
painted.These scenes were acted in the midst of a vast amphitheatre of
spectators, where all that was noble and eminent of either country was
assembled--the manliness of aspiring youth, and the boundless varieties
of female attraction.All were in their gayest attire; every eye was
lighted up with complacency and joy.Mary moved to the bedroom.If Heraclitus, or any other morose
philosopher who has expatiated on the universal misery of mankind, had
entered the field of Ardres, he must have retracted his assertions, or
fled from the scene with confusion.The kings were placed at either
end of the lists, surrounded with their courtiers.Every eye through
this vast assembly was fixed upon the combatants; the body of every one
present was inclined this way or that, in unconscious sympathy with the
redoubted knights.From time to time, as the favourites of either party
prevailed, the air was rent with shouts and acclamations.What added to the fascination of all that I have yet mentioned, was
that now, for the first time in an equal degree perhaps for centuries,
the stiffness of unwieldy form was laid aside, and the heart of man
expanded itself with generosity and confidence.It burst the fetters
of ages; and, having burst them, it seemed to revel in its new-found
liberty.It is well known that, after a few days of idle precaution
and specious imprisonment on both sides, Francis one morning mounted
his horse, and appeared, without guards or any previous notice, before
the tent of Henry.The example was contagious, and from this time all
ceremony was laid aside.The kings themselves entered personally into
the combats of their subjects.It was a delightful and a ravishing
spectacle, to witness the freedom of the old Roman manners, almost
of the old Roman Saturnalia, polished and refined with all that was
graceful and humane in the age of chivalry.It may easily be imagined what an effect a scene like this was
calculated to produce upon a youth of my age and my education.I
recollected with anguish that the immaturity of my years precluded me
from taking any active part in the spectacle.He
did me the honour to question me respecting my studies; and, finding
in me some knowledge of those arts and that literature, of which he
was himself so zealous a favourer, he expressed to my uncle a great
satisfaction with my figure and acquisitions.I might from this time
have been taken to court, and made one of the pages to this illustrious
monarch.She did not wish for
the present that my eye should be satiated with public scenes, or that
the public should grow too familiarly acquainted with my person.She
rightly judged that my passion for the theatre of glory would grow more
impetuous, by being withheld for some time from the gratifications for
which it panted.She wished that I should present myself for the first
time among the nobility of France an accomplished cavalier, and not
suffer the disadvantage of having exposed in the eye of the world those
false steps and frailties, from which the inexperience of youth is
never entirely free.These motives being explained to the king, he was
graciously pleased to sanction them with his approbation.I accordingly
returned to finish the course of my education at my paternal château
upon the banks of the Garonne.The state of my mind during the three succeeding years amply justified
the sagacity of my mother.I was more eager for improvement than I had
ever yet been.I had before formed some conceptions of the career of
honour from the books I had read, and from the conversation of this
excellent matron.But my reveries were impotent and little, compared
with what I had now seen.Like the author of our holy religion, I had
spent my forty days without food in the wilderness, when suddenly my
eyes were opened, and I was presented with all the kingdoms of the
world, and all the glory of them.The fairy scene continued for a
moment, and then vanished; leaving nothing behind it on all sides, but
the same barrenness and gloom by which it had been preceded.I never
shut my eyes without viewing in imagination the combats of knights
and the train of ladies.I had been regarded with distinction by my
sovereign; and Francis the First stood before my mind the abstract and
model of perfection and greatness.I congratulated myself upon being
born in an age and country so favourable to the acquisition of all that
my soul desired.I was already eighteen years of age, when I experienced the first
misfortune that ever befel me.She felt
the approach of her dissolution several weeks before it arrived, and
held repeated conversations with me, respecting the feelings I ought
to entertain, and the conduct it would become me to pursue, when she
should be no more.“My son,” said she, “your character, and the promise of your early
years, have constituted my only consolation since the death of your
excellent father.Our marriage was the result of a most sincere and
exclusive attachment; and never did man more deserve to be loved than
Reginald de St.When he died, the whole world would have been
nothing to me but one vast blank, if he had not left behind him the
representative of his person, and the heir to his virtues.While I was
busied in your education, I seemed to be discharging the last duty to
the memory of my husband.The occupation was sacred |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | I hope I have in some measure
discharged the task, in the manner in which my lord your father would
have wished it to have been discharged, if he had lived.I am thankful
to Heaven, that I have been spared so long for so dear and honourable a
purpose.“You must now, my son, stand by yourself, and be the arbitrator of
your own actions.I could have wished that this necessity might have
been a little further deferred; but I trust your education has not
been of that sort which is calculated to render a young man helpless
and contemptible.You have been taught to know your rank in society,
and to respect yourself.You have been instructed in every thing that
might most effectually forward you in the career of glory.There is not
a young cavalier among all the nobility of France more accomplished,
or that promises to do greater honour to his name and his country.I
shall not live to witness the performance of this promise, but the
anticipation even now, pours a long stream of sunshine on my departing
hour.You no longer stand in need of my maternal care.When I am gone, you will be compelled more vividly to feel that
singleness and self-dependence which are the source of all virtue.Be careful that your career may be both
spotless and illustrious.Hold your life as a thing of no account,
when it enters into competition with your fame.A true knight thinks
no sacrifice and suffering hard, that honour demands.Be humane,
gentle, generous, and intrepid.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Be prompt to follow wherever your
duty calls you.Remember your ancestors, knights of the Holy Cross.Follow your king, who is the mirror of valour:
and be ever ready for the service of the distressed.May Heaven shower down a thousand blessings, upon your
innocence, and the gallantry of your soul!”
The death of my mother was a severe blow to my heart.For some time all
the visions of greatness and renown which had hitherto been my chosen
delight appeared distasteful to me.When it had been committed to the earth, I repaired every day to the
spot where it was deposited, at the hour of dusk, when all visible
objects faded from the eye, when nature assumed her saddest tints,
and the whole world seemed about to be wrapped in the darkness of the
tomb.The dew of night drizzled unheeded on my head; and I did not turn
again towards the turrets of the château, till the hour of midnight had
already sounded through the stillness of the scene.Time is the healer of almost every grief, particularly in the sprightly
season of early youth.In no long period I changed the oppression
of inactive sorrow, for the affectionate and pious recollection of
my mother’s last instructions.I had been too deeply imbued with
sentiments of glory, for it to be possible, when the first excess
of grief was over, that I should remain in indolence.The tender
remembrance of my mother itself, in no long time, furnished a new
stimulus to my ambition.I forgot the melancholy spectacle of the last
struggles of her expiring life; I even became accustomed no longer to
hear her voice, no longer to expect her presence, when I returned to
the château from a short excursion.Her last advice was now all that
survived of the author of my existence.I was in this state of mind, when early one morning in the beginning
of summer, soon after I rose, I was startled by the sound of trumpets
in the plain near the château.The bugle at the gate was presently
sounded; the drawbridge was let down; and the Marquis de Villeroy
entered the court-yard, accompanied by about thirty knights in complete
armour.I saluted him with respect, and the tenderness excited by
recent grief.He took me by the hand, after a short repast in the hall,
and led me to my closet.“My son,” said he, “it is time to throw off the effeminacy of sorrow,
and to prove yourself a true soldier of the standard of France.”
“I trust, my lord,” replied I, with modest earnestness, “that you well
know, there is nothing after which my heart so ardently aspires.There
is nothing that I know worth living for but honour.Show me the path
that leads to it, or rather show me the occasion that affords scope for
the love of honour to display itself, and you shall then see whether
I am backward to embrace it.I have a passion pent up within me, that
feeds upon my vitals: it disdains speech; it burns for something more
unambiguous and substantial.”
“It is well,” rejoined my uncle.Your
reply to my admonition is worthy of the blood of your ancestors, and of
the maternal instructions of my sister.And, were you as dull as the
very stones you tread on, what I have to tell you might even then rouse
you into animation and ardour.”
After this short preface my uncle proceeded to relate a tale, every
word of which inflamed my spirits, and raised all my passions in arms.I had heard something imperfectly of the state of my country; but my
mother carefully kept me in ignorance, that my ambition might not be
excited too soon, and that, when excited, it might be with the fullest
effect.While I impatiently longed for an occasion of glory, I was far
from apprehending, what I now found to be true, that the occasion which
at this period presented itself, was such, that all the licence of
fiction could scarcely have improved it.The Marquis de Villeroy described to me the league now subsisting
against France.He revived in my memory, by terms of the most fervent
loyalty, the accomplishments and talents of my royal master.He spoke
with aversion of the phlegmatic and crafty disposition of his imperial
rival[3]; and, with the language of glowing indignation, inveighed
against the fickleness of the capricious Henry.[4] He described the
train of disasters, which had at length induced the king to take
the field in person.He contrasted, with great effect, the story of
the gallant Chevalier Bayard, _the knight without fear and without
reproach_, whose blood was still fresh in the plains of the Milanese,
with that of the Constable of Bourbon, the stain of chivalry, whom
inglorious resentment and ungoverned ambition had urged to join the
enemies of his country, in neglect of his loyalty and his oath.He
stimulated me by the example of the one, and the infamy of the other;
and assured me that there never was an opportunity more favourable for
acquiring immortal renown.I wanted no prompter in a passion of this sort; and immediately set
about collecting the whole force of my clients and retainers.I shook
off the inglorious softness of my melancholy, and was all activity and
animation.The lessons of my youth were now called into play.I judged
it necessary to invite the assistance of some person of experience to
assist me in marshalling my men; but I did much of what was to be done
myself, and I did it well.It was my first employment in the morning:
and the last that was witnessed by the setting sun.My excellent mother
had left my revenues in the best order, and I spared no expense in the
gratification of my favourite passion.However eager I felt myself to take the field, the desire to appear
in a manner worthy of a Count de St.Leon restrained me; and I did
not join the royal army till the Imperialists, having broken up the
siege of Marseilles, and retreated with precipitation into Italy, the
king had already crossed the Alps, entered the Milanese, and gained
uncontested possession of the capital.Glory was the idol of his heart;
and he was the more powerfully excited to the attack of that place,
because it was the strongest and best fortified post in the whole
duchy.The more he displayed of military prowess, the more firmly he
believed he should fix himself in his newly acquired dominions; the
inhabitants would submit to him the more willingly, and the enemy
be less encouraged to enter into a fresh contention for what he had
acquired.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Such at least were the motives that he assigned for his
proceedings: in reality perhaps he was principally induced by the
brilliancy which he conceived would attend on the undertaking.It was a few weeks after the opening of the siege, that I presented
myself to my royal master.He received me with those winning and
impressive manners by which he was so eminently distinguished.He
recollected immediately all that had passed at our interview in the
Vale of Ardres, and warmly expressed the obligations which France had
at various times owed to my ancestors.He spoke with earnest respect
of the virtues and wisdom of my mother, and commended the resolution
by which she had in former instances held me back from the public
theatre.“Young gentleman,” said the king, “I doubt not the gallantry
of your spirit; I see the impatience of a martial temper written in
your face: I expect you to act in a manner worthy of your illustrious
race, and of the instructions of a woman who deserved to be herself
a pattern to all the matrons of France.Fear not that I shall suffer
your accomplishments to rust in obscurity.I shall
assign you the post of danger and of renown.Fill it nobly; and from
that hour I shall rank you in the catalogue of my chosen friends.”
The siege of Pavia proved indeed to be a transaction, in the course
of which military honour might well be acquired.It was defended by a
small, but veteran garrison, and by one of the ablest captains that
Europe at that time possessed.[5] He interrupted the approaches of
the besiegers by frequent and furious sallies.In vain, by the aid of
our excellent artillery, did we make wide and repeated breaches in
the fortifications.No sooner did we attempt to enter by the passage
we had opened, than we found ourselves encountered by a body composed
of the choicest and bravest soldiers of the garrison.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.The governor of
the city, who, though grey-headed and advanced in years, was profuse
of every youthful exertion, was ordinarily at the head of this body.If we deferred our attack, or, not having succeeded in it, proposed
to commence it anew with the dawn of the following day, we were sure
to find a new wall sprung up in the room of the other, as if by
enchantment.Frequently the governor anticipated the success of our
batteries; and the old fortification was no sooner demolished, than we
beheld, to our astonishment and mortification, a new wall, which his
prudence and skill had erected at a small interval within the line of
the former.One of these attacks took place on the second day after my arrival at
the camp of our sovereign.Every thing that I saw was new to me, and
inflamed me with ardour.The noise of the cannon, which had preceded
the attack, and which was now hushed; the inspiring sounds of martial
music which succeeded that noise; the standards floating in the air;
the firm and equal tread of the battalion that advanced; the armour of
the knights; the rugged, resolute, and intrepid countenances of the
infantry;--all swelled my soul with transport hitherto unexperienced.I had beheld the smoke of the artillery, in the midst of which every
thing was lost and confounded; I had waited in awful suspense till
the obscurity should be dissipated; I saw with pleasure and surprise
the ruin of the wall, and the wideness of the breach.All that had
been recorded of the military feats of Christian valour seemed then to
stand crowded in my busy brain; the generosity, the condescension, the
kindness, with which the king had addressed me the day before, urged
me to treble exertion.We were resisted by a chosen body of Spaniards.The contention
was obstinate; brave men, generous and enterprising spirits, fell on
the one side and the other.I seized the cloth of a standard, as, in
the playing of the wind, it was brought near to my hand.Between me
and the Spaniard that held it there ensued an obstinate struggle.I
watched my opportunity, and with my sword severed the flag from its
staff.At this moment the trumpets of the king sounded a retreat.I had
received two severe wounds, one in the shoulder and the other in the
thigh, in the contest.I felt myself faint with the loss of blood.A
French officer, of a rude appearance and gigantic stature, accosting
me with the appellation of boy; commanded me to surrender the standard
to him.I refused; and, to convince him I was in earnest, proceeded
to wrap it round my body, and fastened it under my arm.Soon after I
became insensible, and in this situation was accidentally found by my
uncle and his companions, who immediately took me and my prize under
their care.As soon as I was a little recovered of my wounds, the king
seized an opportunity, after having bestowed loud commendations upon my
gallantry, of conferring the honours of knighthood upon me in the face
of the whole army.While our tents were pitched under the walls of Pavia, I was
continually extending the circle of my acquaintance among the young
gentry of France, who, like myself, had attended their sovereign
in this memorable expedition.I had some enemies, made such by the
distinctions I obtained during the siege.But they were few; the
greater part courted me the more, the more I showed myself worthy
of their attachment.Envy is not a passion that finds easy root in a
Frenchman’s bosom.I was one of the youngest of those who attended
on the siege; but my brothers in arms were generous rivals, who in
the field obstinately strove with me for superior glory, but over the
convivial board forgot their mutual competitions, and opened their
hearts to benevolence and friendship.“Let us not,” was a sentiment I
heard often repeated, “forget the object that led us from our pleasant
homes to pour from the heights of the Alps upon the fields of Italy.It
is to humble the imperious Spaniard--to punish the disloyal Bourbon--to
vindicate the honour of our beloved and illustrious monarch.Mary moved to the bedroom.Those
walls cover the enemy; yonder mountains serve to hide them from our
assault; let no Frenchman mistake him who marches under the same
standard for an adversary.”
The trenches had not been opened before Pavia till about the beginning
of November.The winter overtook us, and the siege was yet in progress;
with some apparent advantage indeed to our side of the question, but
by no means promising an instant conclusion.The season set in with
unusual severity; and both officer and soldier were glad, as much as
possible, to fence out its rigour by the indulgences of the genial
board.My finances, as I have said, were at the commencement of the
expedition in excellent order: I had brought with me a considerable
sum; and it was not spared upon the present occasion.There were however other things to be attended to, beside the demands
of conviviality.The king became impatient of the delays of the siege.The garrison and the inhabitants were reduced to great extremities;
but the governor discovered no symptoms of a purpose to surrender.Sandra moved to the bedroom.In the mean time intelligence was brought, that Bourbon was making
the most extraordinary exertions in Germany, and promised to lead to
the enemy a reinforcement of twelve thousand men from that country;
while the imperial generals, by mortgaging their revenues, and pawning
their jewels, and still more by their eloquence and influence with
those under their command, were able to keep together the remains of a
disheartened and defeated army in expectation of his arrival.There
was some danger therefore, if the siege were not speedily terminated,
that the king might ultimately be obliged to raise it with ignominy, or
to fight the enemy under every disadvantage.Francis however was not to
be deterred from his undertaking.John travelled to the garden.He swore a solemn oath, that Pavia
should be his, or he would perish in the attempt.Thus circumstanced, he conceived a very extraordinary project.Pavia is
defended on one side by the Tesino, the scene of the first of the four
famous battles by which Hannibal signalised his invasion of Italy.The
king believed that if this river could by the labour of his army be
diverted from its course, the town must instantly fall into his hands.He was encouraged to the undertaking, by recollecting a stratag |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | It was a thought highly flattering to the grandeur of
his soul, to imagine that posterity would in this instance institute a
parallel between him and Cyrus the Great.The plan for diverting the course of the Tesino produced a new and
extraordinary scene.It was, as may well be believed, a work of
uncommon labour.A new channel was to be scooped out and deepened; and,
while the stream was turned into this channel, piles were to be sunk,
and an immense mound of earth created, as an effectual impediment to
the waters resuming their former course.This was a heavy burthen to
the soldier, in addition to the disadvantage of being encamped during
the course of a winter remarkably severe for the climate in which we
fought.By any other army the task would have been performed with
cloudiness and discontent, if not complained of with repining and
murmurs.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.But here the gaiety of the French character displayed itself.Sandra journeyed to the garden.The nobility of France, who attended their sovereign in great numbers,
accompanied the infantry in their labour.We laid aside the indulgence
of the marquée, of tapestry and carpets; we threw off our upper
garments; and each seized a spade, a barrow of earth, or a mattock.We put our hands to the engines, and refused no effort under pretence
that it was sordid or severe.While the trees were leafless, and nature
appeared bound up in frost, sweat ran down our faces and bedewed our
limbs.An employment which,
under other circumstances, would have been regarded as rigid, was thus
made a source of new hilarity and amusement.It was a memorable sight
to behold the venerable and grey-headed leaders of the French army
endeavouring to exert the strength and activity of their early years.Salisbury, _Esq;_
_Flint_, Tho.Wynne of _Maes y Coed_, _Esq;_
_Merioneth_, Will.Price, _Esq;_
_Montgomery_, Valentine Hughs of _Park_, _Esq;_
The Circuits for the _Lent Assizes_._Norfolk Circuit._
Ld Chief Justice _Raymond_, Mr Justice _Page_._Bucks_, Monday, March 1, at _Aylesbury_.At _Huntingdon_, Saturday 6._Norfolk_, Thursday 11, at _Thetford_._Suffolk_, Monday 25, at _Bury St Edm._
_Home Circuit._
Ld Ch.Justice _Eyre_, Mr Justice _Probyn_.At _Hertford_, Monday March 8._Essex_, Wednesday 10, at _Chelmsford_._Kent_, Tuesday 16, at _Rochester_._Sussex_, Monday 22, at _East Grinsted_._Surry_, March 25, at _Kingston_._Western Circuit._
Ld Chief Baron _Reynolds_, Mr Justice _Denton_._Southampton_, Tuesday March 2, at _Winchester_._Wilts_, Friday 5, at _Sarum_._Dorset_, Wednesday 10, at _Dorchester_._Somerset_, Saturday 13, at _Taunton_._Cornwall_, 20, at _Launceston_._Devon_, Thursday 25, at _Exeter_._Northern Circuit._
Mr Baron _Carter_, Mr Baron _Comynt_._Lancaster_, Saturday, March 20.At _Northampton_, Tuesday March 9._Rutland_, Friday 13, at _Oakham_.At _Nottingham_, Saturday 20.At _Coventry_, Tuesday 30.At _Warwick_, the same Day.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Justice _Fortescue Aland_, Mr._Berks_, Monday March 1, at _Reading_.At _Gloucester_, Saturday 6.At _Shrewsbury_, Thursday 18.At _Worcester_, Saturday 27.Mary moved to the bedroom.In the _Gazette_, _Jan.30._ ’tis advertis’d, that in _July 1729_, at
_Bentworth_ in the County of _Southampton_, a barn was set on fire, and
the corn and grain therein, the Stables and out houses adjoining were
entirely burnt.Several messuages in the said parish have since been
confirmed in the same manner, and _Bentworth_, it self threatned to be
laid in ashes; his Majesty’s pardon is promised to any one that would
discover his Accomplice.Sandra moved to the bedroom.In the _Gazette_ of the same date, ’tis advertis’d, that the widows
of such half-pay Officers as serv’d, and to whom they were marry’d in
the year 1716, may receive their proportions of the sum of 1500 _l._
granted the last Sessions of Parliament for that purpose.John travelled to the garden.28th._ ’tis advertis’d from _Whitehaven_,
that a vessel sailed for _London_, laden with the late Mr._Wood_’s
ore, coals, cinders, and lime-stone, to be carried to _Chelsea_, to
give a Specimen that iron is to be made from the ore and pit-coal.A
reason is demanded why _Chelsea_, that produces neither, is a better
place to make iron, than the neighbourhood of _Whitehaven_, where there
is plenty of both, unless there was design of imposing upon the World?Any poor person may be cured of the _Ague_ gratis, by a dose only,
which may be contained in a gill-glass, and never known to fail.Tripland_, at the _Coach-maker’s Arms_ in
_Great-windmill-street_, over-against the _Hay-market_.Kettle_ of _Southwark_, for
making and dying of hats and ruffs of different colours, except black._Prices of ~GOODS~, &c._
The Course of EXCHANGE.Amsterdam 34 11
Ditto at Sight 04 8
Rotterdam 35
Antwerp 35 7
Hamburgh 33 7
Paris at Sight 32
Bordeaux ditto 31 ½
Cadiz 42
Madrid 42
Bilboa 41 ⅝
Leghorn 50 ½
Genoua 54 ¾
Venice 48 ½
Lisbon 5s.Sandra went back to the kitchen.⅜
Porto 5s.Dublin 11 ⅞
STOCKS.South Sea 103 ⅝
Annuities 106 ½
Bank 144 ½
Bank Cir.15 s.
India 189
3 per Cent.Bank 109
Afric.49
York Building 24 ¾
Royal Exch.93 ¼
London dit.12 ¼
Equivalent 105
Eng.Copper 3 l.
Welsh dit.18 s.
India Bond 5 l.12 s.
S. S. dit.1 s.
South Sea Stock sells as above, for the opening, with the Dividend of 2
per Cent.due at Christmas, will be paid _Feb._ 12.Prices of Goods at _Bear-key_._s._ _s._ _d._
Wheat 26 } { 28 0
Rye 16 } { 20 0
Barley 20 } { 22 6
Oats 12 } { 15 0
Horse beans 22 } { 26 0
Hog pease 12 } to { 16 0
Boiling pease 16 } { 18 0
Pale Malt 24 } { 28 0
Brown Malt 21 } { 26 0
Tares 20 } { 23 0
Prices of Goods in _Hampshire_, &c._s._ _d._ _q._
Wheat best 3 9
Barley 2 1
Oats 1 6
Beef per Pound 0 3
Mutton 0 3 ½
Prices of Goods, _&c._ in _London_.John journeyed to the bedroom._s._ _s._
Coals, per Chaldron 27 to 28
Hops 1729, per hundred 20 to 30
Ditto 1730 35 to 75
Rape Seed _per_ Last 11 _l._ to 11 _l._ 10 _s._
Lead _per_ Fodder, _i.e._ 19 _C._ ½ on Board, 16 _l._ 10 _s._
Tin in Blocks, 4 _l._
Ditto in Bars, 4 _l._ 2 _s._ exclusive of 3 _s._ _per C._ Duty.Cochineal, 18 _s._ 3 _d._
Indico, _French_, 2 _s._ to 2 _s._ 6 _d._
Ditto _Guetimalo_, 3 _s._ to 3 _s._ 3 _d._
Ditto _Lature_, 4 _s._
Copper _English_, the best 5 _l._ 14 _s._ _per C._
Ditto Ordinary, 4 _l._ 14 _s._ _per C._
Ditto _Barbary_, 3 _l._ to 4 _l._
Iron of _Bilboa_, 15 _l._ 10 _s._ _per Ton._
Ditto of _Sweden_, 16 _l._ 10 _s._ _per Ton._
Tallow, 40 _s._ _per C._ or 5 _d._ ½ _per L._
Country Tallow, 1 _l._ 18 _s._
Raisins of the Sun, 25 _s._ _per C._
Ditto _Malaga_ frails new, 15 _s._
Ditto _Smyrna_ new, none
Ditto _Alicant_, none
Ditto _Lipra_ new, 18 _s._ 6 _d._
Ditto _Belvedera_, 19 _s._
Currants, old 33 _s._
Ditto new, 36 _s._
Prunes _French_, 18 _s._
Figs, 18 _s._
Sugar powder best, 59 _s._ _per C._
Ditto second sort
Loaf Sugar double refin’d, 9 _d._ ¼ _per L._
Ditto single, 60 _s._ to 70 _s._ _per C._
Cinamon, 7 _s._ 9 _d._ _per L._
Cloves, 9 _s._ 1 _d._ _per L._
Mace, 17 _s._ _per L._
Nutmegs, 8 _s._ 7 _d._ _per L._
Sugar Candy white, 12 _d._ to 17 _d._
Ditto brown, 6 _d._ ½ _per L._
Pepper for Home Cons.15 _d._
Ditto for Exportation, 11 _d._
Tea Bohea fine, 12 _s._ to 14 _s._ _per L._
Ditto ordinary, 10 _s._ _per L._
Ditto Congo, 12 _s._ to 16 _s._ _per L._
Ditto Pekoe, 18 _s._ _per L._
Ditto Green fine, 12 _s._ to 15 _s._ _per L._
Ditto Imperial, 14 _s._ _per L._
Ditto Hyson, 35 _s._
Colchester Bays, six Seals, red List 13 _d._ per Ell, 9 _s._ _per_
Piece.Gold in Coin, 3 _l._ 18 _s._ 2 _d._ _per Oz._
Gold in Bars, 3 _l._ 18 _s._ 1 _d._ _per Oz._
Pillar pieces of Eight 5 _s._ 5 _d._ ½
Mexico, 5 _s._ 5 _d._
Silver in Bars Standard, 5 _s._ 5 _d._
_Wine, Brandy and Rum._
Oporto red, _per Ton_ 68 _l._ to 72 _l._
Ditto White, 56 _l._ a 60 _l._
Lisbon red none
Ditto white, 54 _l._ a 56 _l._
Sherry, 28 _l._ a 30 _l._
Canary new, 28 _l._
Ditto old, 32 _l._
Florence, none
French red, 36 _l._ a 50 _l._
Ditto white, 20 _l._
Mountain Malaga old, 24 _l._
Ditto new, 23 _l._
Brandy French, _per Gal._ 6 _s._ 3 _d._ a 6 _s._ 6 _d._
Rum Jamaica, 7 _s._ a 7 _s._ 4 _d._
Ditto Leeward-Islands, 6 _s._ 6 _d._ a 7 _s._
Abstract of the _London_ WEEKLY BILL from _Tuesday, August 3._ to
_Tuesday August 31._
Christned { Males 844 } |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | 570, Fevers 249, Small pox 96.Died under 2 Years old, 709
Between 2 and 5 706
Between 5 and 10 48
Between 10 and 20 63
Between 20 and 30 158
Between 30 and 40 225
Between 40 and 50 168
Between 50 and 60 164
Between 60 and 70 165
Between 70 and 80 84
Between 80 and 90 66
Between 90 and 100 12
Between 100 and 103 1
_Foreign Affairs._
We think it a proper introduction to the history of the year newly
begun, to give our readers a transient view of the situation of Affairs
at the conclusion of the last; and as we find this ready done to our
hands in the _Post-Boy_, _Dec.31._ we shall make no apology for
epitomizing his essay upon that Subject.The Clouds in which the fate of _Europe_ was obscur’d at the close of
the Year 1729, are not yet dissipated, notwithstanding the efforts of
politicians, the number of Negotiations, and the union of four of the
most formidable powers in _Europe_, by the Treaty of _Seville_.The allies of _Seville_ now see in what advantageous situation the
treaty of _Utrecht_ has put the Emperor in _Italy_.We find, that the
Empire, which in the reign of _Leopold_, could not send 20,000 men
to the _Rhine_ or _Flanders_, without subsidies from _England_ or
_Holland_, can send 20,000 men to _Italy_, and maintain them there
without assistance, its revenue amounting to no less than 15 millions
of _Florins_ a year.She now employs her Powers to baffle the projects
of those who rais’d her to this grandeur: Projects whose only drift is
the Execution of a treaty, wherein the Imperial court is one of the
principal parties contracting, which treaty was made with two views.The first was an addition to the power of the Emperor in _Italy_, by
bringing under her obedience the two _Sicilies_.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.The second chear’d up
_Spain_ for the losses she had sustain’d, particularly in the fine
branches lopt from that crown, by securing to one of her _Infantes_ the
uncertain hope of two successions.The catholick King and his allies do not undertake or ask anything that
the Imperial court has just reason to complain of.Sandra journeyed to the garden.The reasons alledg’d by the Imperialists for their complaints are, that
an alteration had been made in one single article of the quadruple
alliance, which set forth the _manner_ of securing to the _Infante_ of
_Spain_ the eventual succession which had been promis’d him.This alteration is of no great importance, because the 6000
_neutral_ troops which by the treaty of _London_ were to be garrison’d
in _Tuscany_ and _Parma_, by the treaty of _Seville_ are only turn’d
into _Spaniards_, which are in some sort made neutral by being
discharg’d from the oath to their sovereign, and made to take an oath
to the Great Duke, and Duke of _Parma_.This alteration does not prejudice to the Emperor, or threaten
him with any hereafter, because his strict and religious observation
of treaties will not suffer him to oppose the _Infante_’s promis’d
succession; nor will the _bona fide_ of the king of _Spain_ let him
employ his 6000 _Spaniards_ on any design but what is stipulated by the
treaty of _Seville_.The
Imperialists always opposed the motion for putting _Spaniards_ in
garrison in the towns of _Tuscany_ and _Parma_; and were averse even to
the admission of neutral troops; upon which the allies passed the 4th
article of the treaty of _Seville_.This article was the subject of the late Negotiations.The resolution
of the Imperial court to admit of no deviation from the treaty
of Quadruple alliance; and that of the court of _Spain_ never to
consent to any alteration in the treaty of _Seville_, occasion’d the
preparations for war all the last summer, but ended in preparations
offensive and defensive, and were kept from breaking into action by the
thread of negotiation; and the opening of this scene is reserved for
the year we are now entering upon; _but hitherto Things remain in the
same situation_, Jan._Constantinople._ Since the great revolution made here by the
Janizaries in cutting to pieces the late Vizier, _Capigi Aga_, Capt._Bashaw_, and _Mufti_, &c., and afterwards deposing Sultan _Achmet_,
and raising the new Sultan (whose father was depos’d in 1703) to the
throne; there has been no settled government.For upon divers pretences
these tumultuous rebels were frequently up in arms, demanding several
new regulations; particularly the promoting of their favourites, and
the removal or death of those who were obnoxious to ’em.All which
was comply’d with in order to appease them: But this procedure not
satisfying them, and they still continuing mutinous, the Grand Segnior
under pretence of holding a general council, got the chief of ’em into
his palace, cut ’em all off with their servants; and about 7000 of
their followers were strangled, to the great joy of this city; these
rebellious people grew so insolent, as to tax families what sums they
pleas’d, and even to plunder in the street: But now every thing is
reduc’d to the old _Ottoman_ rules of government.8._ Advices from Derbent say, that the princes of Georgia
passed that place, in their way home much pleased with the honours they
have received from this court, and that one of them, who lives near
mount Arrarat, had promis’d to send the Empress a relique of _Noah’s
Ark_._Venice._ ’Tis currently reported that this republick will equip a
squadron of twenty Ships of war, to put to sea early next spring, to
watch the motions of the Turks.20._ Our hopes of an accommodation with _Spain_ encrease
daily._Paris._ New proposals of accommodation are negotiating with _Spain_
and the Emperor; and ’tis thought with a fair prospect of success.Daniel travelled to the kitchen._Swisserland, Bern._ Provision is making in all the protestant cantons
for the reception of a great number of Waldenses, who are depriv’d of
their liberties and drove from their habitations, by their sovereign
the duke of _Savoy_._Vienna._ There are privately handed about here copies of the
_Ultimatum_ (or last proposals) of the allies of _Seville_, as
transmitted hither from _Paris_; the substance of which is as follows.Mary moved to the bedroom._They would stipulate by a secret article not to oppose the
settlement of Succession which the ~Emperor~ might make for his
Territories in ~Italy~, and which should be freely accepted by the
States thereof; and they would engage to guaranty that Settlement._
2._They would stipulate by a secret article, that they would not
oppose the advantages of Succession, which the ~Emperor~, with the
consent of the different States of ~Italy~, might procure in favour of
the archdutchess his daughter; and contribute to maintain what he shall
so establish for his daughters, or for any one he shall pitch upon,
with regard to his Territories in ~Italy~; and even to guaranty what
may be established by the ~Emperor~ in consequence of that Settlement._
_Seville, Jan.16._ Couriers are continually arriving upon the heels of
one another, which occasion frequent councils._Hague._ About the latter end of this month their High Mightinesses
wrote a letter to the United Provinces, for the celebration of the 28th
of _Feb._ as a day of solemn thanksgiving, fasting and prayer, which
imports in substance, _That altho’ it has pleas’d God, in his infinite
patience and clemency, that we have enjoy’d peace last year, this peace
was nevertheless attended with so much uneasiness and difficulty, in
relation to the small success of the negotiations set on foot for
terminating amicably the differences in ~Europe~, and establishing
a general tranquillity, that we are still in a very uncertain and
difficult scituation, and have great reason to fear that a war may
at last happen, wherein this State may be engag’d, contrary to its
inclination: That our apprehension in this respect increases so much
the more when we consider, that notwithstanding all the blessings which
it hath pleased God to shower down upon our dear Country, the sins
and iniquities thereof, far from diminishing, increase daily, to such
a degree, that last year horrible, abominable sins appear’d, almost
unknown before in this Country; and that we ought to fear, that the
patience of the Lord, justly provok’d, ceasing, his Judgments may at
last fall upon our dear Country, unless we endeavour to prevent them,
by an unfeigned repentance and conversion._
FAIRS
_From the beginning of ~February~ to the 12th of ~March~._
1 Bromley, Lancashire
2 Ashburn, Derbyshire
Armington, Devonshire
Beconsfield, Bucks
Bromley, Kent
Bromley, Staffordshire
Biggleswade, Bedfordshire
Bugworth, Cheshire
Bridgnorth, Shropshire
Cray, Kent
Devizes, Wiltshire
Dorchester
Eastlow, Cornwall
Evesham, Worcestershire
Godalming, Surry
Farringdon, Berkshire
Hambleton, Hampshire
Hindon, Wilts
Lyston Devonshire
Leominster, Herefordshire
Lyme, Dorsetshire
Lynn, Norfolk
Maidstone, Kent
Malton, Yorkshire
Reading, Berkshire
Saltash, Cornwall
3 Axbridge, Somersetshire
Boxgrove
Blaise, Cornwall
Frampton on Severn
6 Stafford
8 Treganon, Cardiganshire
9 Llandaff, Glamorganshire
14 Ashbrittle, Somersetshire
Feversham, Kent
Olney, Bucks
Plympton, Devonshire
22 Bath, Somersetshire
Chipping-norton, Oxfordshire
23 Baldock, Hertfordshire
24 Bourn, Lincolnshire
Blandford, Dorsetshire
Corsham, Wilts
Brome, Somersetshire
Higham ferries, Northamptonsh.Henley on Thames
East Isley, Berkshire
Tewksbury, Gloucestershire
Uppingham, Rutlandshire
24 Walden, Essex
26 Stamford, Lincolnshire
28 Chesterfield, Derbyshire
_Movable ~Fairs~ for the Month of ~February~, and beginning of ~March~,
reduced to this Year._
Northalerton, Yorkshire, every _Wednesday_ from _Christmas_ till _June_.Hinckley, Leicestershire, three _Mondays_ after _Twelfth-day_.Newcastle under Line, _March_ 1st, as _Shrove-monday_.Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire, _ditto_.Abingdon, Berkshire }
Condon, Gloucestersh. }Sandra moved to the bedroom.Chichester, Sussex }
Dunstable, Bedfordsh. }On _March_
Eaton, Buckinghamsh. }the 3d, being
Exeter, Devonshire } _Ash-Wednesd._
Falkingham, Linc. }Litchfield, Staff. }Royston, Cambridgsh. }Tamworth, Staff. }Tunbridge, Kent }
Banbury, Oxf._March 4._ as first _Thursday_ in _Lent_.John travelled to the garden.Abingdon, Berks }
Chertsey, Surry } _March_ 8 as first
Chichester, Sussex } _Monday_ in _Lent_.Winchester, Hants. }Bedford, _March_ the 9th.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Wickwar, Gloucestershire last _Monday_ in _February_.Welchpool, Montgomeryshire, _March_ the 8th.John journeyed to the bedroom.1 Culliford, Devonshire
Langueville, Glamorgansh.Madrim
2 Langadock, Carmarthenshire
3 Sevenoke, Kent
5 Penzance, Cornwall
6 Harif
7 Worksop, Nottinghamshire
8 Treganon, Cardiganshire
10 Downes, Devonshire
12 Wrexham, Denbighshire
Woburn, Bedfordshire
_Observations in GARDENING for the Month of ~February~._
This is a month of great work for the gardener.In the kitchen-garden renew the heat of your hot-beds with fresh dung,
and continue to sow cucumbers and melons as in the former month.Make a large hot-bed for forward rhadishes and spring carrots; they may
be sown together, because the rhadishes be drawn in _March_, whereby
they will make room for the carrots.The bed must be cover’d with earth
7 or 8 inches thick, and defended with mats, supported with hoops.Make a hot-bed for _Battersey_ kidney-beans, and all sorts of annuals,
except _African_ and _French_ marigold, which may be deferr’d 10 or
20 days.About the middle of the month, upon a declining hot-bed sow
colly-flower seeds; also in the natural ground pease, beans, parsley,
spinach, carrots, parsnips, turnips, onions, leeks, _Dutch_ brown
lettuce, and asparagus-seeds.Sow skerrits in light rich ground, where they may have moisture.Plant garlick, shalots, and rockambole, for increase, in light ground.Daniel went back to the bathroom.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.Transplant young cabbage-plants for a crop.Make plantations of straw-berries |
hallway | Where is Mary? | Elm-setts should now be gather’d from the roots of large trees, and
planted in nursery-beds, and young plantations should be now provided
with all sorts of forest-trees and shrubs, which are propagated from
slips or layers.Set acorns of the _Ilex_, cork-tree, _English_ oak, chestnuts, and
walnuts.Sow the sameria of the elm, and bay berries, all which come up the
first year.This is the best time to
raise any thing that will grow of slips.Prune fruit-trees and vines; for now is your season to bind, plash,
nail, and dress, without danger of frosts.This is to be understood of
the most tender and delicate wall-fruits not finish’d before: do this
before the buds and bearers grow turgid; and yet in the nectarine and
like delicate mural fruit, the later the better, notwithstanding what
has been, and still is the contrary custom.The latter end of this month is most proper to graft pears and plums of
all sorts; and some likewise graft apples and cherries in the cleft,
tho’ others defer apples longer.The cyons cut off from the trees last
month, are now to be used, without having any regard to the notion of
the age of the moon.Now, as well as in _October_, may be planted the espaliers of pears,
plums, or apples, so useful as well as profitable in a garden; for
being planted a convenient distance from a fruit wall, they are an
admirable defence against blighting winds, and produce noble fruit.Rub moss from trees after a shower of rain; scrape and cleanse them
from cankers, _&c._ Cut and lay quick-sets, and trim up palasade hedges.Earth up the roots of uncover’d fruit-trees, and drain superfluous
moisture from roots of trees.Lay bird-lime for the bird called the
tit, or tit-mouse, which is a destructive enemy to dwarf pears and
plums in this and the preceding month, by destroying the buds.The beginning of this month you may sow auricula seeds in cases fill’d
with light earth, and the seeds of the polyanthois in some shady border.Transplant all sorts of flowering shrubs, which bear the weather; as
roses, jessamine, hony-suckle, laburnum, lelac, syringa, spipeas,
altheas, _&c._ You may make layers of roses, pomegranates, phillyrea,
laurus-tinus, and other shrubs.Cut the _Spanish_ jessamine within 4 inches of the stem, giving them
fresh earth, likewise give fresh earth to your carnations planted
out in _Autumn_.Towards the latter end sow lark-spurs, hollyhocks,
_Canterbury_ bells, primrose-tree, sweet-williams, annual stocks,
candy-tufts, pinks, _&c._
Make plantations of the lilly of the valley on the side of some shady
bank.Sow orange and lemon kernels in pots; set the pots in hot-beds;
the kernels are to be used as soon as taken out of the fruit.Shift
such myrtles as require large pots, at the same time shaving off the
outside fibres of their root, and if there be occasion, prune their
heads pretty close.Turn and skreen Mould for the use of next month,
and continue to roll gravel-walks after rain and frost._BOOKS_, &c. published in the Month of _January_.Being a compleat account of the 13
malefactors executed at Tyburn for robberies in the streets and fields;
6 at _Leicester_ and _York_, and two gentlemen at _Dublin_, pr.4 _d._
The present state of the republick of letters, for _Nov._
Three pamphlets examin’d, _viz._ observations on the writings of the
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the Dissenting Interest_, &c. pr.6 _d._
The political state of _Great Britain_ for _Dec._
A general history of executions for the year 1730, containing the
lives, actions and dying speeches of sixty notorious malefactors
executed at Tyburn and elsewhere, vol.2 _s._ 6 _d._
The story of the ordination of our first bishops in Q._Elizabeth’s_
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by _Thomas Browne_, D.D.A Remonstrance address’d to the clergy, shewing where the charge of
deism (without returning to old divinity) will necessarily terminate,
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The history of _Periander_, King of _Corinth_, &c. pr.6 _d._
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Sedition and Defamation display’d, in a letter to the author of the
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Of despising young ministers; an ordination sermon at
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A defence of the measures of the present administration, pr.6 _d._
Poems on several occasions, by _Caleb D’anvers_, Esq; pr.1 _s._
Scripture history, precepts and prophecy vindicated, the 2d part of
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Winter evening tales, _&c._ pr.2 _s._ 6 _d._
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Considerations on the present state of affairs in Europe, particularly
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A compendious dictionary of the fabulous history of the heathen gods
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pr.bound 7 _s._ 6 _d._
The Improvement of the present time, recommended in two sermons on new
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A vindication of the Bp of _London_’s second pastoral letter.A treatise of the gout, by a licentiate practitioner in physick, pr.6
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Histoire D’angleterre, par M. De Rapin Thoyras, No.37. being the 3d of
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A new and correct pair of globes 15 inches diameter.The favourite songs in the opera call’d _Winceslaus_, pr.2 _s._ 6 _d._
A compleat treatise of practical navigation demonstrated from its first
principles, by _Archibald Patoon_.PROPOSALS for printing by Subscription._Nathaniel Marshal_, D. D.
Canon of _Windsor_, and Chaplain to the King.Design’d by himself for
the press.The new testament to be engraved in short-hand, by Mr._Weston_, one
Guinea.[Illustration]
_Just publish’d._
_Printed on a large, fair Character, and good Paper, in ~2 Vols.~ 8vo.Price bound 10s._
⁂ THIRTY-NINE SERMONS, by (a late very Celebrated PREACHER) _John
Cook_, A. M. Rector of the United Parishes of St._George_ the Martyr,
and St._Mary Magdalen_ in _Canterbury_, and of _Mersham_ in _Kent_,
and one of the Six Preachers of the Cathedral Church of _Canterbury_:
From the Manuscript Copy, prepar’d by himself for the press: (there
being several Copies of some of the Sermons abroad in Writing, first
granted at the Request of the Countess of _Coventry_ and other persons
of Distinction) On the following Heads and Occasions; _viz._ _Of
Faith._ _Happiness._ _Coming to Christ._ _Vanity._ _Righteousness,
Temperance, and Judgment to come._ _Cleanness mistaken._ _God’s
Omniscience._ _On Prayer._ _Of Friendship with God._ _The Enmity
of the Devil._ _Resolution in Faith and Practice._ _Of Proving and
Persevering._ _The Nature of Cleanness._ _~Naaman~’s Cure._ _Of Vision,
Revelation, and Repentance._ _Of Zeal._ _The Crown of Glory._ _The
Righteous Man’s Reward._ _The Wicked Man’s Lot._ _Blessed are the
Meek._ _Mercy to the Merciful._ _Purity in Heart._ _Holding fast the
Faith._ _Godly Fear and Obedience._ _Covetousness._ _The Sabbath._
_Sion preferred._ _Of Superstition._ _The Difficulty of Salvation._ _On
St.Peter’s Denial._ _Upon the Fifth of November_; preach’d before the
Lower House of Convocation, who requested this Sermon to be Printed._It has been unexceptionably advanced, that a good ~Abridgment~ of
the Law is more intelligible than the Statutes at large; so a nice
~Model~ is as entertaining as the ~Original~, and a true ~Specimen~
as satisfactory as the whole ~Parcel~: This may serve to illustrate
the Reasonableness of our present Undertaking, which in the ~first~
place is to give Monthly a View of all the Pieces of Wit, ~Humour~, or
Intelligence, daily offer’d to the Publick in the News-Papers, (which
of late are so multiply’d, as to render it impossible, unless a man
makes it a business, to consult them all) and in the ~next~ place we
shall join therewith some other matters of Use or Amusement that will
be communicated to us._
_Upon calculating the Number of News-Papers, ’tis found that (besides
divers written Accounts) no less than 200 Half-sheets per Month are
thrown from the Press only in ~London~, and about as many printed
elsewhere in the Three Kingdoms; a considerable Part of which
constantly exhibit Essays on various Subjects for Entertainment;
and all the rest, occasionally oblige their Readers with matters of
Public Concern, communicated to the World by Persons of Capacity thro’
their Means: so that they are become the chief Channels of Amusement
and Intelligence.But then being only loose Papers, uncertainly
scatter’d about, it often happens, that many things deserving
Attention, contained in them, are only seen by Accident, and others
not sufficiently publish’d or preserved for universal Benefit and
Information._
_This Consideration has induced several Gentlemen to promote a
Monthly Collection, to treasure up, as in a ~Magazine~, the most
remarkable Pieces on the Subjects abovemention’d, or at least impartial
Abridgments thereof, as a Method much better calculated to preserve
those Things that are curious, than that of transcribing._
_In pursuance whereof, and the great Encouragement already given, this
~WORK~ will be regularly continued, shall appear earlier, and contain
more than any other Monthly Book of the same Price._
_As all possible Care will be taken to avoid the Mistakes incident to
undertakings of this kind, so the Author will think himself oblig’d
to such Persons who shall give him a true state of any Transaction
erroneously publish’d in the Papers, or shall please to communicate any
Pieces of Wit or Entertainment proper to be inserted; directing for him
at the Printer’s at St.Then did the odorous summer ocean seem
A meadow green where foam one moment flowered
And then was gone, and ever came again,
A thousand blossom-burdened Springs in one!—How like a god you seemed to me; and I
Was then most happy, and at little things
We lightly laughed, and oftentimes we plunged
Waist-deep and careless in the cool green waves,
As Tethys once and Oceanus played
Upon the golden ramparts of the world:
Then would we rest, and muse upon the sands,
Daniel went back to the bedroom. |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | Then did your body seem a temple white
And I a worshipper who found therein
No god beyond the gracious marble, yet
Most meekly kneeled, and learned that I must love.The bloom of youth was on your sunburnt cheek,
The streams of life sang thro’ your violet veins,
The midnight velvet of your tangled hair
Lured, as a twilight rill, my passionate hands;
The muscles ran and rippled on your back
Like wind on evening waters, and your arm
Seemed one to cherish, or as sweetly crush.The odour of your body sinuous
And saturate with sun and sea-air was
As Lesbian wine to me, and all your voice
A pain that took me back to times unknown;
And all the ephemeral glory of the flesh,—
The mystic sad bewilderment of warmth
And life amid the coldness of the world
Did seem to me so feeble on the Deep,
Poised like a sea-bird on some tumbling crest
As you called faintly back across the waves,
That one must love it as a little flower—
So strange, that one must guard it as a child.Some spirit of the Sea crept in our veins
And through long immemorial afternoons
We mused and dreamed, and wave by pensive wave
Strange moods stole over us, and lo, we loved!Oh, had you gone while still that glory fell
Like sunlight round you—had you sweetly died,
I should have loved you now as women love
The wonder and the silence of the West
When with sad eyes they breathe a last farewell
To where the black ships go so proudly out,—
Watching with twilit faces by the Sea,
Till down some golden rift the fading sails
Darken and glow and pale amid the dusk,
And gleam again, and pass into the gloom.PHAON
Nay, Violet-Crowned, once in our time we loved,
The hand of that love’s ghost shall lead you back.Mary went back to the hallway.Life, without you—life is an empty nest!A lute
Whereon no lonely fingers ever stray.When in the moonlight Philomela mourned
Sad-throated for poor murdered Itylus,
And when the day-birds woke the dewy lawn
And white the sunlight fell across my bed
And all the dim world turned to gold again,—
Oft then, it seemed, the truant would come home,
Back as a bird to its forgotten nest,
And O the lute should find its song, and life
Be glad again!SAPPHO
Your words but live and die
Like desert blooms, flow’rs blown and gone again
Where no foot ever fell.I shall go Home,—
Home, Home afar, where unknown seas forlorn
On gloomy towers and darkling bastions foam,
And lonely eyes look out for one dim sail
That never comes, and men have said there is
No sun.—And though I go forth soon no fear
Shall cling to me, since I a thousand times
Ere this have died, or seemed in truth to die.For sun by sun the grave insatiable
Has taken to its gloom some fleeting grace,
And day by day some glory old engulfed,
And left me as a house untenanted.The unfathomed Ocean of wide Death, at most,
And that familiar stream called sleep are one!PHAON
Enough of this!I need you; nay, turn back
With me, and let one riotous flame of bliss
Forever burn away these withered griefs
As fire eats clean autumnal mountain-sides;
For all this sweet sad-eyed dissuasiveness
Endears like dew the flow’r of final love!SAPPHO
Yes, I have died ere this a thousand times;
For on the dusky borderlands of dream
Thro’ the dim twilight of dear summer dawns
So darkly gold, before the hurrying hooves
Of Apollonian pearl throbbed down the wind,
Hearing the Lesbian birds amid green boughs
Where tree and hill and town were touched with fire,
—Hearing, yet hearing not, thro’ all the thin
Near multitudinous lament of Dawn’s
Low-rustling leaves, stirred by some opal wing,—
Oft have I felt my pilgrim soul come home,
For all its caging flesh a wanderer
That in the night goes out by those stern gates
Where five grim warders guard the body well.Daniel went back to the bedroom.It was not I, but one long dead that woke,
When, half in dreams, I felt this errant soul
Once more to its tellurian cage return:
An angel exile, looking for its lost,—
A draggled glory, brooding for its own!Then faint and strange on my half-hearing ears
There fell the flute and pipe of early birds;
And strange the odour of the opening flowers;
And strange the great world lay; and stranger still
The quiet rain along the glimmering grass:
And Earth, sad with so many memories
Of bliss, and beautiful with vague regrets,
Took on a poignant glory, strange as death;
And light and water, grass, and dark-leaved trees
Were good to look on, and most dear was life!PHAON
What is this dim-eyed madness and dark talk
Of Death?SAPPHO
Hush!I have seen Death pass a hand
Along old wounds, and they have ached no more;
And with one little word lull pain away,
And heal long-wasting tears.PHAON
But these soft lips
Were made not for the touch of mold.SAPPHO
Time was
I thought Death stern, and scattered at his door
My dearest roses, that his feet might come
And softly go.PHAON
This body white was made
Not for the grave,—this flashing wonder of
The hand for hungry worms!SAPPHO
Oh, quiet as
Soft rain on water shall it seem, and sad
Only as life’s most dulcet music is,
And dark as but a bride’s first dreaded night
Is dark; mild, mild as mirrored stars!But you,—
You will forget me, Phaon; there, the sting,
The sorrow of the grave is not its green
And the salt tear upon its violet;
But the long years that bring the gray neglect,
When the glad grasses smooth the little mound,—
When leaf by leaf the tree of sorrow wanes
And on the urn unseen the tarnish comes,
And tears are not so bitter as they were.Time sings so low to our bereavèd ears,—
So softly breathes, that, bud by falling bud,
The garden of fond Grief all empty lies
And unregretted dip the languid oars
Of Charon thro’ the gloom, and then are gone.PHAON
Red-lipped and breathing woman, made for love,
How can this clamouring heart of mine forget?SAPPHO
You will forget, e’en though you would or no,
And the long years shall leave you free again;
And in some other Spring when other lips
Let fall my name, you will remember not.PHAON
Enough,—but let me kiss the heavy rose
Of your red mouth.SAPPHO
Not until Death has kissed
It white as these white garments, and has robed
This body for its groom.PHAON
O woman honey-pale
And passion-worn, here to my hungering lips
These arms shall hold you close!SAPPHO
You come too late;
Forth to a sterner lover must I fare!PHAON
Mine flamed your first love, and shall glow your last!SAPPHO
Then meet this One, and know!PHAON
The hounds of Hell
And Aidoneus himself—
SAPPHO
Hush!PHAON
You I seek!The sorrow of your voice enraptures me,
And though you would elude me, still this arm
Is strong, and this great heart as daring as
That dusky night in <DW26>s long ago!SAPPHO
Stop, son of passion,—hear!PHAON
Not till these arms,
O Oriole-throated woman, hold and fold
About your beauty as in <DW26>s once!SAPPHO
By all the hours you darkened, by the love
You crushed and left forsaken, hear me now!PHAON
Thus women change!SAPPHO
There lies the sorrow—if we could forget!For one brief hour you gave me all the love
That women ask, and then with cruel hands
Set free the singing voices from the cage,
And shook the glory from the waiting rose;
And in life’s empty garden still I clung
To this, and called it love, and seemed content!’Tis we who lose it know it best!It gleams all gold and marble white
High on the headlands of our troubled lives
Pure as this golden temple of the Sun
To twilit eyes; by day a luring star
That leads our sea-worn hearts from strait to strait,
By night a fire and solace thro’ the cold;
Yet standing as this temple stands, a door
To worlds mysterious, to alien things,
And all the glory of the waiting gods!It is the blue of bluest skies;
The farthest green of waters touched with sun!It is the calm of Evening’s earliest star
And yet the tumult of most troubled tides!It is the frail original of things,
A timorous flame that once half-feared the light,
Yet, loosened, sweeps the world, consuming Time
And tinsel empires grim with blood and war!It is a hostage lent of Death, that Life
Once more in times afar may find its lost!It is the ache and utter loneliness
Of wintry lands made wonderful with Spring!Music it is, and song, regret and tears;
The rose upon the tomb of fleeting youth;
The one red wine of life, that on the lip
Of Thirst turns not to ashes!Change and time
And sorrow kneel to it, for at its touch
The world is paved with gold, and wing by wing
Drear autumn fields and valleys dark with rain
Re-waken with the birds of Memory!PHAON
All time your words were tuned to madden men;
And I am drunk with these sweet pleadings, soft
As voices over many waters blown.SAPPHO
Hear me, for by those gods you fear the most
There is a fire within me burns away
All pity, and some Hate, half-caged, may eat
Thro’ all its bars!PHAON
Not till your mouth’s
Sad warmth droops unto mine!SAPPHO
Yours once I was,
And once, indeed, I watched you tread me down
And trample on my whitest flower of youth;
And long amid my poor dead roses lay,
Stifling with sorrow, and still held my peace,
Hoping thro’ all that pain for better things.Down to this day I raised no voice in wrath
But bowed my head beneath your heel, and smiled
With quiet mouth and most unhappy eyes,
And saw my woman’s soul go thin and starved.But now I warn you that the tide has turned;
Touch nevermore these hands, for my torn heart
Is desperate, and given not to words.Quite humble have I been, and duly spake
My lips as you once tutored them to speak.But now this empty husk from which you drained
Life’s darkest wine shall die in its own way,
And whither now it will this thing you hurt
Shall steal away, for all its broken wings.And now, as waters sigh and whisper through
Some hollow-throated urn, so peace this day
Shall steal thro’ all my veins, as I have said.Sandra moved to the bathroom.Stand back,—or if it must be, then
Locked desperately arm in arm with me
You shall go down, down to this crawling Deep!Sandra journeyed to the hallway.(_She approaches him with open arms, but he draws back from her in
fear._)
PHAON
Madness throbs thro’ her, and I fear this mood.SAPPHO
The waves are softer with their dead, and winds
More kindly are with leaves in winter than
Men’s cruel love, that kills and buries not!Naked and torn we lie beneath their feet,
Who, had they known, in sorrow would have crept
Thro’ griefs entombing night with what once held
Such joys and tears for them! |
garden | Where is Mary? | (_As she turns to the sea a voice in the distance is heard singing
through the twilight_:)
O that sound, not wind or sea,
From no bird nor dreamland blown,
Bearing you away from me,
Crying: “One must go alone!”
O that Voice, so like my own
Calling through the gloom for thee!—
For the love that life has known,
For the parting yet to be!SAPPHO
Now I shall go
Quite gladly, with this more than anguish at
My over-aching heart, that cries for rest:
Yes, shade-like even now I seem,—this face
Sea-worn as Leucothea’s lonely face,
So wistful white at eve amid the waves
Where with sad eyes, men say, she gazes on
Earth’s failing hills and fields!(_She turns once more to the sea._)
’Tis good to sleep,
And alone, sad mother Ocean, let me lie;
Alone, gray mother, take me in your arms
Whose earthly sorrow once was deep as yours,
Whose passion was as vain, whose heart could sound
Thro’ all the sweetest meadows of this world
Only for evermore the morning lutes
Of loneliness and most unhappy love.For once, in times I know not of, you too
Have loved and sorrowed, as your heart would say,
Mourning at dusk among your golden Isles.Mary went back to the hallway.I cannot call on mine old gods, for they
Have lived so far from Earth, they scarce would know
The odour of my incense, nor how white
My piteous altars stand; for as the Moon
Smiles sadly disempassioned over men
And their tumultuous cities crowned with song,
Where live by night so many heavy hearts,
So smile the gods on my pale-lipped despairs.On to the end these feet must walk alone,—
Alone, once more, and unillumined, fare;
For I am far from home to die, and far
From any voice to comfort me beyond
The cypress twilight and the hemlock gloom!Not evermore, O blue Ionian Sea,
And vine-clad valleys, shall these eyes behold
My <DW26>s, still my first and last of loves!But take me, mother Ocean, while I feel
Burn thro’ my blood this magic ecstasy!Daniel went back to the bedroom.Take me, O take me in your cooling arms,
And let the ablution of soft waters lave
Old sorrows from these eyes, and wash the pain
From this poor heart, that sinned, but suffered more!(_With arms upraised she walks through the gathering dusk to the edge of
the cliff, and leaps into the sea beneath her._)
[Illustration]
CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Hyphenation and archaic spellings have been retained as in the original.Punctuation errors have been corrected without note."But what fault do you find with the little girl?"asks M. Kangourou, in
consternation.I endeavor to present the matter in the most flattering light:
"She is very young," I say; "and then she is too white, too much like our
own women.I wished for one with an ivory skin, just as a change.""But that is only the paint they have put on her, Monsieur!Beneath it,
I assure you, she is of an ivory hue."Yves leans toward me and whispers:
"Look over there, brother, in that corner by the last panel; have you
noticed the one who is sitting down?"Not I. In my annoyance I had not observed her; she had her back to the
light, was dressed in dark colors, and sat in the careless attitude of
one who keeps in the background.The fact is, this one pleased me much
better.Eyes with long lashes, rather narrow, but which would have been
called good in any country in the world; with almost an expression,
almost a thought.A coppery tint on her rounded cheeks; a straight nose;
slightly thick lips, but well modelled and with pretty corners.A little
older than Mademoiselle Jasmin, about eighteen years of age perhaps,
already more of a woman.She wore an expression of ennui, also of a
little contempt, as if she regretted her attendance at a spectacle which
dragged so much, and was so little amusing."Monsieur Kangourou, who is that young lady over there, in dark blue?"She is called Mademoiselle Chrysantheme.She
came with the others you see here; she is only here as a spectator.said he, with eager suddenness, espying a way out of his
difficulty.Then, forgetting all his politeness, all his
ceremoniousness, all his Japanesery, he takes her by the hand, forces her
to rise, to stand in the dying daylight, to let herself be seen.And
she, who has followed our eyes and begins to guess what is on foot,
lowers her head in confusion, with a more decided but more charming pout,
and tries to step back, half-sulky, half-smiling."It makes no difference," continues M. Kangourou, "it can be arranged
just as well with this one; she is not married either, Monsieur!"Then why didn't the idiot propose her to me at once
instead of the other, for whom I have a feeling of the greatest pity,
poor little soul, with her pearl-gray dress, her sprig of flowers, her
now sad and mortified expression, and her eyes which twinkle like those
of a child about to cry."It can be arranged, Monsieur!"repeats Kangourou again, who at this
moment appears to me a go-between of the lowest type, a rascal of the
meanest kind.Only, he adds, we, Yves and I, are in the way during the negotiations.And, while Mademoiselle Chrysantheme remains with her eyelids lowered,
as befits the occasion, while the various families, on whose countenances
may be read every degree of astonishment, every phase of expectation,
remain seated in a circle on my white mats, he sends us two into the
veranda, and we gaze down into the depths below us, upon a misty and
vague Nagasaki, a Nagasaki melting into a blue haze of darkness.Then ensue long discourses in Japanese, arguments without end.M. Kangourou, who is laundryman and low scamp in French only, has
returned for these discussions to the long formulas of his country.From time to time I express impatience, I ask this worthy creature,
whom I am less and less able to consider in a serious light:
"Come now, tell us frankly, Kangourou, are we any nearer coming to some
arrangement?"In a moment, Monsieur, in a moment;" and he resumes his air of political
economist seriously debating social problems.Well, one must submit to the slowness of this people.And, while the
darkness falls like a veil over the Japanese town, I have leisure to
reflect, with as much melancholy as I please, upon the bargain that is
being concluded behind me.Night has closed in; it has been necessary to light the lamps.It is ten o'clock when all is finally settled, and M. Kangourou comes to
tell me:
"All is arranged, Monsieur: her parents will give her up for twenty
dollars a month--the same price as Mademoiselle Jasmin."On hearing this, I am possessed suddenly with extreme vexation that I
should have made up my mind so quickly to link myself in ever so fleeting
and transient a manner with this little creature, and dwell with her in
this isolated house.We return to the room; she is the centre of the circle and seated; and
they have placed the aigrette of flowers in her hair.Sandra moved to the bathroom.There is actually
some expression in her glance, and I am almost persuaded that she--this
one--thinks.Yves is astonished at her modest attitude, at her little timid airs of a
young girl on the verge of matrimony; he had imagined nothing like it in
such a connection as this, nor I either, I must confess."She is really very pretty, brother," said he; "very pretty, take my word
for it!"These good folks, their customs, this scene, strike him dumb with
astonishment; he can not get over it, and remains in a maze.this
is too much," he says, and the idea of writing a long letter to his wife
at Toulven, describing it all, diverts him greatly.Chrysantheme and I join hands.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Yves, too, advances and touches the
dainty little paw.After all, if I wed her, it is chiefly his fault;
I never should have remarked her without his observation that she was
pretty.Who can tell how this strange arrangement will turn out?Mary went back to the bedroom.The families, having lighted their many- lanterns swinging at the
ends of slight sticks, prepare to retire with many compliments, bows, and
curtseys.When it is a question of descending the stairs, no one is
willing to go first, and at a given moment, the whole party are again on
all fours, motionless and murmuring polite phrases in undertones.said Yves, laughing, and employing a nautical term
used when there is a stoppage of any kind.At length they all melt away, descending the stairs with a last buzzing
accompaniment of civilities and polite phrases finished from one step to
another in voices which gradually die away.He and I remain alone in the
unfriendly, empty apartment, where the mats are still littered with the
little cups of tea, the absurd little pipes, and the miniature trays.At the door of the
garden is a renewal of the same salutations and curtseys, and then the
two groups of women separate, their bedaubed paper lanterns fade away
trembling in the distance, balanced at the extremity of flexible canes
which they hold in their fingertips as one would hold a fishing-rod in
the dark to catch night-birds.The procession of the unfortunate
Mademoiselle Jasmin mounts upward toward the mountain, while that of
Mademoiselle Chrysantheme winds downward by a narrow old street, half-
stairway, half-goat-path, which leads to the town.The night is fresh, silent, exquisite, the eternal
song of the cicalas fills the air.We can still see the red lanterns of
my new family, dwindling away in the distance, as they descend and
gradually become lost in that yawning abyss, at the bottom of which lies
Nagasaki.Our way, too, lies downward, but on an opposite <DW72> by steep paths
leading to the sea.Mary went back to the garden.And when I find myself once more on board, when the scene enacted on the
hill above recurs to my mind, it seems to me that my betrothal is a joke,
and my new family a set of puppets.CHAPTER V
A FANTASTIC MARRIAGE
July 10, 1885.Three days have passed since my marriage was an accomplished fact.In the lower part of the town, in one of the new cosmopolitan districts,
in an ugly, pretentious building, which is a sort of registry office, the
deed was signed and countersigned, with marvellous hieroglyphics, in a
large book, in the presence of those absurd little creatures, formerly
silken-robed Samurai, but now called policemen, dressed up in tight
jackets and Russian caps.The ceremony took place in the full heat of midday; Chrysantheme and her
mother arrived together, and I alone.We seemed to have met for the
purpose of ratifying some discreditable contract, and the two women
trembled in the presence of these ugly little men, who, in their eyes,
were the personification of the law.In the middle of their official scrawl, they made me write in French my
name, Christian name, and profession.Then they gave me an extraordinary
document on a sheet of rice-paper, which set forth the permission granted
me by the civilian authorities of the island of Kiu-Siu, to inhabit a
house situated in the suburb of Diou-djen-dji, with a person called
Chrysantheme, the said permission being under the protection of the
police during the whole of my stay in Japan.In the evening, however, in our own quarter, our little marriage became a
very pretty affair--a procession carrying lanterns, a festive tea and
some music.Now we are almost an old married couple, and we are gently settling down
into everyday habits.Chrysantheme tends the flowers in our bronze vases, dresses herself with
studied care, proud of her socks with the divided big toe, and strums all
day on a kind of long-necked guitar, producing sweet and plaintive
sounds.CHAPTER VI
MY NEW MENAGE
In our home, everything looks like a Japanese picture: we have folding-
screens, little odd-shaped stools bearing vases full of flowers, and at
the farther end of the apartment, in a nook forming a kind of altar, a
large gilded Buddha sits enthroned in a lotus.The house is just as I had fancied it should be in the many dreams of
Japan I had had before my arrival, during the long night watches: perched
on high, in a peaceful suburb, in the midst of green gardens; made up of
paper panels, and taken to pieces according to one's fancy, like a
child's toy.Whole families of cicalas chirp day and night under our old
resounding roof.From our veranda we have a bewildering bird's-eye view
of Nagasaki, of its streets, its junks, and its great pagodas, which, at
certain hours, is illuminated at our feet like some scene in fairyland.CHAPTER VII
THE LADIES OF THE FANS
Regarded as a mere outline, little Chrysantheme has been seen everywhere
and by everybody.Whoever has looked at one of those paintings on china
or silk that are sold in our bazaars, knows perfectly the pretty, stiff
head-dress, the leaning figure, ever ready to try some new gracious
salutation, the sash fastened behind in an enormous bow, the large,
flowing sleeves, the drapery slightly clinging about the ankles with a
little crooked train like a lizard's tail.But her face--no, not every one has seen that; there is something special
about it.Moreover, the type of women the Japanese paint mostly on their vases is
an exceptional one in their country.It is almost exclusively among the
nobility that these personages are found, with their long, pale faces,
painted in tender rose-tints, and silly, long necks which give them the
appearance of storks.This distinguished type (which I am obliged to
admit was also Mademoiselle Jasmin's) is rare, particularly at Nagasaki.Among the middle classes and the common people, the ugliness is more
pleasant and sometimes becomes a kind of prettiness.The eyes are still
too small and hardly able to open, but the faces are rounder, browner,
more vivacious; and in the women remains a certain vagueness of feature,
something childlike which prevails to the very end of their lives.They are so laughing, and so merry, all these little Nipponese dolls!Rather a forced mirth, it is true, studied, and at times with a false
ring; nevertheless one is attracted |
office | Where is John? | Mary went back to the hallway.Chrysantheme is an exception, for she is melancholy.What thoughts are
running through that little brain?My knowledge of her language is still
too limited to enable me to find out.Moreover, it is a hundred to one
that she has no thoughts whatever.And even if she had, what do I care?I have chosen her to amuse me, and I should really prefer that she should
have one of those insignificant little thoughtless faces like all the
others.CHAPTER VIII
THE NECESSARY VEIL
When night comes on, we light two hanging lamps of religious symbolism,
which burn till daylight, before our gilded idol.We sleep on the floor, on a thin cotton mattress, which is unfolded and
laid out over our white matting.Chrysantheme's pillow is a little
wooden block, cut so as to fit exactly the nape of her neck, without
disturbing the elaborate head-dress, which must never be taken down; the
pretty black hair I shall probably never see undone.My pillow, a
Chinese model, is a kind of little square drum covered over with serpent-
skin.We sleep under a gauze mosquito-net of sombre greenish-blue, dark as the
shades of night, stretched out on an orange- ribbon.(These are
the traditional colors, and all respectable families of Nagasaki possess
a similar net.)Daniel went back to the bedroom.It envelops us like a tent; the mosquitoes and the night-
moths whirl around it.This sounds very pretty, and written down looks very well.In reality,
however, it is not so; something, I know not what, is lacking, and
everything is very paltry.Sandra moved to the bathroom.In other lands, in the delightful isles of
Oceania, in the old, lifeless quarters of Stamboul, it seemed as if mere
words could never express all I felt, and I struggled vainly against my
own inability to render, in human language, the penetrating charm
surrounding me.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Here, on the contrary, words exact and truthful in themselves seem always
too thrilling, too great for the subject; seem to embellish it unduly.I feel as if I were acting, for my own benefit, some wretchedly trivial
and third-rate comedy; and whenever I try to consider my home in a
serious spirit, the scoffing figure of M. Kangourou rises before me--
the matrimonial agent, to whom I am indebted for my happiness.CHAPTER IX
MY PLAYTHING
July 12th
Yves visits us whenever he is free, in the evening at five o'clock, after
his duties on board are fulfilled.He is our only European visitor, and, with the exception of a few
civilities and cups of tea, exchanged with our neighbors, we lead a very
retired life.Only in the evenings, winding our way through the steep,
narrow streets and carrying our lanterns at the end of short sticks, we
go down to Nagasaki in search of amusement at the theatres, at the tea-
houses, or in the bazaars.Yves treats my wife as if she were a plaything, and continually assures
me that she is charming.I find her as exasperating as the cicalas on my roof; and when I am alone
at home, side by side with this little creature twanging the strings of
her long-necked guitar, facing this marvellous panorama of pagodas and
mountains, I am overcome by sadness almost to tears.CHAPTER X
NOCTURNAL TERRORS
July 13th.Last night, as we reposed under the Japanese roof of Diou-djen-dji--the
thin old wooden roof scorched by a hundred years of sunshine, vibrating
at the least sound, like the stretched-out parchment of a tomtom--in the
silence which prevails at two o'clock in the morning, we heard overhead a
sound like a regular wild huntsman's chase passing at full gallop.Suddenly the word brings back to my mind yet another phrase, spoken in a
very different language, in a country far away from here: "Setchan!"a
word heard elsewhere, a word that has likewise been whispered in my ear
by a woman's voice, under similar circumstances, in a moment of nocturnal
terror--"Setchan!"It was during one of our first nights at Stamboul
spent under the mysterious roof of Eyoub, when danger surrounded us on
all sides; a noise on the steps of the black staircase had made us
tremble, and she also, my dear little Turkish companion, had said to
me in her beloved language, "Setchan!"At that fond recollection, a thrill of sweet memories coursed through my
veins; it was as if I had been startled out of a long ten years' sleep;
I looked down upon the doll beside me with a sort of hatred, wondering
why I was there, and I arose, with almost a feeling of remorse, to escape
from that blue gauze net.I stepped out upon the veranda, and there I paused, gazing into the
depths of the starlit night.Beneath me Nagasaki lay asleep, wrapped in
a soft, light slumber, hushed by the murmuring sound of a thousand
insects in the moonlight, and fairy-like with its roseate hues.Then,
turning my head, I saw behind me the gilded idol with our lamps burning
in front of it; the idol smiling the impassive smile of Buddha; and its
presence seemed to cast around it something, I know not what, strange and
incomprehensible.Never until now had I slept under the eye of such a
god.In the midst of the calm and silence of the night, I strove to recall my
poignant impressions of Stamboul; but, alas, I strove in vain, they would
not return to me in this strange, far-off world.Through the transparent
blue gauze appeared my little Japanese, as she lay in her sombre night-
robe with all the fantastic grace of her country, the nape of her neck
resting on its wooden block, and her hair arranged in large, shiny bows.Her amber-tinted arms, pretty and delicate, emerged, bare up to the
shoulders, from her wide sleeves."What can those mice on the roof have done to him?"In a coaxing manner,
like a playful kitten, she glanced at me with her half-closed eyes,
inquiring why I did not come back to sleep--and I returned to my place
by her side.CHAPTER XI
A GAME OF ARCHERY
July 14th.This is the National Fete day of France.In Nagasaki Harbor, all the
ships are adorned with flags, and salutes are fired in our honor.All day long, I can not help thinking of that last fourteenth of
July, spent in the deep calm and quiet of my old home, the door shut
against all intruders, while the gay crowd roared outside; there I had
remained till evening, seated on a bench, shaded by an arbor covered with
honeysuckle, where, in the bygone days of my childhood's summers, I used
to settle myself with my copybooks and pretend to learn my lessons.Oh,
those days when I was supposed to learn my lessons!How my thoughts used
to rove--what voyages, what distant lands, what tropical forests did I
not behold in my dreams!Mary went back to the bedroom.At that time, near the garden-bench, in some of
the crevices in the stone wall, dwelt many a big, ugly, black spider
always on the alert, peeping out of his nook ready to pounce upon any
giddy fly or wandering centipede.Mary went back to the garden.One of my amusements consisted in
tickling the spiders gently, very gently, with a blade of grass or a
cherry-stalk in their webs.Mystified, they would rush out, fancying
they had to deal with some sort of prey, while I would rapidly draw back
my hand in disgust.Well, last year, on that fourteenth of July, as I
recalled my days of Latin themes and translations, now forever flown,
and this game of boyish days, I actually recognized the very same spiders
(or at least their daughters), lying in wait in the very same places.Gazing at them, and at the tufts of grass and moss around me, a thousand
memories of those summers of my early life welled up within me, memories
which for years past had lain slumbering under this old wall, sheltered
by the ivy boughs.While all that is ourselves perpetually changes and
passes away, the constancy with which Nature repeats, always in the same
manner, her most infinitesimal details, seems a wonderful mystery; the
same peculiar species of moss grows afresh for centuries on precisely the
same spot, and the same little insects each summer do the same thing in
the same place.I must admit that this episode of my childhood, and the spiders, have
little to do with the story of Chrysantheme.But an incongruous
interruption is quite in keeping with the taste of this country;
everywhere it is practised, in conversation, in music, even in painting;
a landscape painter, for instance, when he has finished a picture of
mountains and crags, will not hesitate to draw, in the very middle of the
sky, a circle, or a lozenge, or some kind of framework, within which he
will represent anything incoherent and inappropriate: a bonze fanning
himself, or a lady taking a cup of tea.Nothing is more thoroughly
Japanese than such digressions, made without the slightest apropos.Sandra went back to the bathroom.Moreover, if I roused my past memories, it was the better to force myself
to notice the difference between that day of July last year, so
peacefully spent amid surroundings familiar to me from my earliest
infancy, and my present animated life passed in the midst of such a novel
world.John went to the office.To-day, therefore, under the scorching midday sun, at two o'clock, three
swift-footed djins dragged us at full speed--Yves, Chrysantheme, and
myself--in Indian file, each in a little jolting cart, to the farther end
of Nagasaki, and there deposited us at the foot of some gigantic steps
that run straight up the mountain.These are the granite steps leading to the great temple of Osueva, wide
enough to give access to a whole regiment; they are as grand and imposing
as any work of Babylon or Nineveh, and in complete contrast with all the
finical surroundings.We climb up and up--Chrysantheme listlessly, affecting fatigue, under her
paper parasol painted with pink butterflies on a black ground.As we
ascended, we passed under enormous monastic porticoes, also in granite of
rude and primitive style.In truth, these steps and these temple
porticoes are the only imposing works that this people has created, and
they astonish, for they do not seem Japanese.At this sultry hour of the day, from top to
bottom of the enormous gray steps, only we three are to be seen; on all
that granite there are but the pink butterflies on Chrysantheme's parasol
to give a cheerful and brilliant touch.We passed through the first temple yard, in which are two white china
turrets, bronze lanterns, and the statue of a large horse in jade.Then,
without pausing at the sanctuary, we turned to the left, and entered a
shady garden, which formed a terrace halfway up the hill, at the
extremity of which was situated the Donko-Tchaya--in English, the
Teahouse of the Toads.This was the place where Chrysantheme had wished to take us.We sat down
at a table, under a black linen tent decorated with large white letters
(of funereal aspect), and two laughing'mousmes' hastened to wait upon
us.The word'mousme' means a young girl, or very young woman.It is one of
the prettiest words in the Nipponese language; it seems almost as if
there were a little pout in the very sound--a pretty, taking little pout,
such as they put on, and also as if a little pert physiognomy were
described by it.I shall often make use of it, knowing none other in our
own language that conveys the same meaning.Some Japanese Watteau must have mapped out this Donko-Tchaya, for it has
rather an affected air of rurality, though very pretty.It is well
shaded, under a shelter of large trees with dense foliage, and a
miniature lake close by, the chosen residence of a few toads, has given
it its attractive denomination.Lucky toads, who crawl and croak on the
finest of moss, in the midst of tiny artificial islets decked with
gardenias in full bloom.From time to time, one of them informs us of
his thoughts by a 'Couac', uttered in a deep bass croak, infinitely more
hollow than that of our own toads.Under the tent of this tea-house, we sit on a sort of balcony jutting out
from the mountain-side, overhanging from on high the grayish town and its
suburbs buried in greenery.Around, above, and beneath us cling and
hang, on every possible point, clumps of trees and fresh green woods,
with the delicate and varying foliage of the temperate zone.We can see,
at our feet, the deep roadstead, foreshortened and slanting, diminished
in appearance till it looks like a sombre rent in the mass of large green
mountains; and farther still, quite low on the black and stagnant waters,
are the men-of-war, the steamboats and the junks, with flags flying from
every mast.Against the dark green, which is the dominant shade
everywhere, stand out these thousand scraps of bunting, emblems of the
different nationalities, all displayed, all flying in honor of far-
distant France.The colors most prevailing in this motley assemblage are
the white flag with a red ball, emblem of the Empire of the Rising Sun,
where we now are.With the exception of three or four'mousmes' at the farther end, who are
practising with bows and arrows, we are today the only people in the
garden, and the mountain round about is silent.Having finished her cigarette and her cup of tea, Chrysantheme also
wishes to exert her skill; for archery is still held in honor among the
young women.The old man who keeps the range picks out for her his best arrows tipped
with white and red feathers--and she takes aim with a serious air.The
mark is a circle, traced in the middle of a picture on which is painted,
in flat, gray tones, terrifying chimera flying through the clouds.Chrysantheme is certainly an adroit markswoman, and we admire her as much
as she expected.Then Yves, who is usually clever at all games of skill, wishes to try his
luck, and fails.It is amusing to see her, with her mincing ways and
smiles, arrange with the tips of her little fingers the sailor's broad
hands, placing them on the bow and the string in order to teach him the
proper manner.Never have they seemed to get on so well together, Yves
and my doll, and I might even feel anxious, were I less sure of my good
brother, and if, moreover, it was not a matter of perfect indifference to
me.In the stillness of the garden, amid the balmy peacefulness of these
mountains, a loud noise suddenly startles us; a unique, powerful,
terrible sound, which is prolonged in infinite metallic vibrations.It
begins again, sounding more appalling: 'Boum!'exclaims Chrysantheme--and she again takes up her
brightly feathered arrows."Nippon Kane ("the Japanese brass"); it is
the Japanese brass that is sounding!"It is the monstrous gong of a
monastery, situated in a suburb beneath us.It is powerful indeed, "the
Japanese brass"!When the strokes are ended, when it is no longer heard,
a vibration seems to linger among the suspended foliage, and a prolonged
quiver runs through the air.I am obliged to admit that Chrysantheme looks very charming shooting her
arrows, her figure well bent back the better to bend her bow; her loose-
hanging sleeves caught up to her shoulders, showing the graceful bare
arms polished like amber and very much the same color.Each arrow
whistles by with the rustle of a bird's wing--then a short, sharp little
blow is heard, the target is hit, always.At nightfall, when Chrysantheme has gone |
office | Where is John? | The cosmopolitan quarter, exhaling an
odor of absinthe, is dressed up with flags, and squibs are being fired
off in honor of France.Long lines of djins pass by, dragging, as fast
as their naked legs can carry them, the crew of the 'Triomphante,' who
are shouting and fanning themselves.The Marseillaise is heard
everywhere; English sailors are singing it, gutturally, with a dull and
slow cadence like their own "God Save."In all the American bars,
grinding organs are hammering it with many an odious variation and
flourish, in order to attract our men.One amusing recollection comes back to me of that evening.On our
return, we had by mistake turned into a street inhabited by a multitude
of ladies of doubtful reputation.I can still see that big fellow Yves,
struggling with a whole band of tiny little'mousmes' of twelve or
fifteen years of age, who barely reached up to his waist, and were
pulling him by the sleeves, eager to lead him astray.Astonished and
indignant, he repeated, as he extricated himself from their clutches,
"Oh, this is too much!"so shocked was he at seeing such mere babies,
so young, so tiny, already so brazen and shameless.As the boys whirled by the ambushed birch canoe, Fred snatched up the
shotgun, and sent two loads of buckshot tearing through its sides."That'll <DW36> them for a while!"_Bang!_ A better-aimed bullet dashed the steering paddle from Horace's
hands.The canoe swerved, and heeled in the current.Horace snatched
the extra paddle that lay in the stern, and brought the craft round
just in time to prevent it from upsetting.As the paddle that had been
hit floated past, Fred picked it up; it had a round hole through the
handle.The canoe was a hundred yards from the tent now, and was going so fast
that it offered no easy target to the men behind, who, however, still
continued to shoot.Glancing over
his shoulder, Fred saw the three trappers running down the shore, and
firing as they ran.But in another moment the canoe swept round a bend
in the river, and was screened from the trappers by the wooded shore.Down the fast current they shot like an arrow.As they went round
another curve, they heard the roar of rushing water ahead; a short but
turbulent rapid confronted them.There the river, foaming and surging,
dashed down over the black rocks; the shore was rough and covered with
dense thickets.The boys remembered the hard work they had had making
a portage here on the way up; but there was no time to make a portage
now.The rush of the rapid seemed to snatch up the canoe like a leaf.Fred
caught his breath; the pit of his stomach seemed to sink.There was a
deafening roar all around him, a chaos of white water, flying spray,
and sharp rocks that sprang up and flashed behind.Then, before he had
recovered his breath, they shot out into the smooth river below.Six inches of water was slopping in the bottom of the canoe, but they
ran on without stopping to bale it out.For over half a mile the
smooth, swift current lasted; then came another rapid.It was longer
and more dangerous than the other, and the boys carried the canoe and
the foxes round it.They would not risk spilling the precious cage,
and for the present they thought that they had outrun their pursuers.For another mile or two they descended the river, until they came to
another carry.They made the portage, and stopped at the bottom to
discuss their situation and make their plans.They had escaped the
trappers, indeed, and they had the foxes; but except the canoe, a
blanket, the guns, and the light axe that Mac had at his belt, they had
nothing else."I guess this settles our prospecting, boys," said
Horace.Shall we go on, or--"
"Or what?"But here we are, without supplies, and at least a
hundred and fifty miles from any place where we can get them.We all
know what a hard road it is, and going back it'll be up-stream all the
way, after we leave this river."Mary went back to the hallway."Do we have to go back the way we came?""Well, instead of turning up the Missanabie River when we come to it,
we might go straight down it to Moose Factory, the Hudson Bay Company's
post at the mouth; but if we did that, these foxes would never live
till we got back to Toronto.It would be too long and hard a trip for
them."We don't go that way," said Mac."Surely we can get
home in ten or twelve days the way we came, and we ought to be able to
kill enough to live on during that time."Macgregor had nineteen cartridges in his belt, and there were six more
in the magazine of the rifle.Fred had only ten shells in his pockets,
and the shotgun was empty.They had left the fishing tackle at camp,
but luckily they had plenty of matches."If we can get a deer within the next day or so, or even a few ducks or
partridges, we may make it," said Horace."But I've noticed that game
is always scarce when you need it most.Now if we turned back and
tried to recover our outfit, we should certainly have to fight the
trappers, and probably we'd be worsted, for they outmatch us in
weapons.One of us might be killed, and we'd be almost certain to lose
the foxes.""Trade these foxes for some flour and bacon?We didn't starve
last winter, when we hadn't a match or a grain of powder, and when the
mercury was below zero most of the time, too.""Well, we'll go on, if you say so," said Horace."It's a mighty
dangerous trip, but I don't see what else we can do."exclaimed Mac, springing up to push the canoe into
the water."Do you think those men will really follow us, Horace?""It'll take them a few hours to patch
up their canoe, but they're probably better canoemen than we are, and
we'll have to work mighty hard to keep ahead of them.""They'll have to work mighty hard to keep up
with us," he said, as they launched the canoe.Going down the river was very different from coming up it.The current
ran so swiftly that the boys could not add much to their speed by
paddling; all they had to do was to steer the craft.The water was so
high that they could run most of the rapids, and stretches that they
had formerly toiled up with tumpline or tracking-line they now covered
with the speed of a bullet.Toward noon Fred became intolerably hungry; but neither of the others
spoke of eating, and he did not mention his hunger.Mac, in the bow,
put the shotgun where he could easily reach it, and scanned the shores
for game as closely as he could; but no game showed itself.They
traveled all day without seeing anything except now and then a few
ducks, which always took wing while still far out of range.At last they came to "Buck Rapids," where they had shot the deer.The
river there was one succession of rapids, most of which were too
dangerous to run through.It was the place where, on the way up, they
had made only four miles in a whole day; and they did not cover more
than ten miles this afternoon.When they came to the long, narrow lake on the lower reaches of the
river, the sun was setting.They were all pretty much exhausted with
the toil and excitement of the day."I vote we stop here," said Mac."There'll be a moon toward midnight,
and we can go on then."I'm too hungry to sleep," said Fred."Well, so am I," Mac admitted.So they drew up the canoe and lighted a fire, partly from force of
habit and partly to drive away the mosquitoes."We've nothing for them to eat," Horace said anxiously, "but they ought
to have water, at any rate."The difficulty was that they had nothing to put water into.Mac made a
sort of cup from an old envelope, and filled it with water, but the
animals shrank away and would not touch it.Feeling sure, however,
that they must be thirsty, the boys carried the cage to the river, and
set one end of it into the shallow water.Daniel went back to the bedroom.For a few minutes the mother
fox was shy, but presently she drank eagerly; then the cubs dipped
their sharp noses into the water.The boys spread their only blanket on a few hemlock boughs and lay
down.Although they were so thoroughly tired, none of them could
sleep.Fred's stomach was gnawed by hunger; he was still much excited,
and in the rush of the river he fancied every minute or two that he
heard the trappers approaching.Sandra moved to the bathroom.They lay there for some time, talking at intervals, and at last Mac got
up restlessly.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.He threw fresh wood on the fire, in order to make a
bright blaze; then from an old pine log close by he began to cut a
number of resinous splinters.When he had collected a large handful of
them, he went down to the canoe, and tried to fix them in the ring in
the bow of the craft.asked Fred, who had got up to see
what Peter was about."If we don't get meat in
twelve hours we won't be able to travel fast--can't keep up steam," he
said."There's only one way to shoot game at night, and that's--"
"Jack light," said Horace, who recognized the device."It's a regular
pot-hunter's trick, but pot-hunters we are, and no mistake about that.CHAPTER XIV
Here where deer were plentiful and hunters scarce, Mac's jack light
should prove effective.Sportsmen and the law have quite properly
united in condemning killing deer by jack light; but the boys felt that
their need of food justified their course.After adjusting the torch, Mac cut a birch sapling about eight feet
long, and trimmed off the twigs.Bending it into a semicircle, he
fitted the curve into the bottom of the canoe, close to the bow; then
he hung the blanket by its corners upon the projecting tips of the
sapling, and thus screened the bow from the rest of the canoe.As it had already become dark, and the shores were now black with the
indistinct shadows of the spruces, Fred and Horace set the canoe gently
into the water.When it was afloat, Mac lighted the pine splinters,
which crackled and flared up like a torch.Mary went back to the bedroom."You'd make a better game poacher than I, Horace," he said."You take
the rifle, and I'll paddle."Horace accordingly placed himself just behind the blanket screen, with
the weapon on his knees.Mac sat in the stern, and Fred, who did not
want to be left behind, seated himself amidships."Keep a sharp lookout, both of you," Mac said."Watch for the light on
their eyes, like two balls of fire."The canoe, keeping about thirty yards from shore, glided silently down
the long lake.The "fat" pine flamed smoky and red, and it cast long,
wavering reflections on the water.Once an animal, probably a muskrat,
startled them by diving noisily.A duck, sleeping on the water, rose
with a frantic splutter and flurry of wings.Then, fifty yards
farther, there was a sudden splash near the shore, then a crashing in
the bushes, and a dying thump-thump in the distance.Horace swung his rifle round, but he was too late.Mary went back to the garden.The deer had not
stopped to stare at the light for an instant.A jack light ought to
have a reflector, but the boys had no means of contriving one.Unspeakably disappointed, they moved slowly on again.They started no
more game, and at last reached the lower end of the lake.Here Mac
stopped to renew the torch, which had almost burned out.Then they turned up the other side of the lake, on the home stretch.No living thing except themselves seemed to be on the water that night.Once the keel scraped over a bottom of soft
mud.Sandra went back to the bathroom.Lilies grew along the shore, and sometimes extended out so far
that the canoe brushed the half-grown pads.Suddenly Fred felt the canoe swerve slightly, and head toward the land.Fred had seen nothing, but after straining
his eyes ahead, he made out two faint spots of light in the darkness,
at about the height of a man's head.The balls of
light remained perfectly motionless.Fred thought that he could
make out the outline of the animal's head, and clenched his hands in
anxiety.John went to the office.Suddenly a blinding flash blazed out from the rifle, and the report
crashed across the water.There was a splash, followed immediately by
a noise of violent thrashing in the water near the land.With great paddle strokes, Mac drove
the canoe forward, and at last Horace leaped out.The deer was down, struggling in the water.This'll last us all the
way home."It was a fine young buck--so heavy that they had hard work to lift it
into the canoe.Daniel travelled to the garden.Far up the lake they could see their camp-fire, and
they paddled toward it with the haste of half-starved men.Without stopping to cut up the animal, they skinned one haunch and cut
off slices, which they set to broil over the coals.A delicious odor
rose; the boys did not even wait until the meat had cooked thoroughly.They had no salt, but the venison, unseasoned as it was, seemed
delicious.The food gave them all more cheerfulness and energy.The prospect of a
hard ten days' journey did not look so bad now.At any rate, they
would not starve."I wonder if the foxes would eat it.They ought to have something,"
said Fred, and he dropped some scraps of the raw venison into the cage.As he stooped to peer more closely at the animals, he made a startling
discovery.During their absence on the hunt, the mother fox had been
gnawing vigorously at the willow cage, particularly at the rawhide
lashings that bound the framework together.She had loosened one
corner, and if she had been left alone for another hour, she might have
escaped with her cubs.Mac refastened
the lashings with strips of deer-hide, and strengthened the cage with
more willow withes.But the boys realized that in the future one of
them would have to stand guard over the cage at night.The foxes refused to touch the raw meat."I didn't expect them to eat for the first day or two," said Horace.They'll eat in time, when they get really hungry.""Let's get this buck cut up," said Mac."It'll soon be moonrise, and
we must be moving."Sandra travelled to the hallway.In order to get more light for their work, they piled pitch pine on the
fire; then they hung the deer on a tree, and began the disagreeable
task of skinning and dressing the animal.When they had finished, they
had a good deerskin and nearly two hundred pounds of fresh meat.They would gladly have slept now, but the sky was brightening in the
east with the rising moon, and there was no time for rest.No doubt
the trappers were on their trail, somewhere behind them.Hastily the
boys loaded the foxes and the venison into the canoe, and as soon as
the moon showed above the trees paddled down the lake.They soon found
that the moonlight was not bright enough to enable them to run rapids
safely, and they consequently had to make frequent carries.Between
the rapids they shot swiftly down the current, but the river was so
broken that they made no great progress that night.Northern summer nights are short, and soon after two o'clock the sky
began to lighten.By three o'clock the boys could see well, and they
went on faster, shooting all except the worst stretches of rough water.Shortly after six o'clock they came out from the Smoke River into the
Missanabie."We must be careful not to mark our trail,
especially at this point.They won't know for sure whether we turned
up the Missanabie or down, and they may make a mistake and lose a lot |
hallway | Where is John? | A canoe doesn't leave any track, and we mustn't land until we
have to."Now the hard work of "bucking the river" began again.The Missanabie
had lowered somewhat since the boys had come down it, but it still ran
so strong that they could not make much progress by paddling.Their
canoe poles were far back on the Smoke River, and they did not dare to
land in order to cut others, for in doing so they would mark their
trail.Straining hard at every stroke, they dug their paddles into the water;
but they made slow work of it.The least carelessness on their part
would cause them to lose in one minute as much as they had gained in
ten.A stretch of slacker water gave them some respite; but then came a
long, tumbling, rock-strewn rapid."We'll have to portage here," said Mac."It'll be a long carry," Horace said."We'd lose a good deal of time
over it.Mac and Horace carried the cage of foxes along the shore to the head of
the broken water, and Fred carried up the guns.Returning to the foot
of the rapid, they prepared to haul the canoe against the stream.Luckily the tracking-line had always been kept in the canoe.Horace
tied it to the ring in the bow, took the end of the rope and, bracing
himself firmly, waded into the water; Macgregor and Fred, on either
side, held the craft steady.Sometimes the water was no
more than knee-deep; sometimes it reached their hips.The water was
icy cold, and the rush and roar of the current were bewildering.Once
Mac lost his footing, but he clung to the canoe and recovered himself.Then, when halfway up the rapid, Horace stepped on an unsteady stone
and plunged down, face forward, into the roaring water.As the towline slackened, the canoe swung round with a jerk against
Macgregor, and upset him.Fred tried to hold it upright, but the
unstable craft went over like a shot.Out went the venison and everything else that was in her.Fred made a
desperate clutch at the stern of the canoe, caught it and held on.As
the canoe shot down the rapid, he trailed out like a streamer behind
it.John went back to the hallway.He heard a faint, smothered yell:--
"The venison!Almost before he knew it, Fred, half choked, still clinging to the
canoe, drifted into the tail of the rapid.He found bottom there, for
the water was not deep, and managed to right the canoe.By that time
Macgregor had got to his feet, and was coming down the shore to help
Fred.They were both dripping and chilled; but they got into the
canoe, and poling with two sticks, set out to rescue what they could.They must, above everything else, recover the venison, but they could
see no sign of it.Some distance down the stream they found both
paddles afloat, and they worked the canoe up and down below the rapid.On a jutting rock they found the deerskin.Finally they came upon one
of the hindquarters floating sluggishly almost under water.They
rescued it joyfully; but although they searched for a long time, they
found no more of the meat.They had left the axe in the canoe, and it was now somewhere at the
bottom of the river.They could better have spared one of the guns,
but they were thankful that their loss had been no greater."If we had left the foxes in the canoe," said Fred, "they'd have been
drowned, sure!"Horace had waded ashore, and now had a brisk fire going.Fred and
Macgregor joined him, and the three boys stood shivering by the blaze,
with their wet clothes steaming."We're well out of it," said Horace, with chattering teeth."The worst
is the loss of the axe.It won't be easy to make fires from now on."Once more the problem of supplies loomed dark before the boys.They
had nothing now except the haunch of venison, which weighed perhaps
twenty-five pounds; unless they could pick up more game, that would
have to last them until they reached civilization.However, they were
fairly confident that they could find game soon, and meanwhile they
could put themselves on rations."We've marked our trail all right now," said Mac."These tracks and
this fire will give it away.We may as well portage, after all."Their clothing was far from dry, but they were afraid to delay longer.None of them felt like trying to wade up the rapid again, and so they
carried the canoe round it.At the head of the portage they cut
several strong poles to use in places where they could not paddle.They soon found that without the poles they could hardly have made any
progress at all; and even with them they moved very slowly.About noon
they landed, broiled and ate a small piece of venison, and after a
brief rest set out on their journey again.By five o'clock they were all dead tired, wet, and chilled, and Mac and
Fred were ready to stop.Horace, however, urged them to push on.He
felt that perhaps the beaver trappers were not many miles behind.After another day or two, he said, they could take things more easily,
but now they ought to hurry on at top speed.Just before they were ready to land in order to make camp, three ducks
splashed from the water just in front of the canoe.Fred managed to
drop one of them with each barrel of the shot gun.Thus the boys got
their supper without having to draw on their supply of venison; but the
roasted ducks proved almost as tough as rawhide and, without salt,
extremely unpalatable.But they were all so hungry that they devoured
the birds almost completely; they put the heads into the willow cage,
but the foxes would not touch them.For three hours more they pushed on up the river, tired, silent, but
determined.The boys had reached the
limit of their endurance, for they had had no sleep the night before.It was hard work to get enough wood
without the axe, but fortunately the night was not cold.Exhausted as the boys were, they knew that one of them would have to
stand watch to see that the foxes did not gnaw their way out of the
cage, and that the trappers did not attack the camp.They drew lots
for it; Macgregor selected the short straw and Fred the long one, and
they arranged that Mac should take the watch for two hours, then
Horace, and lastly Fred.The mosquitoes were bad, and there were no blankets, but Fred seemed to
go to sleep the moment he lay down on the earth.He did not hear
Horace and Mac change guard at midnight, and it seemed to him that he
had scarcely done more than close his eyes when some one shook him by
the arm.Half dead with sleep, Fred staggered to his feet.Moonlight lay on the
forest and river."There's not been a sign of anything
stirring, but keep a sharp eye on the foxes."Horace lay down beside Mac and seemed to fall asleep at once.Fred
would have given black foxes and diamonds together to do likewise, but
he walked up and down until he felt less drowsy.The foxes were not
trying to get out, and he saw that they had gnawed the duck heads down
to the bills.He sat down against a tree, close to the cage, with the loaded repeater
across his knees.For some time the mosquitoes, as well as the
responsibility of his position, kept him awake.Every sound in the forest startled him; through the dash of the river
he imagined that he heard the sound of paddles.But by degrees he grew
indifferent to the mosquitoes, and his strained attention flagged.Drowsiness crept upon him again; he was very tired.He found himself
nodding, and roused himself with a shock of horror.He thought that he
would go down to the river and dip his head into the water.He dozed
while he was thinking of it--dozed and awoke, and dozed again.Then after what seemed a moment's interval he was awakened by a harsh
voice shouting:--
"Hands up!CHAPTER XV
Half awake, Fred made a blind snatch at the rifle that had been across
his lap.Ten feet away stood three men with
leveled rifles.Horace and Mac were sitting up, holding their hands
above their heads and looking dazed."I said you pups wouldn't bark so loud next time," remarked one of the
newcomers.It was the man that had pretended to be a ranger.With him
was the slim, dark fellow whom they had seen outside the trappers'
shack, and the third was a tall, elderly, bearded man, who looked more
intelligent and more vicious than the others.None of the boys said anything, but Horace gave Fred a reproachful
glance that almost broke his heart.It was his fault that this had
happened, and he knew it.Tears of rage and shame started to his eyes.He would gladly risk his
life to get his companions out of the awkward scrape into which his
negligence had plunged them.But the ranger had taken the boys' rifle,
and the half-breed had picked up the shotgun.With a grin of triumph the trappers went to the fox cage, peered at the
animals, and talked eagerly in low voices.Presently two of the men picked up the cage and carried it down to the
river.The light was strong enough now so that Fred could see the bow
of a bark canoe drawn up on the shore.They put the cage into the
canoe.Then the half-breed laid his rifle and the stolen shotgun
beside it, and paddled down the river.The other two men lifted the
boys' Peterboro into the water."You aren't going to rob us of our firearms and our canoe, too, are
you?""Guess you won't need the guns," said the third trapper."You've got
grub, I see, and we durstn't leave you any canoe to foller us up in."The two men pushed off the Peterboro and followed the birch canoe down
the river at a rapid pace.In two minutes they were out of sight round
a bend.Fred could not meet the eyes of his
companions.He turned away, pretended to look for something, and
fairly broke down."It can't be helped, and we're not
blaming you."If you'd been awake you might have got shot," said Mac, "and that
would have been a good deal worse for every one concerned."Through his tears, he stammered that he
wished he had been shot.They had lost the foxes, they were stranded
and destitute, and they stood a good chance of never getting out alive."We were in a far
worse fix last winter, and we came out on top.""The first thing to do is to have some grub," added Horace.Looking with calculating eyes at the lump of meat, he cut the slices of
venison very thin.They roasted
the meat he had cut off, and ate it; then Horace unfolded his pocket
map and spread it on the ground.They were probably forty miles from the Height of Land.It was twelve
miles across the long carry, and at least forty more to the nearest
inhabited point--almost a hundred miles in all.There was a chance,
however, that they might meet some party of prospectors or Indians."It's terribly rough traveling afoot," said Horace."We could hardly
make it in less than two weeks.Besides, our shoes are nearly gone
now.""And that piece of venison will never last us for two weeks!""Oh, you can often knock down a partridge with a stick," said Horace."I'd
run those thieves down if I had to follow them to Hudson Bay!"They all agreed on that point, but it was useless to think of following
them without a canoe.The boys would have all they could do to save
their own lives; a hundred-mile journey on foot across that wilderness,
without arms and with almost no provisions, was a desperate undertaking."Well, we've got no choice," said Horace, after a dismal silence."We
must put ourselves on rations of about half a pound of meat a day, and
we'll lay a bee-line course by the compass for the trail over the
Height of Land."He marked the course on the map, and the boys studied it in silence.The sun had risen by this time, but the boys were not anxious to break
camp and start on that journey which would perhaps prove fatal to all
of them.They lingered, talking, discussing, hesitating, reluctant to
make the start.Fred had not contributed a single word to the discussion.He had
barely managed to swallow a little breakfast, and was too miserable to
join in the talk.He knew how slim their chances were; he imagined how
the party would struggle on, growing weaker daily, until--
If only they had a canoe!If only they could run the robbers down and
ambush them in their turn!And as he puzzled on the problem, an
idea--an inspiration--flashed into his mind.He bent over, and studied the map intently for a second.We can
overtake those fellows--catch 'em--cut 'em off before they get
anywhere--and get back our grub, and the foxes, and the
canoe--everything--why--"
"What's that?"See, this is where we are, isn't it?Those thieves will go down here
to the mouth of the Smoke River, and turn up it to their camp.They
didn't have much outfit with them; so they'll go back to their shanty.It's about fifty miles round by the way they'll go, but if we cut
straight across country--this way--we'd strike the Smoke in twenty-five
miles, and be there before them.""I do believe you've hit something, Fred!"In fact, the Smoke and the Missanabie Rivers made the arms of an acute
angle.Between twenty and thirty miles straight to the northwest would
bring them out on the former stream somewhere in the neighborhood of
"Buck Rapids.""They can run down to the
mouth of the Smoke in a few hours from here.After that it'll be
slower work, but they'll have the portage trails that we cut, and they
ought to get up beyond the long lake by this evening.Can we get
across in time to head 'em off?""It's our only chance,
and you both know it.We never could get home with our boots gone, and
with the food we have, but this venison will last us across to the
Smoke.""Patch our boots up with the deerskin!"We'll catch 'em on a hard carry.Only let me get my hands on 'em!""Then we haven't a minute to lose!"First of all, however, they repaired their tattered boots by folding
pieces of the raw deerhide round them and lashing them in place with
thongs.It was clumsy work at the best; but Mac rolled up the rest of
the hide to take with him, in case they should have to make further
repairs.Horace consulted the map and the compass again, and picked up the lump
of venison, which, with the deerskin, constituted their only luggage.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.In less than half an hour from the time Fred had hit upon his plan they
were off, running through the undergrowth on the twenty-five-mile race
to the Smoke River.None of them knew what sort of country the course would pass over.The
map for that part of the region was incomplete and no more than
approximately accurate, so that the boys were not at all sure that
their guess at the distance to the Smoke River was correct.But they
did know that now that they had started on the race, their lives
depended upon their winning it.Fred took the lead at once, tearing
through the thickets, tripping, stumbling."We mustn't do ourselves up at the
start."Fred slackened his pace somewhat, but continued to keep in front.For
nearly a mile from the river the land sloped gently upward through
dense thickets of birch.Then the birches thinned, and finally gave
way to evergreen, and the rising ground became rough with gravel and
rock.The <DW72> changed to undulating billows of hills, covered with
stone of every size, from gravel to small boulders, and over it all
grew a stubbly jungle of cedar and jack-pine, seldom more than six feet
high.It was a rough, broken country, and the boys had to slacken their pace
somewhat; to make things worse, it presently began to rain |
kitchen | Where is John? | First came
a driving drizzle, then a heavy downpour, with a strong southwest wind.The rocks streamed with water, and the boys were drenched; but the
heavy rain presently settled again to a soaking drizzle that threatened
to continue all day.Through the rain they struggled ahead; sometimes they found a clear
space where they could run; sometimes they came upon wet, tangled
shrubbery that impeded them sadly.They kept hoping for easier
traveling; but those broken, rocky hills stretched ahead for miles.At
last the trees became even more sparse, and the boys encountered a
whole hillside covered with a mass of split rock.Over this litter of sandstone they crawled and stumbled at what seemed
a snail's pace.They were desperately anxious to hurry, but they knew
that a slip on those wet rocks might mean a broken leg.A rain-washed <DW72> of gravel came next; they went down it at a trot,
and then encountered another hillside covered with huge, loose stones.They scrambled over it as best they could, and ran down another <DW72>;
then trees became more abundant, and soon they were again traveling
over low, rolling hills clothed in jack-pine scrub.He went as if
driven by machinery, with his head down and his lips clenched; he did
not speak a word.He was supposed to be the weakest of the party, but
even Macgregor, a trained cross-country runner, found himself falling
farther and farther behind.At eleven o'clock Horace called a halt.The rain had almost stopped,
and the boys, lighting a small fire, roasted generous slices of
venison.John went back to the hallway.There was no need of sparing the meat now.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Either plenty of
food or death was at the end of the journey.No sooner had they eaten it than Fred sprang up again."How you fellows can sit here I can't understand!"The land seemed to be sloping continually
to lower levels; the woods thickened into a sturdy, tangled growth of
hemlock and tamarack that they had hard work to penetrate.They
presently caught a glimpse of water ahead, and came to the shore of a
small, narrow lake that curved away between rounded, dark hillsides.They had to go round the lake, and lost two or three miles by the
detour.As they hurried up the shore a bull moose sprang from the
water, paused an instant to look back, and crashed into the thickets.It would have been an easy shot if they had had the rifle.Round the end of the lake low hills rose abruptly from the shore.After scrambling up the slippery <DW72> of the hills they reached the
top, and saw ahead of them an endless stretch of wild hills and
forests; there was not a landmark that they recognized.Horace guessed that they had come about fifteen miles.They agreed that they had broken the back of
the journey, and that if their strength held out, they could reach the
Smoke that day."Suppose we were--to find the diamond-beds now!""I never want to hear
the word again."On they went, up and down the hills, through the thickets and over the
ridges; but they no longer went with the energy they had shown in the
morning.With every mile their pace grew slower, and they were all
beginning to limp.Fred still kept in front, with his face set in grim
determination.About the middle of the afternoon Horace came up with
him, stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and looked into his face.His face was pale and spotted
with red blotches, and he breathed heavily through his open mouth."You're going on your
nerves.A little farther, and you'll collapse--go down like a shot.""Got to get on--got to make it
in time!"First they built a smudge to keep off the flies;
then they made fresh repairs to their shoes; and finally they stretched
themselves flat to rest.But in spite of their fatigue, they were too
highly strung to stay quiet.They knew that a delay of an hour might
lose the race for them.After resting for less than half an hour, they
got up and went plunging through the woods again.They believed now that the Smoke River could not be more than five or
six miles away.From every hilltop they hoped to catch sight of it, or
at least to see some spot that they had passed while prospecting.But although all the landscape seemed strange, they doggedly continued
the struggle.The sun was sinking low over the western ridges now;
toiling desperately on, they left mile after mile behind, but still the
Smoke River did not come into sight.At last Macgregor sat down
abruptly upon a log."I'd just as soon die here as anywhere," he said.We'll stop, and go on by moonrise," said Horace."Why, we're almost at the end!"We won't lose anything," said his brother."The trappers will be
camping, too, about this time.If we don't rest now we'll probably
never get to the Smoke at all."Staggering with fatigue, he set about getting wood for a fire.Mac and
Fred helped him, and when they had built a fire they broiled some of
the deer meat.Horace and Macgregor
ate only a little, and almost as they ate they nodded, and dropped
asleep from sheer fatigue.next
year for repair of the old ones.1783 Loughrigg and beneath Moss proceeds to the same; and
two new "Sole-trees" [foot-rail] with the railing and
repairing of four forms cost L1 9s.spent in ale at the public auction of the contract, and 2d.s d
1811 For Levelling Church & mending Windows 1 6
1819 To clearing Church of Stones and Rubbish 1 6
1828 Outlay unusual.Grasmere shows "To Flags & Flagging
in the Church" 19s.Loughrigg and beneath Moss "To Ambleside Church-warden
paid for New Seats" L2 1s.Langdale "To
Repairing Flags in Church" L1 6s.; Seats and Wood
19s.1833 Grasmere repairs "fermes" in Church, 6d.The soil beneath the church is thus literally sown with bones, and
the wonder is that room could be found for so many.But in this
connection it must be remembered that the practice of burying without
coffins was the usual one until a comparatively recent period.No wonder that plague broke out again and again, that the fragrant
rush was needed for other purpose than warmth, and that fires within
the church could not have been tolerated.The custom concerning these forms or _ferms_, as locally pronounced,
was rigid.Every man had a right, as townsman or member of a _vill_,
to a recognized seat within the church, which was obtained through
the officials of his township.This seat was, of course, within the
division of his township.The women sat apart from the men, and even
the maids from the old wives.So tenaciously was the hereditary seat
clung to, that reference to it may occasionally be met with in a
will.[128]
[128] Edward Forrest, of Ambleside, when providing, in 1637,
for his younger son (then under age) as a landholder, adds "and
it is my mind and will that my said son Richard shall sitt next
his elder brother Edward in the same forme, and likewise to haue
another seate for a woman in the other forme, or seate accustomed
for women."This was in Ambleside Chapel, but the custom was
general.George Browne possesses a copy of a document drawn up in
1629, after there had been contention, which gives the order of
seating in Troutbeck Chapel.As this has not been printed, it may
be briefly summarized here.The
general order was, for the men to be seated round the chancel,
and upon a certain number of the front benches on the north side,
which was free.The women were behind the men, five being placed
on each form.They paid for their seats, at a diminishing rate
from the front, the price starting at 20d.--one-eighth of a mark.The plan gives the place of every townswoman, and it is expressly
stated that if there be a young wife in the family as well as an
old one, she is to take her place on another form.Some serious alteration in the allotment of seats was probably made
in 1676, judging from these entries in the wardens' accounts.li s d
Ittem for Laughrig third for lifting seatts upon
Church & when ther names was sent in writting 00 2 00
Itt.for grasmyre third for ye like 00 2 00
The Squire of Rydal, as soon as the Restoration permitted it, set
to work to furnish that part of the church in which he worshipped
suitably to the honour and dignity of his family.The family seats
had before his time long stood vacant, even if they had been ever
regularly used.His predecessor, John, as an avowed Roman Catholic,
had preferred to pay heavy fines rather than obey the law in the
matter of attendance at the Communion of the parish church; and there
is little doubt that the mass was celebrated in private for him at
Rydal Hall.John's mother, Dame Agnes, may have attended during her
widowhood; but her husband William, the purchaser of the tithes and
patronage, must--always supposing him to be a good Protestant--have
attended more frequently at Coniston.But Squire Daniel was a pillar of the church as well as of the State
in his neighbourhood, and his accommodation within the building was
framed in view of the fact.The following entry occurs in his account
book, under July 13th, 1663.The monument referred to is doubtless
the brass tablet we now see in the chancel, and it appears to have
waited for its fixing for ten years after its purchase in London:--
li s d
Spent at Gresmer, when ye wainscott seat, & my
father's monum.t were set up 00 00 06
And two days later the bill for the seat was paid.It is not very
intelligible, but reads thus:--
Paid unto Christ.Robinson of Kendall (Joyner) li s d
for 10 yards and foot 2/1 of double wainscott at
4s P' yard, and yards 4 foot 2/1 of single wainscott
at 3s P' yard, for a Board, Ledging & knobs in
all (being for ye seats at Gresmere) ye sum of 03 06 06
No doubt this is the fine old pew which still stands between the
pulpit and the priest's door of the chancel.In it, for nearly forty
years, the squire worshipped, with his growing family about him.The
regularity of his attendance is shown by his account book, where
every collection is entered; and in spite of his frequent ridings on
public and private business, he never but once (till the close of
the book in 1688) missed the four yearly communions in his parish
church.Daniel journeyed to the office.On that occasion, when Easter Day, 1682, was spent at Hutton,
he attended a service at Grasmere on the previous Good Friday (held
possibly by his order), at which his Easter offering was given.Given this day (being Good-Fryday) at ye Offertory in Gresmere
Church for myselfe 5s., for Will, Alice, Dan, Barbara & Mary 5s.The sums given were invariable: 5s.for his wife
(while she lived), and 1s.[129]
[129] For the custom of Easter offerings, see Canon Simmons'
Notes to _The Lay Folks' Mass Book_, pp.It was in 1675 that the sad necessity rose of putting up a monument
to his excellent wife.The brass was apparently cut in London, for he
sent to his Uncle Newman there:--
3li 10s.John went to the kitchen.towards ye paying for my late dear wifes Epitaphs
engraving in brass.Washington of Kendall for amending of my late Dear
Wifes Epitaph in brass.Washington, who was entered in 1642 among the "Armerers Fremen and
Hardwaremen" of Kendal, and was mayor of the city in 1685,[130] was
wholly entrusted with the next family brass; for we find that under
date February 10th, 1682, he was paid "for ye Brass & the cutting
of ye Epitaph for my Mother and Uncle Jo.Kirkby, L4 10s 0d which
my brothers Roger & William are to pay me again."[130] _Boke off Recorde of Kirkbie Kendal._
It was after the squire's second son, Henry, had become Rector of
Grasmere, and by his encouragement, that the church was freshly
beautified and "adorned."paid in 1662 to James
Harrison for "makeing ye sentences w'in ye church" shows that
something was at once attempted; for it was as imperative that a
church should be "sentenced" as that the Royal Arms should be put
up, or the Commandments or Lord's Prayer.All these were devices
(expressly enjoined by the sovereign) for covering up the nakedness
of the churches after they had been stripped by the Reformers of
all objects of beauty and reverence, in roods, images of saints,
tapestries, &c., &c.; for Elizabeth and many of her subjects had
been horrified at the effect of changes that appeared to rob the
churches of their sacred character.[131] Frescoes on plaster had, of
course, been used from early times as a means of teaching Holy Writ
and Legend to the unlettered folk, and fragments of such pictures
are still to be seen in Carlisle Cathedral.But at the Reformation,
when plaster and paint were again resorted to, only the written
word was permitted (with the exception of the Lion and Unicorn);
and the wall-spaces of the churches became covered with texts
and catechisms,[132] which were surrounded or finished by "decent
flourishes."[133]
[131] _English Church Furniture_, Cox and Harvey.[132] An unusual catechism, printed in the Rev.E. J. Nurse's
_History_, may be seen in the parish church of Windermere.[133] So important was this scheme of decoration considered, that
in the reign of Charles II.the Archbishop of Canterbury gave
a commission to his "well-beloved in Christ," a craftsman who
belonged to the "Art and mysterie of Paynterstayners of London"
to carry it out in all those churches of his province where it
was found wanting.--_English Church Furniture._
In its turn the reformed style has disappeared, even in churches
peculiarly suited to it, like those of the Lake District, where the
rough unworkable slate is bound to be covered by a coat of plaster.During recent restorations, however, at both Windermere and Hawkshead
the sentences were found under coats of whitewash, and they were
in a truly conservative spirit painted in again.Grasmere, weary
of "mending" the sentences and whitening round them, finally wiped
them out in the last century, and substituted the ugly black boards
painted with texts, which still hang between the archways.Fragments
of the old sentences were descried when the walls were recently
scraped and.It was in 1687 that a complete scheme of decoration was carried out
within the church, and one James Addison, a favourite decorator in
the district, was engaged for the |
bedroom | Where is John? | The contract made with him
is preserved in the churchwardens' book:--
Mr.Adison is to playster what is needfull & whiten all the
Quire & Church except that within the insyde of the Arche of
the steeple to paint the 10 Coman's on the one syde of the
Quire window & the beliefe & Lordes prayer on the other with 8
sentences & florishes in the Quire & 26 sentences in the Church
with decent Florishes & the Kinges Armes well drawn & adorned.Later on comes the copy of an agreement in later handwriting:--
March the 29th An'o Dom'i 1687.It was then agreed on by and between James Addison of
Hornby in the County of Lancaster Painter on the one part
and Mr.Henry Fleming of Grasmer the churchwardens and other
Parishioners of the Parish aforesaid: That the said James
Addison shall and will on this side the first day of August
next after the date hereof sufficiently plaster wash with
Lime and whiten all ye church of Grasmer aforesaid (except ye
inside of the steeple) and well and decently to paint ye Tenne
Commandm'ts, Lord's prayer and thirty Sentences at such places
as are already agreed on together with the Kings Arms in proper
colours and also to colour the pulpit a good green colour and
also to flourish the Pillars and over all the Arches and doors
well and sufficiently, the said Parson and Parishioners finding
lime and hair onely.Parson and
Parishioners doe promise to pay him nine pounds Ten shillings
when or so soon as the work shall be done.And be it likewise remembered the s'd Parson and Parishioners
gave him 05s in earnest and that the Parson is to pay the fifth
part of the nine pounds Ten shillings, the parishioners being at
the whole charge of the lime and Hair.John went back to the hallway.The names of the 18 Questmen
For Grasmer For Langdale Rydal Ambleside and
Loughrigg.Thompson W. Satterthwaite Thomas Benson
John Hird Jno.Middlefell Jo.Hawkrigge Geo.Cowperthwaite Reg.Braithwaite
of townhead Chr.Dawson Jo.Hawkrigge Leo.Benson Jo.Braithwaite de[134]
of Howhead James Dixon Hawkshead
Hen.Hird Hen.Barrow
Eadwin Green
[134] This is somewhat inexplicable unless the copyist, who has a
late hand, has mistaken Howhead (in Ambleside) for Hawkshead.And
the last figure in the account should be L1 18s.Church Wardens
For Grasmer Eadwin Green
Rob't Hird
For Langdale Geo.Cowperthwaite
Leo.Benson
For Rydal Ambleside and
Loughrigg Ed.Benson de Highclose
Tho Newton de Ambleside
Memorand.That to promote ye Painting of ye ch'h ye Parson did
offer to pay according to ye proportion ye Quire did bear to
ye whole ch'h to ye plastering washing w'h lime and painting
of ye ten Command'ts Creed L'ds prayer and 30 sentences, tho'
y'er had but been 4 or 5 Sentences in ye Quire before and now ye
ten Comma'd'ts and Creed were to be painted on each side of the
quire windows The Charge of all which was commuted at L8 0 0 and
ye K'gs Arms and ye painting of ye pulpit at ye remainder.So
that the quire appearing by measure to be a 5 part ye Parson was
to pay L1 12s.but to be quit of the trouble of providing
his proportion of lime and hair he did prefer to pay ye 5 part
of the whole L9 10s.ye parish finding all lime and hair
which was agreed to.agreed to be paid
there was 5s.given to the painter in earnest to have the
work done well.L s d
March 29.Paid for ye 5 part of the earnest money
given to the painter 00 01 0
June 21.James Addison for ye parsons
share of painting the Church being ye 5 part of
L9 10 0 00 18 0
The contract included the painting of the pulpit of a cheerful green,
as we read.It was a plain structure of wood, and the "Quission"
bought for it in 1661, as well as the cloth then procured for the
Communion Table, were doubtless worn out; for we learn from the
church-wardens' Presentment for 1707 that these and some other
points about the church had been found wanting by the higher church
authorities.The paper runs:--
The defects found in our church for and at ye late Visitation,
viz.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.The Floor of the Church-porch & Isles uneven Flagg'd; The
South wall of the Inside fro' ye Bellfry unto ye East, dirty;
A decent Reading-pew, Com'unio'-Table-cloth of Linen, & pulpet
Cushio' wanting; A Table of degrees wanting, & a crackt Bell.The Reading-pew & crackt Bell)
are amended.The Wall made
white & clean, A decent Table-cloth, Pulpet-Cushion, & Table of
degrees, procured.A new Reading-pew is in making at present, & will shortly be
perfected.& as for the Bell it was referr'd to Dr.Fleming's
discerec'on to be amended & made tuneable; & he resolves in
convenient time to call together & consult w'th the chief of his
Parishion'rs to do it, & in w't time and manner, to the best
Advantage."Daniel journeyed to the office.Accordingly we find entries of the expense incurred by a few of these
requirements:--
li s d
1706 For Cloth, Silk, Fring and Tassles for ye pulpitt
Cushion 01 02 05
For Flocks harden and making ye pulpitt
Cushion 00 03 01-1/2
For Cloth for ye Table Cloth and makeing 00 05 11
1709 For mending the Stairs and laying ye Flaggs
in ye Clarks pew 00 10 00
Nothing is heard, however, of a new reading-pew, and in 1710 the old
one was mended at a cost of 1s.The bells, as we shall see, had
to wait.Not until a hundred years later was a vestry thought of.In 1810
Thomas Ellis was paid 7s.for planning it, and George Dixon L12 2s.It is said to have been made of wood, and
simply partitioned off the north-west angle of the church.It was
fitted with a "grate," that cost with carriage 19s.; and this being
set on the side nearest to the pews, diffused what must have been
but a gentle warmth through the edifice.It is the first heating
apparatus that we hear of, and the expenses for charcoal and wood,
with 3s.paid annually to the clerk for setting on the fire, were
small.Tradition says that while George Walker lighted the vestry
fire he rang the eight o'clock bell--a call to matins which had
survived the Reformation, and the service then abolished.[135]
[135] _Mediaeval Services in England._ Chr.The harmony of a church choir
entailed its special expenses.In 1812 the ladies of Rydal Hall,
widow and heiress of Sir Michael Fleming, provided "Psalmody" for
Grasmere church at a cost of L2 2s., and for Langdale at L1 1s.John went to the kitchen.Probably the price of this early tune-book was one guinea.appears in 1829 for a new pitch-pipe.A "singing school"
was started, causing considerable expense in candles (12s.Edward Wilson fitted the "singing pews" with drawers in 1851.There
was apparently no instrumental music in the Grasmere choir, though
there may have been in Langdale chapel to judge from an item of
expense for violin strings.Daniel journeyed to the garden.[Illustration: Old Pitch Pipe]
Many odd expenses are noted in the accounts, as well as the
replenishing of worn books and garments.John travelled to the bedroom.A large Common Prayer Book
cost in 1692 13s.6d., and another in 1733 14s.Prayer Books began,
too, to be supplied in the body of the church; the townships buying a
few at a time, at a price varying from 6d.In 1808 a new Bible
cost L2 2s., while the price of a large Prayer Book in 1823 was L2
5s., and another in 1835 L1 12s.The "surp-cloth," "surpless," or "surplice" was renewed at various
prices.After the marvellously cheap one of 1661 (5s.; surely the
product of the valley, in flax-growing, spinning, and weaving),
others were got in 1697 for L1 12s., in 1730 for L1 11s.4d., in 1734
for L2 7s.In 1755 a new one is set down at the modest sum of 1s.5-3/4d., which, if multiplied by three, is barely 4s.; and in
1775 one (or perhaps the same) was altered for 1s.An amusing item
appears in the receipt columns of the three townships in 1795, when
they sold the old surplice and divided the amount."By 1/3 of the
Old Surplice 2s."Communion Linnen" cost in 1823 14s.In 1820 a surplice cost L2
18s.4d., and in 1830 L1 17s.THE UPKEEP OF THE CHURCH
The one document that exists concerning the fabric of the church and
of its upkeep was written as late as 1661, when the Episcopal Order
of church government was restored.[136] There is every probability,
however, that in substance it merely reinstitutes an old custom.The
document is printed here:--
[136] Rydal Hall MSS.A true Cattollogue made the twenty-first day of Apprill in
the 13th yeare of the Kings Ma'tyes reigne in the yeare of
our lord god 1661 by the eighteene men Appointed for the good
of the parish church of Gresmyre whos names are here under
written that is to say what particulars both of the church &
church-yard-wall; and what parte is divided to every Third and
what parte is not divided; what hereafter shall be expressed &
to whom they doe belong of right to be mayntayned & uphoulden.Imprimus the chancell or quire ought to be maintained by the
parson or rector that is to say the roofe to the midle of the
rigging soe ffarr as the quire doth extend and the quire doore &
ffoure windowes within the Compass of quire: & the pues within
the quire and all the body of the church both roofe walles &
Timber doth belong to the whole parish equally amongst them that
is to say; Gresmyre third: Langdall Third & Loughrigg, Ridall
& Ambleside third; to be maintained & uphoulden every third
Alike; by even portions and likewise the roofe of the steple
& the belle wheeles, things or any nessary thing whatsoever.Concerning the steple or within the steple all to be regarded &
done at generall charges of those three thirds Abovementioned
without any deniall; & the door both at the topp & below; &
the 4 windowes Above at the bells and the steple window below;
and the east window opposight to the higher pillors; & those
doth belong to all the said 3 thirds equally Amongst Them to
be mayntained & upholden; Now for the particulars within the
Church ffor every third, & how ffarr every third ought to brake
ground; as ffolloweth viz: Gresmyre Third, ffrom the quire
wae upon the South side of the Church and Their fformes to ye
steple doore; with the Cross alley coming in at the posterne
doore; and to the midle of the Alleys of the south side ffrom
the quire |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | : one yeat which doth extend ffrom the South nooke of the
steple & ffrom thence southward to the east nooke of Gresmyre
third; when it begines to be seated with in the church yard; of
their owne costs & charges Now windowes belonging to Langdall
Third be in number three; one window being in the east end of
the church oppossigt Againe the east end of the north Alley &
two windowes nexte Adjoyning to it upon the north side of the
Church; to be upholden & mayntained & kept in good repaire of
Langdall thirds owne proper costs charges and their parte of
the church yard, walle from the north nooke of Gresmyre third;
being seated within the church yard, to the south nooke of the
steple, & likewise one yeate with A feeld opposight Against
Robert Harrison Doore; to be keept in good repaire of their owne
proper charges & costs of Langdall third without any deniall
According to the true intent & meaning of these presents;
Gresmyre windowes be in noumber three; upon the north side of
the Church the lowest Towards the steple & the west doore doth
belong to Gresmyre third; & these to be mayntained & keept in
good repaire of gresmyre third own proper Costs & Charges And
the church-yard soe ffarr as it is seated within the church-yard
with A pair of yeates & the roofe over the said yeattes of their
owne proper costs & charges & note all repaireing the pulpitt
church chest or any Bookes that doth concerning the church in
any respects to be done At A generall Charge of the wholl parish
be equall portions without any deniall & likewise the haske &
joules at A general Charge of the parish and likewise A fonte
At A generall charge to be maintained In Testamony thereof we
the said eightenne have sette our honds the day & yeare ffirst
above-written.[The names of the Eighteen follow, under three headings of
Gresmyre, Loughrigg, and Langdall.They are often crossed through
and written again.is given the
following list.]The names of the Eighteen of the parish of Grasmere as they now
stand, April the 24th, 1688.Grasmere Langdale Loughrigg and
beneath Moss
Reignald Thompson George Cooperthwaite John Banks
John Haukrigg Christopher Dawson Reignald Brathwaite
John Hird James Dixon Hendry Barrow
John Haukrigg John Middlefell Thomas Benson
Robert Harrisin William Satterthwaite Thomas Newton
Edwin Green Leonard Benson Thomas Mackereth
Something has already been said of the constitution of the parish,
and of the lay control which existed over its finances--the three
townships within the parish being represented by a body of eighteen
(six for each) as well as by two churchwardens; and this document,
while it strengthens the suggestion that the great addition to the
church had been carried out by the united parish, and at the expense
of the three townships--shows us exactly how each township arranged
to fulfil its obligation to maintain the building in proper repair.Each township by a common agreement made
itself responsible for the maintenance of a particular portion of
the church, not only of the fittings, but of the walls and windows
of the fabric, as well as of the garth outside, with the garth wall
down to its own particular gate of entrance.[137] There were besides
general charges, along with the expenses of the Sunday worship,
in which all took an equal share.Such an undertaking--both joint
and individual--may seem to a merely modern mind a complicated
business, especially as the church consisted structurally of two
parts, which had to be divided for purposes of finance into three.But such problems were as nothing to men whose farmholds belonged to
a township (indivisible in itself) that was broken up into several
lordships, and whose land--though permanent in quantity--was every
year freshly apportioned within the common fields of his _vill_.The
subsequent accounts of the churchwardens, of which a few have already
been given, prove that the obligations incurred by this document were
rigidly fulfilled.[137] The churchyard wall at Milburn, Westmorland, is still
divided for purposes of repair amongst certain inhabitants and
property-owners, who speak of their share as _dolts_ (Old Norse
_deild_, a share, from _deila_, to divide)._Transactions_,
Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian Society, vol.The division of the fabric amongst the townships was made on the
following lines.The care of the chancel, with its four windows and
door, fell, of course, to the recipient of the tithes--who at this
time was the rector.The township of Grasmere undertook to repair
the south wall of the church from the chancel door to the tower, and
half the aisle.The benches between this wall and aisle were all
apportioned to the folk of the township, as well as a few odd ones
in other parts of the church.The windows for which Grasmere was
responsible were not, as would naturally be supposed, those of the
south wall, but three in the north wall nearest to the east.John went back to the hallway.Langdale's share was wholly on the north side.Between the north
wall, which it was bound to repair, and the aisle, stood the forms
on which the folk of that valley were seated.The windows specially
apportioned to its care were the one in the east wall of the
northern half of the church (whose precincts were called the Langdale
choir) with the two in the north wall next to it.Rydal and Loughrigg (in which township Ambleside above Stock was
joined for church matters) was responsible for the three windows in
Grasmere's south wall and for the porch.The forms for this portion
of the parish were apparently set in the middle of the church, on
either side the central arched wall.The churchyard wall also was divided among the townships: Grasmere
taking the north-eastern portion, with the lych gates; Langdale the
stretch onward to the tower, with its own gate (now closed), which
was opposite Church Stile, or Kirk Steel, then an inn; and Rydal and
Loughrigg the stretch beyond to the south, past the present gate,
which was reserved at that time for the folk of the township.Each township had clearly its own quarter of the churchyard as well
of the church, wherein to bury its dead.Within, the portions were
marked by the position of each township's seats, and without, by the
gates.The field apportioned to Langdale, by Harrison's inn, was no
doubt used for the tethering of horses from that distant valley.The three townships jointly attended to the upkeep of the tower, the
bells, the roof of the church, the pulpit, and church furniture.When the regulations for church repairs were thus solemnly written
out, there was urgent need for them.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Neglect and ill-usage had
reduced the fabric to a forlorn state, and the accounts of the
wardens (who, however, went cautiously to work on renovation) show
what was immediately required for setting the place in decent order
and reinstituting the services and sacraments of the established
church.From the sum paid to the "glasser"--6s., for glazing only
Grasmere's share of the windows--it would seem that the winds of
heaven had blown freely through the building.The font, which was
always displaced by the Puritans, and often maltreated, required
mending in the stone part as well as the lead; and a new cover was
procured.A table-cloth--presumably of linen--was bought for 1s.4d., a bottle (for the wine?)for 3s., a surplice for 1s.8d., and a
pulpit cushion for 2s.The binding of the Bible next year cost 1s.It had undoubtedly had
hard wear during the diverse ministrations of the Interregnum.It may
have been the very book bandied about on that Sunday of 1655 when
John Banks and his attendant minister were defied by the clerk, and
John, upon that official's persistence in reading aloud a chapter
from its pages, forcibly closed it, and handed it to Mr.Also
a Book of Common Prayer was got for 1s.6d., a sum so small as to
raise a doubt of its newness.was expended
on "makeing up ye raills in ye quire," which shows that this guard
to the space about the communion table (often maliciously broken by
zealots) was in a bad state.The rails were entirely renewed, and a
fresh table made in 1755; and it is interesting to note that they
were constructed on the spot by joiners brought from a distance,
no doubt Kendal.The wood was procured in Rydal, at a cost of L4
12s., with carriage 2s.Other expenses, in iron-work, turning
"bannisters," glue, &c., with the boarding of the men, came to L2 1s.No doubt the existing rails are those then made, with the
little table now used as a credence table.[Illustration: Old Altar now used as a Credence Table]
An object within the chancel is older than these.It is a box
carved with the date 1648 and the words "S. Oswaldus Poor Box."It
is strange that this object should be acquired at a time when the
country was at strife and the church disestablished--unless, indeed,
it was the gift of a rich parishioner like Mr.Thomas Braithwaite
of Ambleside Hall, who was elder of the parish during the rule of the
Presbyterians.[138]
[138] The family employed carvers about this time for their
houses and elaborate mantelpieces.The placing of the King's Arms within the church was obligatory.[139]
This was a costly business, for two men, who brought the painted
panel, had to be boarded in the village.Some of the money went,
however, in drink, and the occasion was evidently made an excuse for
village jollity.[139] This was removed from Baisbrowne, and is now at Water Park,
Coniston.Gradually other articles customary in a properly-appointed church
were acquired.A table-cloth--this time probably of cloth--was bought
in 1665 at a cost of 16s.7d., and "A cloth to Cover ye Ellements" at
2s.The Communion vessels in use up to this time
must have been of the rudest description, for those that replaced
them in 1670 were of simple pewter, except the "dubler"--doubtless a
plate for the collection of alms.Daniel journeyed to the office.li s d
Itt for A pewder dubler & pewder cup & a london
plater 00 4 6
Itt.for a wood dubler 00 00 3
The accounts show no further expenditure on this score, except for
the repair of a "Flagon" (3d.)in 1708, and for "Sodering ye Tankers"
in 1726.The existing plate was supplied by private piety, as its
inscriptions tell.The two silver cups bear the date 1714, and they
are of the same pattern; but one carries the cross with sacred
monogram and the legend "The Parish Church Plate of Grasmere Renewed
Ao.1714" (having been probably bought from the proceeds of
the sale of the older plate or by collected offerings), while the
other with a coat of arms inside its border, bears the inscription:
"The gift of Mrs.John went to the kitchen.Daniel journeyed to the garden.Dorothy Benson of Coat How to the Parish Church
of Grasmere Ao.This lady, wife of Thomas Benson,
freeholder, of the homestead by the Rothay, gave also a beautiful
old silver alms dish, said to be a piece of Dublin plate.[140] The
date on this is 1729.John travelled to the bedroom.She gave a silver paten also, on which only the
maker's date (1731-2) is engraved.It is singular that each of the
three pieces displays a different coat-of-arms.[141]
[140] Old church plate of the Diocese of Carlisle.[141] See Fullers and Freeholders.Benson's munificence was clearly felt by the parish, for the
item in the accounts of 1729 "For Wine given as a Present to Mrs.Benson," 8s., must have been intended as an acknowledgment.Another offering of plate was made much later (1852) by Mrs.Letitia
Lough, a friend of the Wordworths, who resided for some time at Fox
Ghyll, and later removed to Grasmere.In connection with the Communion vessels of the Restoration period,
it must be borne in mind that there was far less use for them then
than now.The sacrament was at that time administered only four times
in the year.This fact is not only shown by the accounts of the Rydal
Hall agent and of the churchwardens, but it is expressly declared by
one of the answers made by the wardens at the Presentment of 1723.Daniel journeyed to the office.They add that they provide fine white bread and good wine for the
sacrament "att ye charges of ye Inhabitants"; and four years later
they append to this statement "Easter excepted, which is at the
Charge of the Parson."Thus on three occasions--Christmas, Whitsuntide, and Michaelmas--the
churchwardens and the Eighteen were bound to provide bread and
wine;[142] while the expenses of the Easter celebration were borne
by the rector, who received the Easter dues.When the tithes were
leased to laymen, this layman took over the charge.Daniel went to the bedroom.And as Squire
John Fleming held the tithes, items for this expenditure are found in
Tyson's and Harrison's account-books.[142] Is it possible that this custom may be referred to the
ancient one of the Anglo-Saxon race which thrice in the year
enforced the attendance of the markmen, unbidden, at a great
religious rite, for which the sacrifices were provided at the
cost of the whole district?See Kemble's _Saxons in England_.In 1632 6-1/2 gallons of wine were procured "against Easter" for
Grasmere church, at a cost of 13s.; and the Easter bread (fine
wheaten bread as has been said, much relished by people whose staple
food was oatmeal), with the charge for procuring it, amounted to 10d.In 1643 8 gallons |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | ; and next year 9 gallons, at L1 4s.--that is to say, some 4-1/2
dozen bottles of our present size were drunk on this occasion.The amount of wine drunk by the parishioners seems large, even
when we remember that the whole of the adult population in the
three townships were bound to attend, and did attend these solemn
functions.Of this there is proof, for every non-communicant was
taxed, as existing Subsidy Rolls show.It is probable that when
receiving the wine, the parishioner took a hearty drink from the cup,
and not a sip as at present.Consequently, it gave me particular pleasure to talk to them.I asked
them whether they had previously seen my machine in the air, and one of
them replied, "Oh, yes.We call it 'Le
Petit Rouge'."(February, 1917)_
I WAS trying to compete with Boelcke's squadron.However, Boelcke's pupils are smart rascals.The utmost one can do is to draw level with them.The
Boelcke section has an advantage over my squadron of one hundred
aeroplanes downed.Everything depends on
whether we have for opponents those French tricksters or those daring
rascals, the English.Frequently their daring can
only be described as stupidity.In their eyes it may be pluck and
daring.The great thing in air fighting is that the decisive factor does not lie
in trick flying but solely in the personal ability and energy of the
aviator.A flying man may be able to loop and do all the stunts
imaginable and yet he may not succeed in shooting down a single enemy.In my opinion the aggressive spirit is everything and that spirit is
very strong in us Germans.Hence we shall always retain the domination
of the air.[25]
The French have a different character.They like to put traps and to
attack their opponents unawares.Only a beginner can be caught and one cannot set traps because an
aeroplane cannot hide itself.The invisible aeroplane has not yet been
discovered.Sometimes, however, the Gaelic blood asserts itself.But the French attacking spirit is like
bottled lemonade.The Englishmen, on the other hand, one notices that they are of Germanic
blood.Sportsmen easily take to flying, and Englishmen see in flying
nothing but a sport.They take a perfect delight in looping the loop,
flying on their back, and indulging in other stunts for the benefit of
our soldiers in the trenches.All these tricks may impress people who
attend a Sports Meeting, but the public at the battle-front is not as
appreciative of these things.It demands higher qualifications than
trick flying.John went back to the hallway.Therefore, the blood of English pilots will have to flow
in streams.(Middle of March, 1917)_
I HAVE had an experience which might perhaps be described as being shot
down.At the same time, I call shot down only when one falls down.To-day I got into trouble but I escaped with a whole skin.I was flying with the squadron and noticed an opponent who also was
flying in a squadron.It happened above the German artillery position in
the neighborhood of Lens.I had to fly quite a distance to get there.It
tickles ones nerves to fly towards the enemy, especially when one can
see him from a long distance and when several minutes must elapse
before one can start fighting.I imagine that at such a moment my face
turns a little pale, but unfortunately I have never had a mirror with
me.I like that feeling for it is a wonderful nerve stimulant.One
observes the enemy from afar.One has recognized that his squadron is
really an enemy formation.One counts the number of the hostile machines
and considers whether the conditions are favorable or unfavorable.A
factor of enormous importance is whether the wind forces me away from or
towards our Front.For instance, I once shot down an Englishman.I fired
the fatal shot above the English position.However, the wind was so
strong that his machine came down close to the German captive balloons.Our opponents were three times as
numerous.It is not easy to disperse
a swarm of machines which fly together in good order.It is impossible
for a single machine to do it.It is extremely difficult for several
aeroplanes, particularly if the difference in number is as great as it
was in this case.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.However, one feels such a superiority over the enemy
that one does not doubt of success for a moment.The aggressive spirit, the offensive, is the chief thing everywhere in
war, and the air is no exception.As soon as they observed us they turned round
and attacked us.If one of them should
fall there might be a lot of trouble for all of us.We went closer
together and allowed the foreign gentlemen to approach us.I watched whether one of the fellows would hurriedly take leave of his
colleagues.One of them is stupid enough to depart alone.Daniel journeyed to the office.I can
reach him and I say to myself, "That man is lost."John went to the kitchen.Shouting aloud, I am
after him.I have come up to him or at least am getting very near him.He starts shooting prematurely, which shows that he is nervous.So I say
to myself, "Go on shooting.He shot with a kind of
ammunition which ignites.I felt as
if I were sitting in front of a gigantic watering pot.Still, the English usually shoot with their beastly
stuff, and so we must try and get accustomed to it.[26] One can get
accustomed to anything.When I had approached the Englishman quite closely, when
I had come to a distance of about three hundred feet, I got ready for
firing, aimed and gave a few trial shots.Daniel journeyed to the garden.In my mind's eye I saw
my enemy dropping.In such a position one thinks quite
calmly and collectedly and weighs the probabilities of hitting and of
being hit.Altogether the fight itself is the least exciting part of the
business as a rule.He who gets excited in fighting is sure to make
mistakes.Besides calmness is, after
all, a matter of habit.At any rate in this case I did not make a
mistake.Then I fired some well
aimed shots and thought that I was bound to be successful.But suddenly I heard a tremendous bang, when I had scarcely fired
ten cartridges.It became
clear to me that I had been hit or rather my machine.At the same time I
noticed a fearful benzine stench and I observed that the motor was
running slack.The Englishman noticed it, too, for he started shooting
with redoubled energy while I had to stop it.Instinctively I switched off the engine and indeed it
was high time to do this.When a pilot's benzine tank has been
perforated, and when the infernal liquid is squirting around his legs,
the danger of fire is very great.In front is an explosion engine of
more than 150 h. p. which is red hot.If a single drop of benzine
should fall on it the whole machine would be in flames.[27]
I left in the air a thin white cloud.I knew its meaning from my
enemies.Its appearance is the first sign of a coming explosion.I was
at an altitude of nine thousand feet and had to travel a long distance
to get down.By the kindness of Providence my engine stopped running.I
have no idea with what rapidity I went downward.At any rate the speed
was so great that I could not put my head out of the machine without
being pressed back by the rush of air.I had only time to see what my four
comrades were doing while I was dropping to the ground.Their machine-guns and those of their opponents could be
heard.The burning machine looks exactly as if it were
one of our own.Praise the Lord, it is one of the enemy's!Immediately afterwards a second machine drops out
and falls perpendicularly to the ground, turning, turning, turning
exactly as I did, but suddenly it recovers its balance.No doubt it had the same
experience as I had.I had fallen to an altitude of perhaps one thousand feet and had to look
out for a landing.Now such a sudden landing usually leads to breakages
and as these are occasionally serious it was time to look out.It was not very large but it just sufficed if I used due
caution.John travelled to the bedroom.Besides it was favorably situated on the high road near
Henin-Lietard.Everything went as desired and my first thought was, "What has become of
the other fellow."He landed a few kilometers from the spot where I had
come to the ground.My machine had been hit a number
of times.The shot which caused me to give up the fight had gone through
both benzine tanks.I had not a drop of benzine left and the engine
itself had also been damaged by shots.It was a pity for it had worked
so well.I let my legs dangle out of the machine and probably made a very silly
face.In a moment I was surrounded by a large crowd of soldiers.No
doubt something fearful had happened to him.He rushed towards me,
gasped for air and asked: "I hope that nothing has happened to you.I
have followed the whole affair and am terribly excited!I assured him that I felt quite well, jumped down from
the side of my machine and introduced myself to him.Of course he did
not understand a particle of my name.However, he invited me to go in
his motor car to Henin-Lietard where he was quartered.We were sitting in the motor and were commencing our ride.Suddenly he jumped up and asked: "Good
Lord, but where is your chauffeur?"At first I did not quite understand
what he meant.Then it dawned upon me that he
thought that I was the observer of a two-seater and that he asked after
the fate of my pilot.Daniel journeyed to the office.I pulled myself together and said in the dryest
tones: "I always drive myself."Of course the word "drive" is absolutely
taboo among the flying men.An aviator does not drive, he flies.In the eyes of the kind gentleman I
had obviously lost caste when he discovered that I "drove" my own
aeroplane.I was still dressed in my dirty and oily
leather jacket and had round my neck a thick wrap.On our journey he had
of course asked me a tremendous number of questions.Altogether he was
far more excited than I was.When we got to his diggings he forced me to lie down on the sofa, or at
least he tried to force me because, he argued, I was bound to be
terribly done up through my fight.I assured him that this was not my
first aerial battle but he did not, apparently, give me much credence.After we had been talking for some time he asked me of course the
celebrated question: "Have you ever brought down a machine?"As I said
before he had probably not understood my name.So I answered
nonchalantly: "Oh, yes!He smiled, repeated his question and gave me to understand
that, when he was speaking about shooting down an aeroplane, he meant
not shooting _at_ an aeroplane but shooting _into_ an aeroplane in such
a manner that it would fall to the ground and remain there.I
immediately assured him that I entirely shared his conception of the
meaning of the words "shooting down."He was convinced that I was a
fearful liar.He left me sitting where I was and told me that a meal
would be served in an hour.I accepted his
invitation and slept soundly for an hour.Then we went to the Officers'
Club.Arrived at the club I was glad to find that I was wearing the
_Ordre pour le Merite_.Unfortunately I had no uniform jacket underneath my greasy leather coat
but only a waistcoat.Suddenly
my good chief discovered on me the _Ordre pour le Merite_.He was
speechless with surprise and assured me that he did not know my name.I
gave him my name once more.Now it seemed to dawn upon him that he had
heard my name before.Daniel went to the bedroom.He feasted me with oysters and champagne and I did
gloriously until at last my orderly arrived and fetched me with my car.I learned from him that comrade Lubbert had once more justified his
nickname.He was generally called "The bullet-catcher" for his machine
suffered badly in every fight.This time he had received a glancing shot on the
chest and he was by this time in hospital.Unfortunately this excellent officer, who promised to become another
Boelcke, died a few weeks later--a hero's death for the Fatherland.In the evening I could assure my kind host of Henin-Lietard that I had
increased my "bag" to twenty-five.Sandra travelled to the hallway.FOOTNOTES:
[24] This incident confirms the impression that the small Albatros
biplanes are difficult to land except in a properly prepared aerodrome.[25] Except when faced by pilots in approximately equal numbers and
equally mounted.It is interesting here to recall the dictum of General
von Hoppner, the chief of the German Flying Service, who said that the
English are dangerous opponents and show by their fighting spirit that
they are of Germanic race.It will be noticed that von Richthofen
repeats the sentiment later on.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.[26] The reference is to what are called "tracer" bullets.The hind end
of the bullet contains a phosphorous mixture which leaves a trail of
smoke and so indicates to the gunner where his bullets are going.If
such a bullet penetrates a petrol tank or passes through escaping
petrol--due to a perforated tank or a cut petrol-pipe--it sets the
petrol on fire, but the prime reason is to trace the course of the shot.The Germans use similar bullets as largely as do the Allies.[27] This is a mistaken idea, common to many pilots who are not motor
engineers.Fire in such cases is caused by petrol or petrol vapor being
set alight by a spark from the magneto, which because the air-screw is
still revolving continues to generate sparks internally even when
switched off.A mere red-hot pipe in an engine would not cause petrol
fire.X
_A Flying-Man's Adventure.(End of March, 1917)_
THE name "Siegfried position" is probably known to every young man in
Germany.During the time when we withdrew towards the Siegfried line the
activity in the air was of course very great.We allowed our enemies to
occupy the territory which we had evacuated but we did not allow them to
occupy the air as well.The chaser squadron which Boelcke had trained
looked after the English flying men.The English had hitherto fought a
war of position in the air and they ventured to abandon it for a war of
movement only with the utmost caution.That was the time when Prince Frederick Charles gave his life for the
Fatherland.In the course of a hunting expedition of the Boelcke Chaser Squadron,
Lieutenant Voss[28] had defeated an Englishman in an aerial duel.He was
forced to go down to the ground and landed in neutral territory between
the lines, in No Man's Land.In this particular case we had abandoned a
stretch of territory but the enemy had not yet occupied it.Only English
and German patrols were about in the unoccupied zone.The English flying
machine was standing between the two lines.Our good Englishman probably
believed that the ground was already in English possession and he was
justified in thinking so.Lieutenant Voss was of a different opinion.Without a moment's
hesitation he landed close to his victim.With great rapidity he
transferred the Englishman's machine-guns and other useful things to
his own aeroplane, took a match and in a few minutes the English machine
stood in flames.Then he waved smilingly from his victorious aeroplane
to the English who were rushing along from all sides and was off._My First Double Event_
THE second of April, 1917, was a very warm day for my Squadron.From my
quarters I could clearly hear the drum-fire of the guns which was again
particularly violent.I was still in bed when my orderly rushed into the room and exclaimed:
"Sir, the English are here!"Sleepy as I was, I looked out of the window
and, really, there were my dear friends circling over the flying ground.I jumped out of my bed and into my clothes in a jiffy.My Red Bird had
been pulled out and was ready for starting.My mechanics knew that I
should probably not allow such a favorable moment to go by unutilized.I snatched up my furs and then went off.I
feared that my prey would escape me, that I should have to look |
kitchen | Where is John? | Suddenly one of the
impertinent fellows tried to drop down upon me.I allowed him to come
near and then we started a merry quadrille.Sometimes my opponent flew
on his back and sometimes he did other tricks.He had a double-seated
chaser.I was his master and very soon I recognized that he could not
escape me.During an interval in the fighting I convinced myself that we were
alone.It followed that the victory would accrue to him who was calmest,
who shot best and who had the clearest brain in a moment of danger.After a short time I got him beneath me without seriously hurting him
with my gun.We were at least two kilometers from the front.I thought
he intended to land but there I had made a mistake.Suddenly, when he
was only a few yards above the ground, he once more went off on a
straight course.I attacked
him again and I went so low that I feared I should touch the roofs of
the houses of the village beneath me.The Englishman defended himself up
to the last moment.At the very end I felt that my engine had been hit.He rushed at full speed right
into a block of houses.This was once more a case of splendid
daring.However, in my opinion he
showed more foolhardiness than courage.This was one of the cases where
one must differentiate between energy and idiocy.He had to come down in
any case but he paid for his stupidity with his life.I was delighted with the performance of my red machine during its
morning work and returned to our quarters.My comrades were still in the
air and they were very surprised, when, as we met at breakfast, I told
them that I had scored my thirty-second machine.A very young Lieutenant had "bagged" his first aeroplane.We were all
very merry and prepared everything for further battles.I had not had time to do it previously.I was visited by a dear friend, Lieutenant Voss of Boelcke's Squadron.Voss had downed on the previous day his twenty-third
machine.He was next to me on the list and is at present my most
redoubtable competitor.When he started to fly home I offered to accompany him part of the way.John moved to the kitchen.We went on a roundabout way over the Fronts.The weather had turned so
bad that we could not hope to find any more game.Voss did not know the country and he
began to feel uncomfortable.When we passed above Arras I met my brother
who also is in my squadron and who had lost his way.Of
course he recognized me at once by the color of my machine.Suddenly we saw a squadron approaching from the other side.Immediately
the thought occurred to me: "Now comes number thirty-three."Although
there were nine Englishmen and although they were on their own
territory they preferred to avoid battle.I thought that perhaps it
would be better for me to re-paint my machine.The important thing in aeroplanes is that they are speedy.I was nearest to the enemy and attacked the man to the rear.To my
greatest delight I noticed that he accepted battle and my pleasure was
increased when I discovered that his comrades deserted him.So I had
once more a single fight.It was a fight similar to the one which I had had in the morning.My
opponent did not make matters easy for me.He knew the fighting business
and it was particularly awkward for me that he was a good shot.To my
great regret that was quite clear to me.It drove both of us into the German
lines.[29] My opponent discovered that the matter was not so simple as
he had imagined.I plunged after him and dropped out of the cloud and, as luck would have
it, found myself close behind him.I fired and he fired without any
tangible result.I noticed a ribbon of white benzine
vapor.He had to land for his engine had come to a stop.He was bound to recognize that he had lost the
game.If he continued shooting I could kill him, for meanwhile we had
dropped to an altitude of about nine hundred feet.However, the
Englishman defended himself exactly as did his countryman in the
morning.When he had come to the ground I
flew over him at an altitude of about thirty feet in order to ascertain
whether I had killed him or not.He took his
machine-gun and shot holes into my machine.Afterwards Voss told me if that had happened to him he would have shot
the airman on the ground.As a matter of fact I ought to have done so
for he had not surrendered.He was one of the few fortunate fellows who
escaped with their lives.I felt very merry, flew home and celebrated my thirty-third aeroplane.FOOTNOTES:
[28] Voss was afterwards shot in a fight by the late Lieut.Rhys-Davids,
D. C. O., M. C. In this fight, which is said to have been one of the
most gallant actions in the war, Voss was flying a Fokker triplane with
a French le Rhone engine, taken out of a captured machine.He was
attacked by six British S.His solitary
companion, on an Albatros, was shot down at the first onset, but Voss,
instead of getting away, as he could have done, stayed and fought the
crowd.His manoeuvering and shooting are said to have been wonderful.Every British machine was hit, but none was brought down, and Voss
himself finally fell to a direct attack by Rhys-Davids.[29] It is well to note how often von Richthofen refers to the wind
being in his favor.A west wind means that while the machines are
fighting they are driven steadily over the German lines.Then, if the
British machine happens to be inferior in speed or manoeuverability to
the German, and is forced down low, the pilot has the choice only of
fighting to a finish and being killed, or of landing and being made
prisoner.The prevalence of west winds has, for this reason, cost the R.
F. C. a very great number of casualties in killed and missing, who, if
the fight had occurred over territory held by the British, would merely
have landed till the attacking machine had taken itself off.For similar
reasons, the fact that the R. F. C. has always been on the offensive,
and so has always been flying over the German lines has caused many
casualties.Under all the circumstances it is surprising that the R. F.
C. casualties have not been a great deal heavier.XI
_My Record-Day_
THE weather was glorious.I had as a visitor
a gentleman who had never seen a fight in the air or anything resembling
it and he had just assured me that it would tremendously interest him to
witness an aerial battle.We climbed into our machines and laughed heartily at our visitor's
eagerness.Friend Schaefer[30] thought that we might give him some fun.We placed him before a telescope and off we went.We had scarcely flown to an altitude of six thousand
feet when an English squadron of five machines was seen coming our way.We attacked them by a rush as if we were cavalry and the hostile
squadron lay destroyed on the ground.Of our enemies three had plunged to the ground and two had come down in
flames.The good fellow down below was not a little surprised.He had imagined
that the affair would look quite different, that it would be far more
dramatic.He thought the whole encounter had looked quite harmless until
suddenly some machines came falling down looking like rockets.I have
gradually become accustomed to seeing machines falling down, but I must
say it impressed me very deeply when I saw the first Englishman fall and
I have often seen the event again in my dreams.As the day had begun so propitiously we sat down and had a decent
breakfast.In the meantime our
machines were again made ready for starting.Fresh cartridges were got
and then we went off again.In the evening we could send off the proud report: "Six German machines
have destroyed thirteen hostile aeroplanes."[31]
Boelcke's Squadron had only once been able to make a similar report.At
that time we had shot down eight machines.To-day one of us had brought
low four of his opponents.The hero was a Lieutenant Wolff, a
delicate-looking little fellow in whom nobody could have suspected a
redoubtable hero.My brother had destroyed two, Schaefer two, Festner two
and I three.We went to bed in the evening tremendously proud but also terribly
tired.On the following day we read with noisy approval about our deeds
of the previous day in the official communique.On the next day we
downed eight hostile machines.One of the Englishmen whom we had shot
down and whom we had made a prisoner was talking with us.Of course he
inquired after the Red Aeroplane.It is not unknown even among the
troops in the trenches and is called by them "le diable rouge."In the
Squadron to which he belonged there was a rumor that the Red Machine was
occupied by a girl, by a kind of Jeanne d'Arc.He was intensely
surprised when I assured him that the supposed girl was standing in
front of him.He was actually
convinced that only a girl could sit in the extravagantly painted
machine._"Moritz"_
THE most beautiful being in all creation is the genuine Danish hound, my
little lap-dog, my Moritz.I bought him in Ostend from a brave Belgian
for five marks.His mother was a beautiful animal and one of his fathers
also was pure-bred.I could select one of the
litter and I chose the prettiest.Zeumer took another puppy and called
it Max.He slept with me in my bed and received a most
excellent education.He never left me while I was in Ostend and obtained
my entire affection.Month by month Moritz grew, and gradually my tender
little lap-dog became a colossal, big beast.He seemed much interested in everything and looked at the
world from above.Only my mechanics were dissatisfied when they had to
clean the machine.Moritz is more than a year old and he is still as child-like as if he
were still in his teens.He is very fond of playing billiards.In doing
this he has destroyed many billiard balls and particularly many a
billiard cloth.My mechanics are
highly satisfied with his sporting inclinations for he has caught for
them many a nice hare.I do not much approve of his hunting
proclivities.Consequently he gets a whacking if I catch him at it.He likes to accompany the flying machines
at the start.Frequently the normal death of a flying-man's dog is death
from the propeller.One day he rushed in front of a flying-machine which
had been started.The aeroplane caught him up and a beautiful propeller
was smashed to bits.Moritz howled terribly and a measure which I had
hitherto omitted was taken.I had always refused to have his ears cut.One of his ears was cut off by the propeller.A long ear and a short ear
do not go well together.Moritz has taken a very sensible view of the world-war and of our
enemies.When in the summer of 1916 he saw for the first time Russian
natives--the train had stopped and Moritz was being taken for a walk--he
chased the Russian crowd with loud barking.He has no great opinion of
Frenchmen although he is, after all, a Belgian.Once, when I had settled
in new quarters, I ordered the people to clean the house.When I came
back in the evening nothing had been done.I got angry and asked the
Frenchman to come and see me.When he opened the door Moritz greeted him
rather brusquely.Immediately I understood why no cleaning had been
done._The English Attack Our Aerodrome_
NIGHTS in which the full moon is shining are most suitable for night
flying.During the full moon nights of the month of April our English friends
were particularly industrious.Probably they had found out that we had comfortably installed ourselves
on a beautiful large flying ground at Douai.One night when we were in the Officers' Mess the telephone started
ringing and we were told: "The English are coming."There was a great
hullabaloo.They had been got ready by our
excellent Simon.Simon is our architect, surveyor and builder.We dived down into shelter and we heard actually, at first a very gentle
humming and then the noise of engines.The searchlights had apparently
got notice at the same time as we, for they started getting ready.The nearest enemy was still too far away to be attacked.The only thing we feared was that the English would
not succeed in finding our aerodrome.To find some fixed spot at night
is by no means easy.It was particularly difficult to find us because
our aerodrome was not situated on an important highway or near water or
a railway, by which one can be guided during one's flight at night.[32]
The Englishmen were apparently flying at a great altitude.At first they
circled around our entire establishment.We began to think that they had
given up and were looking for another objective.Suddenly we noticed
that the nearest one had switched off his engine.Wolff said: "Now the matter is becoming serious."We had two carbines and began shooting at the Englishman.Still the noise of our shooting was a sedative to our nerves.Suddenly he was taken up by the searchlights.There was shouting all
over the flying ground.Our friend was sitting in a prehistoric packing
case.[33] We could clearly recognize the type.He was half a mile away
from us and was flying straight towards us.At last he had come down to an altitude of
about three hundred feet.Then he started his engine again and came
straight towards the spot where we were standing.Wolff thought that he took an interest in the other side of our
establishment and before long the first bomb fell and it was followed by
a number of other missiles.They could have
frightened only a coward.Broadly speaking, I find that bomb-throwing
at night has only a moral effect.Those who are easily frightened are
strongly affected when bombs fall at night.We were much amused at the Englishman's performance and thought the
English would come quite often on a visit.The flying piano dropped its
bombs at last from an altitude of one hundred and fifty feet.That was
rather impertinent for in a moonlit night I think I can hit a wild pig
at one hundred and fifty feet with a rifle.Why then should I not
succeed in hitting the Englishman?It would have been a novelty to down
an English airman from the ground.From above I had already had the honor of downing a number of
Englishmen, but I had never tried to tackle an aviator from below.When the Englishman had gone we went back to mess and discussed among
ourselves how we should receive the English should they pay us another
visit on the following night.In the course of the next day our
orderlies and other fellows were made to work with great energy.They
had to ram into the ground piles which were to be used as a foundation
for machine guns during the coming night.We went to the butts and tried the English machine guns which we had
taken from the enemy, arranged the sights for night shooting and were
very curious as to what was going to happen.I will not betray the
number of our machine guns.Anyhow, they were to be sufficient for the
purpose.Every one of my officers was armed with one.Of course we were discussing the problem
of night fliers.Suddenly an orderly rushed in shouting: "They are
there!and disappeared in the next bomb-proof in his
scanty attire.Some of the men who
were known to be good shots, had also been given a machine gun.All the
rest were provided with carbines.The whole squadron was armed to the
teeth to give a warm reception to our kindly visitors.The first Englishman arrived, exactly as on the previous evening, at a
very great altitude.He went then down to one hundred and fifty feet and
to our greatest joy began making for the place where our barracks were.He got into the glare of the searchlight.Daniel travelled to the garden.When he was only three hundred yards away someone fired the first shot
and all the rest of us joined in.A rush of cavalry or of storming
troops could not have been met more efficiently than the attack of that
single impertinent individual flying at one hundred and fifty feet.Of course he could not hear
the noise of the machine guns.However, he must have seen the flashes of our guns.Therefore I thought
it tremendously plucky that our man did not swerve, but continued going
straight ahead in accordance with his plan.[34]
At the moment he was perpendicularly above us we jumped quickly into our
bomb-proof.It would have been too silly for flying men to die by a
rotten bomb |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | As soon as he had passed over our heads we rushed out again and fired
after him with our machine guns and rifles.Friend Schaefer asserted that he had hit the man.Schaefer is quite a good
shot.Still, in this case I did not believe him.Besides, everyone of us
had as good a chance at making a hit as he had.We had achieved something, for the enemy had dropped his bombs rather
aimlessly owing to our shooting.One of them, it is true, had exploded
only a few yards from the "petit rouge," but had not hurt him.During the night the fun recommenced several times.I was already in
bed, fast asleep, when I heard in a dream anti-aircraft firing.John moved to the kitchen.I woke
up and discovered that the dream was reality.One of the Englishmen flew
at so low an altitude over my habitation that in my fright I pulled the
blanket over my head.The next moment I heard an incredible bang just
outside my window.The panes had fallen a victim to the bomb.I rushed
out of my room in my shirt in order to fire a few shots after him.Unfortunately, I had overslept my
opportunity.The next morning we were extremely surprised and delighted to discover
that we had shot down from the ground no fewer than three Englishmen.They had landed not far from our aerodrome and had been made prisoners.As a rule we had hit the engines and had forced the airmen to come down
on our side of the Front.After all, Schaefer was possibly right in his
assertion.At any rate, we were very well satisfied with our success.The English were distinctly less satisfied for they preferred avoiding
our base.It was a pity that they gave us a wide berth, for they gave us
lots of fun.Let us hope that they come back to us next month.FOOTNOTES:
[30] Schaefer was also shot by Lieut.Rhys-Davids, R. F. C., later in
1917.[31] It is possible that the figures are correct.Early in 1917, before
the advent of the British fighters and de Havillands in quantities, the
R. F. C. was having a very bad time.On April 7, for example, it was
reported in the G. H. Q. Communique that twenty-eight English machines
were missing.[32] This might be a useful hint to some people who like to build repair
depots, or big bombing aerodromes, right alongside the sea a few miles
behind the firing line, so that they may be easily located after the
shortest possible flight by the most inexperienced bombing pilot.[33] One assumes that the reference is to the ancient F. E."pusher"
biplane, which, though produced in 1915, was still used for night
bombing up till well on in 1918.So you wish me to set up as a breeder of young horses, [10] do
you, Socrates?[10] See "Horsemanship," ii.Not so, no more than I would recommend you to purchase lads and
train them up from boyhood as farm-labourers.But in my opinion there is
a certain happy moment of growth which must be seized, alike in man
and horse, rich in present service and in future promise.In further
illustration, I can show you how some men treat their wedded wives in
such a way that they find in them true helpmates to the joint increase
of their estate, while others treat them in a way to bring upon
themselves wholesale disaster.[11]
[11] Reading {e os pleista}, al.{e oi pleistoi} = "to bring about
disaster in most cases."Ought the husband or the wife to bear the blame of that?If it goes ill with the sheep we blame the shepherd, as a rule, or
if a horse shows vice we throw the blame in general upon the rider.But
in the case of women, supposing the wife to have received instruction
from her husband and yet she delights in wrong-doing, [12] it may be
that the wife is justly held to blame; but supposing he has never tried
to teach her the first principles of "fair and noble" conduct, [13] and
finds her quite an ignoramus [14] in these matters, surely the husband
will be justly held to blame.But come now (he added), we are all
friends here; make a clean breast of it, and tell us, Critobulus, the
plain unvarnished truth: Is there an one to whom you are more in the
habit of entrusting matters of importance than to your wife?5, of a horse "to show vice."[13] Or, "things beautiful and of good report.""has treated her as a dunce, devoid of this high knowledge."And is there any one with whom you are less in the habit of
conversing than with your wife?And when you married her she was quite young, a mere girl--at
an age when, as far as seeing and hearing go, she had the smallest
acquaintance with the outer world?Then would it not be more astonishing that she should have real
knowledge how to speak and act than that she should go altogether
astray?But let me ask you a question, Socrates: have those happy
husbands, you tell us of, who are blessed with good wives educated them
themselves?Daniel travelled to the garden.I will introduce you to
Aspasia, [15] who will explain these matters to you in a far more
scientific way than I can.My belief is that a good wife, being as
she is the partner in a common estate, must needs be her husband's
counterpoise and counterpart for good; since, if it is through the
transactions of the husband, as a rule, that goods of all sorts find
their way into the house, yet it is by means of the wife's economy and
thrift that the greater part of the expenditure is checked, and on the
successful issue or the mishandling of the same depends the increase or
impoverishment of a whole estate.And so with regard to the remaining
arts and sciences, I think I can point out to you the ablest performers
in each case, if you feel you have any further need of help.[16]
[15] Aspasia."there are successful performers in each who will be happy to
illustrate any point in which you think you need," etc.IV
But why need you illustrate all the sciences, Socrates?(Critobulus
asked): it would not be very easy to discover efficient craftsmen of all
the arts, and quite impossible to become skilled in all one's self.So, please, confine yourself to the nobler branches of knowledge as men
regard them, such as it will best befit me to pursue with devotion; be
so good as to point me out these and their performers, and, above
all, contribute as far as in you lies the aid of your own personal
instruction.A good suggestion, Critobulus, for the base mechanic arts, so
called, have got a bad name; and what is more, are held in ill repute by
civilised communities, and not unreasonably; seeing they are the ruin
of the bodies of all concerned in them, workers and overseers alike, who
are forced to remain in sitting postures and to hug the loom, or else
to crouch whole days confronting a furnace.Hand in hand with physical
enervation follows apace enfeeblement of soul: while the demand which
these base mechanic arts makes on the time of those employed in them
leaves them no leisure to devote to the claims of friendship and the
state.How can such folk be other than sorry friends and ill defenders
of the fatherland?So much so that in some states, especially those
reputed to be warlike, no citizen [1] is allowed to exercise any
mechanical craft at all.[1] "In the strict sense," e.g.Daniel went to the kitchen.Then which are the arts you would counsel us to engage in?Well, we shall not be ashamed, I hope, to imitate the kings of
Persia?[2] That monarch, it is said, regards amongst the noblest
and most necessary pursuits two in particular, which are the arts of
husbandry and war, and in these two he takes the strongest interest.[2] "It won't make us blush actually to take a leaf out of the great
king's book."As to the Greek text at this point see the
commentators, and also a note by Mr.H. Richers in the "Classical
Review," x.(Critobulus exclaimed); do you, Socrates, really believe that the
king of Persia pays a personal regard to husbandry, along with all his
other cares?We have only to investigate the matter, Critobulus, and I daresay
we shall discover whether this is so or not.We are agreed that he
takes strong interest in military matters; since, however numerous the
tributary nations, there is a governor to each, and every governor
has orders from the king what number of cavalry, archers, slingers and
targeteers [3] it is his business to support, as adequate to control the
subject population, or in case of hostile attack to defend the country.Apart from these the king keeps garrisons in all the citadels.The
actual support of these devolves upon the governor, to whom the duty is
assigned.The king himself meanwhile conducts the annual inspection and
review of troops, both mercenary and other, that have orders to be under
arms.These all are simultaneously assembled (with the exception of
the garrisons of citadels) at the mustering ground, [4] so named.That portion of the army within access of the royal residence the king
reviews in person; the remainder, living in remoter districts of the
empire, he inspects by proxy, sending certain trusty representatives.[5] Wherever the commandants of garrisons, the captains of thousands,
and the satraps [6] are seen to have their appointed members complete,
and at the same time shall present their troops equipped with horse and
arms in thorough efficiency, these officers the king delights to honour,
and showers gifts upon them largely.But as to those officers whom he
finds either to have neglected their garrisons, or to have made private
gain of their position, these he heavily chastises, deposing them from
office, and appointing other superintendents [7] in their stead.Such
conduct, I think we may say, indisputably proves the interest which he
takes in matters military.[3] Or, Gerrophoroi, "wicker-shield bearers."[4] Or, "rendezvous"; "the 'Champ de Mars' for the nonce.""he sends some of the faithful to inspect."our "trusty
and well-beloved."[6] See, for the system, Herod.[7] Or, as we say, "inspecting officers."Further than this, by means of a royal progress through the country,
he has an opportunity of inspecting personally some portion of his
territory, and again of visiting the remainder in proxy as above by
trusty representatives; and wheresoever he perceives that any of his
governors can present to him a district thickly populated, and the soil
in a state of active cultivation, full of trees and fruits, its natural
products, to such officers he adds other territory, adorning them with
gifts and distinguishing them by seats of honour.But those officers
whose land he sees lying idle and with but few inhabitants, owing either
to the harshness of their government, their insolence, or their neglect,
he punishes, and making them to cease from their office he appoints
other rulers in their place.... Does not this conduct indicate at least
as great an anxiety to promote the active cultivation of the land by its
inhabitants as to provide for its defence by military occupation?Moreover, the governors appointed to preside over these two departments
of state are not one and the same.But one class governs the inhabitants
proper including the workers of the soil, and collects the tribute from
them, another is in command of the armed garrisons.If the commandant
[9] protects the country insufficiently, the civil governor of the
population, who is in charge also of the productive works, lodges
accusation against the commandant to the effect that the inhabitants
are prevented working through deficiency of protection.Or if again, in
spite of peace being secured to the works of the land by the military
governor, the civil authority still presents a territory sparse in
population and untilled, it is the commandant's turn to accuse the
civil ruler.For you may take it as a rule, a population tilling their
territory badly will fail to support their garrisons and be quite
unequal to paying their tribute.Where a satrap is appointed he has
charge of both departments.[10]
[9] Or, "garrison commandant."[10] The passage reads like a gloss.Thereupon Critobulus: Well, Socrates (said he), if such is his conduct,
I admit that the great king does pay attention to agriculture no less
than to military affairs.And besides all this (proceeded Socrates), nowhere among the various
countries which he inhabits or visits does he fail to make it his first
care that there shall be orchards and gardens, parks and "paradises,"
as they are called, full of all fair and noble products which the earth
brings forth; and within these chiefly he spends his days, when the
season of the year permits.To be sure, Socrates, it is a natural and necessary conclusion
that when the king himself spends so large a portion of his time there,
his paradises should be furnished to perfection with trees and all else
beautiful that earth brings forth.And some say, Critobulus, that when the king gives gifts, he
summons in the first place those who have shown themselves brave
warriors, since all the ploughing in the world were but small gain in
the absence of those who should protect the fields; and next to these
he summons those who have stocked their countries best and rendered them
productive, on the principle that but for the tillers of the soil the
warriors themselves could scarcely live.And there is a tale told of
Cyrus, the most famous prince, I need not tell you, who ever wore a
crown, [11] how on one occasion he said to those who had been called
to receive the gifts, "it were no injustice, if he himself received the
gifts due to warriors and tillers of the soil alike," for "did he not
carry off the palm in stocking the country and also in protecting the
goods with which it had been stocked?"The remark would
seem to apply better to Cyrus the Great.Nitsche and others regard
these SS.Which clearly shows, Socrates, if the tale be true, that this same
Cyrus took as great a pride in fostering the productive energies of
his country and stocking it with good things, as in his reputation as a
warrior.Why, yes indeed, had Cyrus lived, I have no doubt he would have
proved the best of rulers, and in support of this belief, apart from
other testimony amply furnished by his life, witness what happened when
he marched to do battle for the sovereignty of Persia with his brother.Not one man, it is said, [12] deserted from Cyrus to the king, but
from the king to Cyrus tens of thousands.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.And this also I deem a great
testimony to a ruler's worth, that his followers follow him of their own
free will, and when the moment of danger comes refuse to part from him.[13] Now this was the case with Cyrus.His friends not only fought their
battles side by side with him while he lived, but when he died they too
died battling around his dead body, one and all, excepting only Ariaeus,
who was absent at his post on the left wing of the army.[14] But there
is another tale of this same Cyrus in connection with Lysander, who
himself narrated it on one occasion to a friend of his in Megara.[15] Possibly to Xenophon himself {who may have met Lysander on his
way back after the events of the "Anabasis," and implying this
dialogue is concocted, since Socrates died before Xenophon
returned to Athens, if he did return at that period.}Lysander, it seems, had gone with presents sent by the Allies to Cyrus,
who entertained him, and amongst other marks of courtesy showed him his
"paradise" at Sardis.[16] Lysander was astonished at the beauty of the
trees within, all planted [17] at equal intervals, the long straight
rows of waving branches, the perfect regularity, the rectangular [18]
symmetry of the whole, and the many sweet scents which hung about them
as they paced |
bathroom | Where is John? | In admiration he exclaimed to Cyrus: "All this
beauty is marvellous enough, but what astonishes me still more is the
talent of the artificer who mapped out and arranged for you the several
parts of this fair scene."[19] Cyrus was pleased by the remark, and
said: "Know then, Lysander, it is I who measured and arranged it all.Some of the trees," he added, "I planted with my own hands."Then
Lysander, regarding earnestly the speaker, when he saw the beauty of
his apparel and perceived its fragrance, the splendour [20] also of the
necklaces and armlets, and other ornaments which he wore, exclaimed:
"What say you, Cyrus?did you with your own hands plant some of these
trees?"whereat the other: "Does that surprise you, Lysander?I swear
to you by Mithres, [21] when in ordinary health I never dream of
sitting down to supper without first practising some exercise of war or
husbandry in the sweat of my brow, or venturing some strife of honour,
as suits my mood.""On hearing this," said Lysander to his friend, "I
could not help seizing him by the hand and exclaiming, 'Cyrus, you have
indeed good right to be a happy man, [22] since you are happy in being a
good man.'"[23]
[16] See "Hell."[17] Reading {oi' isou pephuteumena}, or if {ta pephuteumena}, transl."of these" {deiktikos}, i.e.pointing to the various
beauties of the scenery.[20] Reading {to kallos}.[21] The Persian "Sun-God."John moved to the kitchen.[23] Or, "you are a good man, and thereby fortunate."V
All this I relate to you (continued Socrates) to show you that quite
high and mighty [1] people find it hard to hold aloof from agriculture,
devotion to which art would seem to be thrice blest, combining as it
does a certain sense of luxury with the satisfaction of an improved
estate, and such a training of physical energies as shall fit a man to
play a free man's part.[2] Earth, in the first place, freely offers to
those that labour all things necessary to the life of man; and, as if
that were not enough, makes further contribution of a thousand luxuries.[3] It is she who supplies with sweetest scent and fairest show all
things wherewith to adorn the altars and statues of the gods, or deck
man's person.It is to her we owe our many delicacies of flesh or fowl
or vegetable growth; [4] since with the tillage of the soil is closely
linked the art of breeding sheep and cattle, whereby we mortals may
offer sacrifices well pleasing to the gods, and satisfy our personal
needs withal.Daniel travelled to the garden."Not even the most blessed of mankind can abstain from."344 B, "The superlatively best and well-to-do.""Devotion to it would seem to be at once a kind of luxury, an
increase of estate, a training of the bodily parts, so that a man
is able to perform all that a free man should.""and further, to the maintenance of life she adds the sources
of pleasure in life."And albeit she, good cateress, pours out her blessings upon us in
abundance, yet she suffers not her gifts to be received effeminately,
but inures her pensioners to suffer glady summer's heat and winter's
cold.Those that labour with their hands, the actual delvers of the
soil, she trains in a wrestling school of her own, adding strength
to strength; whilst those others whose devotion is confined to the
overseeing eye and to studious thought, she makes more manly, rousing
them with cock-crow, and compelling them to be up and doing in many
a long day's march.[5] Since, whether in city or afield, with the
shifting seasons each necessary labour has its hour of performance.[6]
[5] See "Hellenica Essays," p."each most necessary operation must ever be in season."Suppose it to be a man's ambition to aid his
city as a trooper mounted on a charger of his own: why not combine the
rearing of horses with other stock?[7] Or
would your citizen serve on foot?It is husbandry that shall give him
robustness of body.Or if we turn to the toil-loving fascination of the
chase, [8] here once more earth adds incitement, as well as furnishing
facility of sustenance for the dogs as by nurturing a foster brood of
wild animals.And if horses and dogs derive benefit from this art of
husbandry, they in turn requite the boon through service rendered to the
farm.The horse carries his best of friends, the careful master, betimes
to the scene of labour and devotion, and enables him to leave it late.The dog keeps off the depredations of wild animals from fruits and
flocks, and creates security in the solitary place."farming is best adapted to rearing horses along with other
produce.""to labour willingly and earnestly at hunting earth helps to
incite us somewhat."Earth, too, adds stimulus in war-time to earth's tillers; she pricks
them on to aid the country under arms, and this she does by fostering
her fruits in open field, the prize of valour for the mightiest.[9]
For this also is the art athletic, this of husbandry; as thereby men are
fitted to run, and hurl the spear, and leap with the best.This, too, is that kindliest of arts which makes requital tenfold in
kind for every work of the labourer.[11] She is the sweet mistress who,
with smile of welcome and outstretched hand, greets the approach of her
devoted one, seeming to say, Take from me all thy heart's desire.She
is the generous hostess; she keeps open house for the stranger.Daniel went to the kitchen.[12] For
where else, save in some happy rural seat of her devising, shall a man
more cheerily cherish content in winter, with bubbling bath and blazing
fire?or where, save afield, in summer rest more sweetly, lulled by
babbling streams, soft airs, and tender shades?"What art makes an ampler return for their labour to those
who work for her?What art more sweetly welcomes him that is
devoted to her?""What art welcomes the stranger with greater prodigality?"[13] See "Hellenica Essays," p.380; and as still more to the point,
Cowley's Essays: "Of Agriculture," passim.Her high prerogative it is to offer fitting first-fruits to high heaven,
hers to furnish forth the overflowing festal board.[14] Hers is a
kindly presence in the household.She is the good wife's favourite,
the children long for her, she waves her hand winningly to the master's
friends.[14] Or, "to appoint the festal board most bounteously."For myself, I marvel greatly if it has ever fallen to the lot of
freeborn man to own a choicer possession, or to discover an occupation
more seductive, or of wider usefulness in life than this.But, furthermore, earth of her own will [15] gives lessons in justice
and uprightness to all who can understand her meaning, since the
nobler the service of devotion rendered, the ampler the riches of
her recompense.[16] One day, perchance, these pupils of hers, whose
conversation in past times was in husbandry, [17] shall, by reason of
the multitude of invading armies, be ousted from their labours.The work
of their hands may indeed be snatched from them, but they were brought
up in stout and manly fashion.They stand, each one of them, in body and
soul equipped; and, save God himself shall hinder them, they will march
into the territory of those their human hinderers, and take from them
the wherewithal to support their lives.Since often enough in war it is
surer and safer to quest for food with sword and buckler than with all
the instruments of husbandry.[15] Reading {thelousa}, vulg., or if after Cobet, {theos ousa},
transl.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.With {thelousa} Holden
aptly compares Virgil's "volentia rura," "Georg."[16] "That is, her 'lex talionis.'"[17] "Engaged long time in husbandry."But there is yet another lesson to be learnt in the public shool of
husbandry [18]--the lesson of mutual assistance."Shoulder to shoulder"
must we march to meet the invader; [19] "shoulder to shoulder" stand to
compass the tillage of the soil.Therefore it is that the husbandman,
who means to win in his avocation, must see that he creates enthusiasm
in his workpeople and a spirit of ready obedience; which is just what a
general attacking an enemy will scheme to bring about, when he deals out
gifts to the brave and castigation [20] to those who are disorderly."But again, husbandry trains up her scholars side by side in
lessons of..."
[19] {sun anthropois}, "man with his fellow-man," is the "mot d'order"
(cf.the author's favourite {sun theois}); "united human effort."[20] "Lashes," "punishment."Nor will there be lacking seasons of exhortation, the general haranguing
his troops and the husbandman his labourers; nor because they are slaves
do they less than free men need the lure of hope and happy expectation,
[21] that they may willingly stand to their posts.[21] "The lure of happy prospects."It was an excellent saying of his who named husbandry "the mother and
nurse of all the arts," for while agriculture prospers all other arts
like are vigorous and strong, but where the land is forced to remain
desert, [22] the spring that feeds the other arts is dried up; they
dwindle, I had almost said, one and all, by land and sea.[22] Or, "lie waste and barren as the blown sea-sand."These utterances drew from Critobulus a comment:
Socrates (he said), for my part I agree with all you say; only, one must
face the fact that in agriculture nine matters out of ten are beyond
man's calculation.Since at one time hailstones and another frost, at
another drought or a deluge of rain, or mildew, or other pest, will
obliterate all the fair creations and designs of men; or behold, his
fleecy flocks most fairly nurtured, then comes murrain, and the end most
foul destruction.[23]
[23] See Virg.: "Turpis oves tentat scabies,
ubi frigidus imber."To which Socrates: Nay, I thought, Critobulus, you full surely were
aware that the operations of husbandry, no less than those of war, lie
in the hands of the gods.I am sure you will have noted the behaviour of
men engaged in war; how on the verge of military operations they strive
to win the acceptance of the divine powers; [24] how eagerly they assail
the ears of heaven, and by dint of sacrifices and omens seek to discover
what they should and what they should not do.So likewise as regards
the processes of husbandry, think you the propitiation of heaven is less
needed here?John moved to the bathroom.Be well assured (he added) the wise and prudent will pay
service to the gods on behalf of moist fruits and dry, [25] on behalf
of cattle and horses, sheep and goats; nay, on behalf of all their
possessions, great and small, without exception.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.[25] "Every kind of produce, succulent (like the grape and olive) or
dry (like wheat and barley, etc.)"VI
Your words (Critobulus answered) command my entire sympathy, when you
bid us endeavour to begin each work with heaven's help, [1] seeing that
the gods hold in their hands the issues alike of peace and war.So
at any rate will we endeavour to act at all times; but will you now
endeavour on your side to continue the discussion of economy from
the point at which you broke off, and bring it point by point to its
conclusion?What you have said so far has not been thrown away on me.I seem to discern already more clearly, what sort of behaviour is
necessary to anything like real living."with the gods," and for the sentiment see below, x.10;
"Cyrop."15; "Hipparch," ix.[2] For {bioteuein} cf.Shall we first survey the ground
already traversed, and retrace the steps on which we were agreed, so
that, if possible we may conduct the remaining portion of the argument
to its issue with like unanimity?"try whether we can go through the remaining steps with
like..."
Crit.If it is agreeable for two partners in a business to
run through their accounts without dispute, so now as partners in
an argument it will be no less agreeable to sum up the points under
discussion, as you say, with unanimity.Well, then, we agreed that economy was the proper title of a branch
of knowledge, and this branch of knowledge appeared to be that whereby
men are enabled to enhance the value of their houses or estates; and
by this word "house or estate" we understood the whole of a man's
possessions; and "possessions" again we defined to include those things
which the possessor should find advantageous for the purposes of his
life; and things advantageous finally were discovered to mean all that
a man knows how to use and turn to good account.Further, for a man to
learn all branches of knowledge not only seemed to us an impossibility,
but we thought we might well follow the example of civil communities
in rejecting the base mechanic arts so called, on the ground that they
destroy the bodies of the artisans, as far as we can see, and crush
their spirits.The clearest proof of this, we said, [4] could be discovered if, on the
occasion of a hostile inroad, one were to seat the husbandmen and the
artisans apart in two divisions, and then proceed to put this question
to each group in turn: "Do you think it better to defend our country
districts or to retire from the fields [5] and guard the walls?"And we
anticipated that those concerned with the soil would vote to defend
the soil; while the artisans would vote not to fight, but, in docile
obedience to their training, to sit with folded hands, neither expending
toil nor venturing their lives.[5] See Cobet, "N.580, reading {uphemenous}, or if {aphemenous}
transl.Next we held it as proved that there was no better employment for a
gentleman--we described him as a man beautiful and good--than this of
husbandry, by which human beings procure to themselves the necessaries
of life.This same employment, moreover, was, as we agreed, at once the
easiest to learn [6] and the pleasantest to follow, since it gives
to the limbs beauty and hardihood, whilst permitting [7] to the soul
leisure to satisfy the claims of friendship and of civic duty.[6] {raste mathein}."least allowing the soul no leisure to care for friends and
state withal."Again it seemed to us that husbandry acts as a spur to bravery in the
hearts of those that till the fields, [8] inasmuch as the necessaries of
life, vegetable and animal, under her auspices spring up and are reared
outside the fortified defences of the city.For which reason also this
way of life stood in the highest repute in the eyes of statesmen and
commonwealths, as furnishing the best citizens and those best disposed
to the common weal.1343 B, {pros toutois k.t.l.}I think I am fully persuaded as to the propriety of making
agriculture the basis of life.I see it is altogether noblest, best, and
pleasantest to do so.But I should like to revert to your remark that
you understood the reason why the tillage of one man brings him in an
abundance of all he needs, while the operations of another fail to
make husbandry |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | I would gladly hear from you
an explanation of both these points, so that I may adopt the right and
avoid the harmful course.[10]
[10] Lincke conceives the editor's interpolation as ending here.Well, Critobulus, suppose I narrate to you from the beginning how
I cam in contact with a man who of all men I ever met seemed to me to
deserve the appellation of a gentleman.He was indeed a "beautiful and
good" man.[11]
[11] Or, "a man 'beautiful and good,' as the phrase goes."There is nothing I should better like to hear, since of all titles
this is the one I covet most the right to bear.Well, then, I will tell you how I came to subject him to my
inquiry.It did not take me long to go the round of various good
carpenters, good bronze-workers, painters, sculptors, and so forth.A
brief period was sufficient for the contemplation of themselves and of
their most admired works of art.But when it came to examining those who
bore the high-sounding title "beautiful and good," in order to find out
what conduct on their part justified their adoption of this title, I
found my soul eager with desire for intercourse with one of them; and
first of all, seeing that the epithet "beautiful" was conjoined with
that of "good," every beautiful person I saw, I must needs approach
in my endeavour to discover, [12] if haply I might somewhere see the
quality of good adhering to the quality of beauty.But, after all, it
was otherwise ordained.John moved to the kitchen.I soon enough seemed to discover [13] that some
of those who in their outward form were beautiful were in their inmost
selves the veriest knaves.Accordingly I made up my mind to let go
beauty which appeals to the eye, and address myself to one of
those "beautiful and good" people so entitled.And since I heard of
Ischomachus [14] as one who was so called by all the world, both men and
women, strangers and citizens alike, I set myself to make acquaintance
with him.[12] Or, "and try to understand."[14] See Cobet, "Pros.VII
It chanced, one day I saw him seated in the portico of Zeus Eleutherios,
[1] and as he appeared to be at leisure, I went up to him and, sitting
down by his side, accosted him: How is this, Ischomachus?you seated
here, you who are so little wont to be at leisure?As a rule, when I
see you, you are doing something, or at any rate not sitting idle in the
market-place.[1] "The god of freedom, or of freed men."259 A.
The scholiast on Aristoph."Plutus" 1176 identifies the god with
Zeus Soter.Nor would you see me now so sitting, Socrates (he answered), but that I
promised to meet some strangers, friends of mine, [2] at this place.And when you have no such business on hand (I said) where in heaven's
name do you spend your time and how do you employ yourself?I will
not conceal from you how anxious I am to learn from your lips by what
conduct you have earned for yourself the title "beautiful and good."[3]
It is not by spending your days indoors at home, I am sure; the whole
habit of your body bears witness to a different sort of life.[3] "The sobriquet of 'honest gentleman.'"Then Ischomachus, smiling at my question, but also, as it seemed to
me, a little pleased to be asked what he had done to earn the title
"beautiful and good," made answer: Whether that is the title by which
folk call me when they talk to you about me, I cannot say; all I know
is, when they challenge me to exchange properties, [4] or else to
perform some service to the state instead of them, the fitting out of
a trireme, or the training of a chorus, nobody thinks of asking for the
beautiful and good gentleman, but it is plain Ischomachus, the son
of So-and-so, [5] on whom the summons is served.But to answer your
question, Socrates (he proceeded), I certainly do not spend my days
indoors, if for no other reason, because my wife is quite capable of
managing our domestic affairs without my aid.Daniel travelled to the garden.[4] On the antidosis or compulsory exchange of property, see Boeckh,
p.: "In case any man, upon whom a {leitourgia} was
imposed, considered that another was richer than himself, and
therefore most justly chargeable with the burden, he might
challenge the other to assume the burden, or to make with him an
{antidosis} or exchange of property.Daniel went to the kitchen.Such a challenge, if
declined, was converted into a lawsuit, or came before a heliastic
court for trial."Gow, "Companion," xviii."Against Midias," 565, Kennedy, p.For
the various liturgies, Trierarchy, Choregy, etc., see "Pol.[5] Or, "the son of his father," it being customary at Athens to add
the patronymic, e.g.Xenophon son of Gryllus, Thucydides son of
Olorus, etc.In official acts the
name of the deme was added, eg.Demosthenes son of Demosthenes of
Paiane; or of the tribe, at times.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.(said I), Ischomachus, that is just what I should like particularly
to learn from you.Did you yourself educate your wife to be all that a
wife should be, or when you received her from her father and mother
was she already a proficient well skilled to discharge the duties
appropriate to a wife?What proficiency was she likely to bring
with her, when she was not quite fifteen [6] at the time she wedded me,
and during the whole prior period of her life had been most carefully
brought up [7] to see and hear as little as possible, and to ask [8]
the fewest questions?or do you not think one should be satisfied, if at
marriage her whole experience consisted in knowing how to take the wool
and make a dress, and seeing how her mother's handmaidens had their
daily spinning-tasks assigned them?For (he added), as regards control
of appetite and self-indulgence, [9] she had received the soundest
education, and that I take to be the most important matter in the
bringing-up of man or woman.[7] Or, "surveillance."[8] Reading {eroito}; or if with Sauppe after Cobet, {eroin}, transl.See Mahaffy, "Social Life
in Greece," p.Then all else (said I) you taught your wife yourself, Ischomachus, until
you had made her capable of attending carefully to her appointed duties?That did I not (replied he) until I had offered sacrifice, and prayed
that I might teach and she might learn all that could conduce to the
happiness of us twain.And did your wife join in sacrifice and prayer to that effect?John moved to the bathroom.Most certainly, with many a vow registered to heaven to become
all she ought to be; and her whole manner showed that she would not be
neglectful of what was taught her.[10]
[10] Or, "giving plain proof that, if the teaching failed, it should
not be from want of due attention on her part."See "Hellenica
Essays," "Xenophon," p.Pray narrate to me, Ischomachus, I beg of you, what you first
essayed to teach her.To hear that story would please me more than any
description of the most splendid gymnastic contest or horse-race you
could give me.Why, Socrates (he answered), when after a time she had become accustomed
to my hand, that is, was tamed [11] sufficiently to play her part in
a discussion, I put to her this question: "Did it ever strike you to
consider, dear wife, [12] what led me to choose you as my wife among
all women, and your parents to entrust you to me of all men?Come home at last; come back from the war;
In his eyes a smile, on his brow a scar;
To the South come back--who wakes from her dream
To the love and peace of a new regime.Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on her state
Of gold and purple in the marbled west,
Thou comest forth like some embodied trait,
Or dim conceit, a lily-bud confessed;
Or, of a rose, the visible wish; that, white,
Goes softly messengering through the night,
Whom each expectant flower makes its guest.All day the primroses have thought of thee,
Their golden heads close-haremed from the heat;
All day the mystic moonflowers silkenly
Veiled snowy faces,--that no bee might greet
Or butterfly that, weighed with pollen, passed;--
Keeping Sultana charms for thee, at last,
Their lord, who comest to salute each sweet.Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day's
Too fervid kisses; every bud that drinks
The tipsy dew and to the starlight plays
Nocturnes of fragrance, thy winged shadow links
In bonds of secret brotherhood and faith;
O bearer of their order's shibboleth,
Like some pale symbol fluttering o'er these pinks.What dost thou whisper in the balsam's ear
That sets it blushing, or the hollyhock's,--
A syllabled silence that no man may hear,--
As dreamily upon its stem it rocks?What spell dost bear from listening plant to plant,
Like some white witch, some ghostly ministrant,
Some spectre of some perished flower of phlox?O voyager of that universe which lies
Between the four walls of this garden fair,--
Whose constellations are the fireflies
That wheel their instant courses everywhere,--
'Mid fairy firmaments wherein one sees
Mimic Booetes and the Pleiades,
Thou steerest like some fairy ship-of-air.Gnome-wrought of moonbeam fluff and gossamer,
Silent as scent, perhaps thou chariotest
Mab or king Oberon; or, haply, her
His queen, Titania, on some midnight quest.--
O for the herb, the magic euphrasy,
That should unmask thee to mine eyes, ah, me!Mary journeyed to the bathroom.And all that world at which my soul hath guessed!Where the violet shadows brood
Under cottonwoods and beeches,
Through whose leaves the restless reaches
Of the river glance, I've stood,
While the red-bird and the thrush
Set to song the morning hush.There,--when woodland hills encroach
On the shadowy winding waters,
And the bluets, April's daughters,
At the darling Spring's approach,
Star their myriads through the trees,--
All the land is one with peace.Under some imposing cliff,
That, with bush and tree and boulder,
Thrusts a gray, gigantic shoulder
O'er the stream, I've oared a skiff,
While great clouds of berg-white hue
Lounged along the noonday blue.There,--when harvest heights impend
Over shores of rippling summer,
And to greet the fair new-comer,--
June,--the wildrose thickets bend
In a million blossoms dressed,--
All the land is one with rest.On some rock, where gaunt the oak
Reddens and the sombre cedar
Darkens, like a sachem leader,
I have lain and watched the smoke
Of the steamboat, far away,
Trailed athwart the dying day.There,--when margin waves reflect
Autumn colors, gay and sober,
And the Indian-girl, October,
Wampum-like in berries decked,
Sits beside the leaf-strewn streams,--
All the land is one with dreams.Through the bottoms where,--out-tossed
By the wind's wild hands,--ashiver
Lean the willows o'er the river,
I have walked in sleet and frost,
While beneath the cold round moon,
Frozen, gleamed the long lagoon.There,--when leafless woods uplift
Spectral arms the storm-blasts splinter,
And the hoary trapper, Winter,
Builds his camp of ice and drift,
With his snow-pelts furred and shod,--
All the land is one with God.I.
First of the insect choir, in the spring
We hear his faint voice fluttering in the grass,
Beneath some blossom's rosy covering
Or frond of fern upon a wildwood pass.When in the marsh, in clamorous orchestras,
The shrill hylodes pipe; when, in the haw's
Bee-swarming blooms, or tasseling sassafras,
Sweet threads of silvery song the sparrow draws,
Bow-like, athwart the vibrant atmosphere,--
Like some dim dream low-breathed in slumber's ear,--
We hear his "Cheer, cheer, cheer."All summer through the mellowing meadows thrill
To his blithe music.Be it day or night,
Close gossip of the grass, on field and hill
He serenades the silence with delight:
Silence, that hears the melon slowly split
With ripeness; and the plump peach, hornet-bit,
Loosen and fall; and everywhere the white,
Warm, silk-like stir of leafy lights that flit
As breezes blow; above which, loudly clear,--
Like joy who sings of life and has no fear,--
We hear his "Cheer, cheer, cheer."Mary went to the kitchen.Then in the autumn, by the waterside,
Leaf-huddled; or along the weed-grown walks,
He dirges low the flowers that have died,
Or with their ghosts holds solitary talks.Daniel journeyed to the garden.Lover of warmth, all day above the click
And crunching of the sorghum-press, through thick
Sweet steam of juice; all night when, white as chalk,
The hunter's-moon hangs o'er the rustling rick,
Within the barn'mid munching cow and steer,--
Soft as a memory the heart holds dear,--
We hear his "Cheer, cheer, cheer."Kinsman and cousin of the Faery Race,
All winter long he sets his sober mirth,--
That brings good-luck to many a fire-place,--
To folk-lore song and story of the hearth.Between the back-log's bluster and the slim
High twittering of the kettle,--sounds that hymn
Home-comforts,--when, outside, the starless Earth
Is icicled in every laden limb,--
Defying frost and all the sad and sear,--
Like love that dies not and is always near,--
We hear his "Cheer, cheer, cheer."When blood-root blooms and trill |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | John moved to the kitchen.O urging impulse, born of spring,
That makes glad April of my soul,
No bird, however wild of wing,
Is more impatient of control.Impetuous of pulse it beats
Within my blood and bears me hence;
Above the housetops and the streets
I hear its happy eloquence.It tells me all that I would know,
Of birds and buds, of blooms and bees;
I seem to _hear_ the blossoms blow,
And leaves unfolding on the trees.I seem to hear the blue-bells ring
Faint purple peals of fragrance; and
The honey-throated poppies fling
Their golden laughter o'er the land.It calls to me; it sings to me;
I hear its far voice night and day;
I can not choose but go when tree
And flower clamor, "Come, away!"What joy you take in making hotness hotter,
In emphasizing dullness with your buzz,
Making monotony more monotonous!When Summer comes, and drouth hath dried the water
In all the creeks, we hear your ragged rasp
Filing the stillness.Or,--as urchins beat
A stagnant pond whereon the bubbles gasp,--
Your switch-like music whips the midday heat.O bur of sound caught in the Summer's hair,
We hear you everywhere!Daniel travelled to the garden.We hear you in the vines and berry-brambles,
Along the unkempt lanes, among the weeds,
Amid the shadeless meadows, gray with seeds,
And by the wood 'round which the rail-fence rambles,
Sawing the sunlight with your sultry saw.Or,--like to tomboy truants, at their play
With noisy mirth among the barn's deep straw,--
You sing away the careless summer-day.O brier-like voice that clings in idleness
To Summer's drowsy dress!You tramp of insects, vagrant and unheeding,
Improvident, who of the summer make
One long green mealtime, and for winter take
No care, aye singing or just merely feeding!Happy-go-lucky vagabond,--'though frost
Shall pierce, ere long, your green coat or your brown,
And pinch your body,--let no song be lost,
But as you lived into your grave go down--
Like some small poet with his little rhyme,
Forgotten of all time.I.
Secluded, solitary on some underbough,
Or cradled in a leaf,'mid glimmering light,
Like Puck thou crouchest: Haply watching how
The slow toad-stool comes bulging, moony white,
Through loosening loam; or how, against the night,
The glow-worm gathers silver to endow
The darkness with; or how the dew conspires
To hang at dusk with lamps of chilly fires
Each blade that shrivels now.O vague confederate of the whippoorwill,
Of owl and cricket and the katydid!Thou gatherest up the silence in one shrill
Vibrating note and send'st it where, half hid
In cedars, twilight sleeps--each azure lid
Drooping a line of golden eyeball still.--
Afar, yet near, I hear thy dewy voice
Within the Garden of the Hours apoise
On dusk's deep daffodil.silent when high noon
Shows her tanned face among the thirsting clover
And parching meadows, thy tenebrious tune
Wakes with the dew or when the rain is over.Thou troubadour of wetness and damp lover
Of all cool things!admitted comrade boon
Of twilight's hush, and little intimate
Of eve's first fluttering star and delicate
Round rim of rainy moon!does thy horn
Inform the gnomes and goblins of the hour
When they may gambol under haw and thorn,
Straddling each winking web and twinkling flower?Daniel went to the kitchen.whose tall tower
The liriodendron is?from whence is borne
The elfin music of thy bell's deep bass,
To summon fairies to their starlit maze,
To summon them or warn.When, one by one, the stars have trembled through
Eve's shadowy hues of violet, rose, and fire--
As on a <DW29>-bloom the limpid dew
Orbs its bright beads;--and, one by one, the choir
Of insects wakes on nodding bush and brier:
Then through the woods--where wandering winds pursue
A ceaseless whisper--like an eery lyre
Struck in the Erl-king's halls, where ghosts and dreams
Hold revelry, your goblin music screams,
Shivering and strange as some strange thought come true.Brown as the agaric that frills dead trees,
Or those fantastic fungi of the woods
That crowd the dampness--are you kin to these
In some mysterious way that still eludes
My fancy?you, who haunt the solitudes
With witch-like wailings?voice, that seems to freeze
Out of the darkness,--like the scent which broods,
Rank and rain-sodden, over autumn nooks,--
That, to the mind, might well suggest such looks,
Ghastly and gray, as pale clairvoyance sees.You people night with weirdness: lone and drear,
Beneath the stars, you cry your wizard runes;
And in the haggard silence, filled with fear,
Your shuddering hoot seems some bleak grief that croons
Mockery and terror; or,--beneath the moon's
Cloud-hurrying glimmer,--to the startled ear,
Crazed, madman snatches of old, perished tunes,
The witless wit of outcast Edgar there
In the wild night; or, wan with all despair,
The mirthless laughter of the Fool in Lear.He makes a roadway of the crumbling fence,
Or on the fallen tree,--brown as a leaf
Fall stripes with russet,--gambols down the dense
Green twilight of the woods.We see not whence
He comes, nor whither--'tis a time too brief!--
He vanishes;--swift carrier of some Fay,
Some pixy steed that haunts our child-belief--
A goblin glimpse from woodland way to way.What harlequin mood of nature qualified
Him so with happiness?and limbed him with
Such young activity as winds, that ride
The ripples, have, that dance on every side?As sunbeams know, that urge the sap and pith
Through hearts of trees?yet made him to delight,
Gnome-like, in darkness,--like a moonlight myth,--
Lairing in labyrinths of the under night.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Here, by a rock, beneath the moss, a hole
Leads to his home, the den wherein he sleeps;
Lulled by near noises of the cautious mole
Tunnelling its mine--like some ungainly Troll--
Or by the tireless cricket there that keeps
Picking its drowsy and monotonous lute;
Or slower sounds of grass that creeps and creeps,
And trees unrolling mighty root on root.Day hath another--'tis a melody
He trips to, made by the assembled flowers,
And light and fragrance laughing'mid the bowers,
And ripeness busy with the acorn-tree.Such strains, perhaps, as filled with mute amaze--
The silent music of Earth's ecstasy--
The Satyr's soul, the Faun of classic days.I.
In girandoles of gladioles
The day had kindled flame;
And Heaven a door of gold and pearl
Unclosed when Morning,--like a girl,
A red rose twisted in a curl,--
Down sapphire stairways came.Said I to Love: "What must I do?Said I to Love: "What must I do?Said Love to me: "Go woo, go woo."If she be milking, follow, O!While through the dew the bells clang clear,
Just whisper it into her ear,
All on a summer's morning."Of honey and heat and weed and wheat
The day had made perfume;
And Heaven a tower of turquoise raised,
Whence Noon, like some wan woman, gazed--
A sunflower withering at her waist--
Within a crystal room.Said I to Love: "What must I do?Said I to Love: "What must I do,
All in the summer nooning?"Said Love to me: "Go woo, go woo."If she be'mid the rakers, O!While every breeze brings scents of hay,
Just hold her hand and not take 'nay,'
All in the summer nooning."With song and sigh and cricket cry
The day had mingled rest;
And Heaven a casement opened wide
Of opal, whence, like some young bride,
The Twilight leaned, all starry-eyed,
A moonflower on her breast.Said I to Love: "What must I do?Said I to Love: "What must I do,
All in the summer gloaming?"John moved to the bathroom.Said Love to me: "Go woo, go woo."Go meet her at the trysting, O!And,'spite of her resisting, O!Beneath the stars and afterglow,
Just clasp her close and kiss her so,
All in the summer gloaming."I.
The hot sunflowers by the glaring pike
Lift shields of sultry brass; the teasel tops,
Pink-thorned, advance with bristling spike on spike
Against the furious sunlight.Field and copse
Are sick with summer: now, with breathless stops,
The locusts cymbal; now grasshoppers beat
Their castanets: and rolled in dust, a team,--
Like some mean life wrapped in its sorry dream,--
An empty wagon rattles through the heat.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.the flow'rs whose mouths
Are moist and musky?Where the sweet-breathed mint,
That made the brook-bank herby?Where the South's
Wild morning-glories, rich in hues, that hint
At coming showers that the rainbows tint?Where all the blossoms that the wildwood knows?--
The frail oxalis hidden in its leaves;
The Indian-pipe, pale as a soul that grieves;
The freckled touch-me-not and forest-rose.all dead besides the drouth-burnt brook,
Shrouded in moss or in the shriveled grass.Where waved their bells,--from which the wild-bee shook
The dew-drop once,--gaunt, in a nightmare mass,
The rank weeds crowd; through which the cattle pass,
Thirsty and lean, seeking some meagre spring,
Closed in with thorns, on which stray bits of wool
The panting sheep have left, that sought the cool,
From morn till evening wearily wandering.No bird is heard; no throat to whistle awake
The sleepy hush; to let its music leak
Fresh, bubble-like, through bloom-roofs of the brake:
Only the green-blue heron, famine weak,--
Searching the stale pools of the minnowless creek,--
Utters its call; and then the rain-crow, too,
False prophet now, croaks to the stagnant air;
While overhead,--still as if painted there,--
A buzzard hangs, black on the burning blue.Before the rain, low in the obscure east,
Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray;
Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased,
Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay
Like some white spider hungry for its prey.Vindictive looked the scowling firmament,
In which each star, that flashed a dagger ray,
Seemed filled with malice of some dark intent.The marsh-frog croaked; and underneath the stone
The peevish cricket raised a creaking cry.Mary went to the kitchen.Daniel journeyed to the garden.Within the world these sounds were heard alone,
Save when the ruffian wind swept from the sky,
Making each tree like some sad spirit sigh;
Or shook the clumsy beetle from its weed,
That, in the drowsy darkness, bungling by,
Sharded the silence with its feverish speed.Hours passed
Before was heard the thunder's sullen drum
Rumbling night's hollow; and the Earth at last,
Restless with waiting,--like a woman, dumb
With doubting of the love that should have clomb
Her casement hours ago,--avowed again,
'Mid protestations, joy that he had come.And all night long I heard the Heavens explain.It seemed the listening forest held its breath
Before some vague and unapparent form
Of fear, approaching with the wings of death,
On the impending storm.Above the hills, big, bellying clouds loomed, black
And ominous, yet silent as the blue
That pools calm heights of heaven, deepening back
'Twixt clouds of snowdrift hue.Then instantly, as when a multitude
Shout riot and war through some tumultuous town,
Innumerable voices swept the wood
As wild the wind rushed down.And fierce and few, as when a strong man weeps,
Great rain-drops dashed the dust; and, overhead,
Ponderous and vast down the prodigious deeps,
Went slow the thunder's tread.And swift and furious, as when giants fence,
The lightning foils of tempest went insane;
Then far and near sonorous Earth grew dense
With long sweet sweep of rain.A mile of lane,--hedged high with iron-weeds
And dying daisies,--white with sun, that leads
Downward into a wood; through which a stream
Steals like a shadow; over which is laid
A bridge of logs, worn deep by many a team,
Sunk in the tangled shade.Daniel went to the kitchen.Far off a wood-dove lifts its lonely cry;
And in the sleepy silver of the sky
A gray hawk wheels scarce larger than a hand.From point to point the road grows worse and worse,
Until that place is reached where all the land
Seems burdened with some curse.John went to the hallway.A ragged fence of pickets, warped and sprung,--
On which the fragments of a gate are hung,--
Divides a hill, the fox and ground-hog haunt,
A wilderness of briers; o'er whose |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Fields over which a path, o'erwhelmed with burs
And ragweeds, noisy with the grasshoppers,
Leads,--lost, irresolute as paths the cows
Wear through the woods,--unto a woodshed; then,
With wrecks of windows, to a huddled house,
Where men have murdered men.A house, whose tottering chimney, clay and rock,
Is seamed and crannied; whose lame door and lock
Are bullet-bored; around which, there and here,
Are sinister stains.--One dreads to look around.--
The place seems thinking of that time of fear
And dares not breathe a sound.Within is emptiness: the sunlight falls
On faded journals papering its walls;
On advertisement chromos, torn with time,
Around a hearth where wasps and spiders build.--
The house is dead; meseems that night of crime
It, too, was shot and killed.I.
Upon the Siren-haunted seas, between Fate's mythic shores,
Within a world of moon and mist, where dusk and daylight wed,
I see a phantom galley and its hull is banked with oars,
With ghostly oars that move to song, a song of dreams long dead:
"Oh, we are sick of rowing here!With toil our arms are numb;
With smiting year on weary year
Salt-furrows of the foam:
Our journey's end is never near,
And will no nearer come--
Beyond our reach the shores appear
Of far Elysium."Within a land of cataracts and mountains old and sand,
Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o'er which the stars burn red,
I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand
And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:
"Oh, we are weary marching on!Our limbs are travel-worn;
With cross and sword from dawn to dawn
We wend with raiment torn:
The leagues to go, the leagues we've gone
Are sand and rock and thorn--
The way is long to Avalon
Beyond the deeps of morn."the souls who yearn and evermore pursue
The vision of a vain desire, a splendor far ahead;
To whom God gives the poet's dream without the grasp to do,
The artist's hope without the scope between the quick and dead:
I, too, am weary toiling where
The winds and waters beat;
When shall I ease the oar I bear
And rest my tired feet?When will the white moons cease to glare,
The red suns veil their heat?And from the heights blow sweet the air
Of Love's divine retreat?I.
I do not love you now,
O narrow heart, that had no heights but pride!You, whom mine fed; to whom yours still denied
Food when mine hungered, and of which love died--
I do not love you now.I do not love you now,
O shallow soul, with depths but to deceive!You, whom mine watered; to whom yours did give
No drop to drink to help my love to live--
I do not love you now.But did I love you in the old, old way,
And knew you loved me--'though the words should slay
Me and your love forever, I would say,
"I do not love you now!Deep with divine tautology,
The sunset's mighty mystery
Again has traced the scroll-like West
With hieroglyphs of burning gold:
Forever new, forever old,
Its miracle is manifest.And now
Above the hills a giant brow
Night lifts of cloud; and from her arm,
Barbaric black, upon the world,
With thunder, wind and fire, is hurled
Her awful argument of storm.What part, O man, is yours in such?Whose awe and wonder are in touch
With Nature,--speaking rapture to
Your soul,--yet leaving in your reach
No human word of thought or speech
Expressive of the thing you view.The wild oxalis
Among the valleys
Lifts up its chalice
Of pink and pearl;
And, balsam-breathing,
From out their sheathing,
The myriad wreathing
Green leaves uncurl.The whole world brightens
With spring, that lightens
The foot that frightens
The building thrush;
Where water tosses
On ferns and mosses
The squirrel crosses
The beechen hush.And vision on vision,--
Like ships elysian
On some white mission,--
Sails cloud on cloud;
With scents of clover
The winds brim over,
And in the cover
The stream is loud.'Twixt bloom that blanches
The orchard branches
Old farms and ranches
Gleam in the gloam;
'Mid blossoms blowing,
Through fields for sowing,
The cows come lowing,
The cows come home.Where ways are narrow,
A vesper-sparrow
Flits like an arrow
Of living rhyme;
The red sun poises,
And farmyard noises
Mix with glad voices
Of milking-time.When dusk disposes
Of all its roses,
And darkness closes,
And work is done,
A moon's white feather
In starry weather
And two together
Whose hearts are one.I.
The mornings raise
Voices of gold in the Almighty's praise;
The sunsets soar
In choral crimson from far shore to shore:
Each is a blast,
Reverberant, of color,--seen as vast
Concussions,--that the vocal firmament
In worship sounds o'er every continent.Not for our ears
The cosmic music of the rolling spheres,
That sweeps the skies!Music we hear, but only with our eyes.For all too weak
Our mortal frames to bear the words these speak,
Those detonations that we name the dawn
And sunset--hues Earth's harmony puts on.All things are wrought of melody,
Unheard, yet full of speaking spells;
Within the rock, within the tree,
A soul of music dwells.A mute symphonic sense that thrills
The silent frame of mortal things;
Its heart beats in the ancient hills,
In every flower sings.To harmony all growth is set--
Each seed is but a music mote,
From which each plant, each violet,
Evolves its purple note.Compact of melody, the rose
Woos the soft wind with strain on strain
Of crimson; and the lily blows
Its white bars to the rain.The trees are paeans; and the grass
One long green fugue beneath the sun--
Song is their life; and all shall pass,
Shall cease, when song is done.High in the place of outraged liberty,
He ruled the world, an emperor and god
His iron armies swept the land and sea,
And conquered nations trembled at his nod.By him the love that fills man's soul with light,
And makes a Heaven of Earth, was crucified;
Lust-crowned he lived, yea, lived in God's despite,
And old in infamies, a king he died.Justice begins now.--Many centuries
In some vile body must his soul atone
As slave, as beggar, loathsome with disease,
Less than the dog at which we fling a stone.I thought of the road through the glen,
With its hawk's nest high in the pine;
With its rock, where the fox had his den,
'Mid tangles of sumach and vine,
Where she swore to be mine.I thought of the creek and its banks,
Now glooming, now gleaming with sun;
The rustic bridge builded of planks,
The bridge over Chenoweth's Run,
Where I wooed her and won.I thought of the house in the lane,
With its pinks and its sweet mignonette;
Its fence and the gate with the chain,
Its porch where the roses hung wet,
Where I kissed her and met.Then I thought of the family graves,
Walled rudely with stone, in the West,
Where the sorrowful cedar-tree waves,
And the wind is a spirit distressed,
Where they laid her to rest.And my soul, overwhelmed with despair,
Cried out on the city and mart!--
How I longed, how I longed to be there,
Away from the struggle and smart,
By her and my heart!Sandra went back to the kitchen.By her and my heart in the West,--
Laid sadly together as one;--
On her grave for a moment to rest,
Far away from the noise and the sun,
On Chenoweth's Run.Far down the lane
A window pane
Gleams'mid the trees through night and rain.The weeds are dense
Through which a fence
Of pickets rambles, none sees whence,
Before a porch, all indistinct of line,
O'er-grown and matted with wistaria-vine.No thing is heard,
No beast or bird,
Only the rain by which are stirred
The draining leaves,
And trickling eaves
Of crib and barn one scarce perceives;
And garden-beds where old-time flow'rs hang wet
The phlox, the candytuft, and mignonette.The hour is late--
At any rate
She has not heard him at the gate:
Upon the roof
The rain was proof
Against his horse's galloping hoof:
And when the old gate with its weight and chain
Creaked, she imagined 'twas the wind and rain.Along he steals
With cautious heels,
And by the lamplit window kneels:
And there she sits,
And rocks and knits
Within the shadowy light that flits
On face and hair, so sweetly sad and gray,
Dreaming of him she thinks is far away.Upon his cheeks--
Is it the streaks
Of rain, as now the old porch creaks
Beneath his stride?Then, warm and wide,
The door flings and she's at his side--
"Mother!"--and he, back from the war, her boy,
Kisses her face all streaming wet with joy.The drowsy day, with half-closed eyes,
Dreams in this quaint forgotten street,
That, like some old-world wreckage, lies,--
Left by the sea's receding beat,--
Far from the city's restless feet.Abandoned pavements, that the trees'
Huge roots have wrecked, whose flagstones feel
No more the sweep of draperies;
And sunken curbs, whereon no wheel
Grinds, nor the gallant's spur-bound heel.Old houses, walled with rotting brick,
Thick-creepered, dormered, weather-vaned,--
Like withered faces, sad and sick,--
Stare from each side, all broken paned,
With battered doors the rain has stained.And though the day be white with heat,
Their ancient yards are dim and cold;
Where now the toad makes its retreat,
'Mid flower-pots green-caked with mold,
And naught but noisome weeds unfold.The slow gray slug and snail have trailed
Their slimy silver up and down
The beds where once the moss-rose veiled
Rich beauty; and the mushroom brown
Swells where the lily tossed its crown.The shadowy scents, that haunt and flit
Along the walks, beneath the boughs,
Seem ghosts of sweethearts here who sit,
Or wander 'round each empty house,
Wrapped in the silence of dead vows.And, haply, when the evening droops
Her amber eyelids in the west,
Here one might hear the swish of hoops,
Or catch the glint of hat or vest,
As two dim lovers past him pressed.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.And, instant as some star's slant flame,
That scores the swarthy cheek of night,
Perhaps behold Colonial dame
And gentleman in stately white
Go glimmering down the pale moonlight.In powder, patch, and furbelow,
Cocked-hat and sword; and every one,--
Tory and whig of long ago,--
As real as in the days long done,
The courtly days of Washington.IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES.In the shadow of the beeches,
Where the fragile wildflowers bloom;
Where the pensive silence pleaches
Green a roof of cool perfume,
Have you felt an awe imperious
As when, in a church, mysterious
Windows paint with God the gloom?In the shadow of the beeches,
Where the rock-ledged waters flow;
Where the sun's sloped splendor bleaches
Every wave to foaming snow,
Have you felt a music solemn
As when minster arch and column
Echo organ-worship low?In the shadow of the beeches,
Where the light and shade are blent;
Where the forest-bird beseeches,
And the breeze is brimmed with scent,--
Is it joy or melancholy
That o'erwhelms us partly, wholly,
To our spirit's betterment?In the shadow of the beeches
Lay me where no eye perceives;
Where,--like some great arm that reaches
Gently as a love that grieves,--
One gnarled root may clasp me kindly
While the long years, working blindly,
Slowly change my dust to leaves.The roses mourn for her who sleeps
Within the tomb;
For her each lily- |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | In each neglected flower-bed
Each blossom droops its lovely head,--
They miss her touch, they miss her tread,
Her face of bloom,
Of happy bloom.The very breezes grieve for her,
A lonely grief;
For her each tree is sorrower,
Each blade and leaf.The foliage rocks itself and sighs,
And to its woe the wind replies,--
They miss her girlish laugh and cries,
Whose life was brief,
Was very brief.The sunlight, too, seems pale with care,
Or sick with woe;
The memory haunts it of her hair,
Its golden glow.No more within the bramble-brake
The sleepy bloom is kissed awake--
The sun is sad for her dear sake,
Whose head lies low,
Lies dim and low.The bird, that sang so sweet, is still
At dusk and dawn;
No more it makes the silence thrill
Of wood and lawn.In vain the buds, when it is near,
Open each pink and perfumed ear,--
The song it sings she will not hear
Who now is gone,
Is dead and gone.Ah, well she sleeps who loved them well,
The birds and bowers;
The fair, the young, the lovable,
Who once was ours.And die like flowers,
Earth's sweetest flowers!I.
First I asked the honey-bee,
Busy in the balmy bowers;
Saying, "Sweetheart, tell it me:
Have you seen her, honey-bee?She is cousin to the flowers--
Wild-rose face and wild-rose mouth,
And the sweetness of the south."--
But it passed me silently.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.Then I asked the forest-bird,
Warbling to the woodland waters;
Saying, "Dearest, have you heard,
Have you heard her, forest-bird?She is one of Music's daughters--
Music is her happy laugh;
Never song so sweet by half."--
But it answered not a word.Next I asked the evening sky,
Hanging out its lamps of fire;
Saying, "Loved one, passed she by?She, the star of my desire--
Planet-eyed and hair moon-glossed,
Sister whom the Pleiads lost."--
But it never made reply.She to whom both love and duty
Bind me, yea, immortally.--
Where is she?Symbol of the Earth-soul's beauty.Help my heart
Find her, nevermore to part.--
Woe is me!I.
When from the tower, like some sweet flower,
The bell drops petals of the hour,
That says the world is homing,
My heart puts off its garb of care
And clothes itself in gold and vair,
And hurries forth to meet her there
Within the purple gloaming.how slow the hours go,
How dull the moments move!Till soft and clear the bells I hear,
That say, like music, in my ear,
"Go meet the one you love."When curved and white, a bugle bright,
The moon blows glamour through the night,
That sets the world a-dreaming,
My heart, where gladness late was guest,
Puts off its joy, as to my breast
At parting her dear form is pressed,
Within the moon's faint gleaming.how fast the hours passed!--
They were not slow enough!Too soon, too soon, the sinking moon
Says to my soul, like some sad tune,
"Come!I.
Between the rose's and the canna's crimson,
Beneath her window in the night I stand;
The jeweled dew hangs little stars, in rims, on
The white moonflowers--each a spirit hand
That points the path to mystic shadowland.Suffer its loveliness to share
The white moon of thy face,
The darkness of thy hair.A moth, like down, swings on th' althaea's pistil,--
Ghost of a tone that haunts its bell's deep dome;--
And in the August-lily's cone of crystal
A firefly blurs, the lantern of a gnome,
Green as a gem that gleams through hollow foam.mingle with night's mysteries
The red rose of thy mouth,
The starlight of thine eyes.--
Approach!Dim through the dusk, like some unearthly presence,
Bubbles the Slumber-song of some wild bird;
And with it borne, faint on a breeze-sweet essence,
The rainy murmur of a fountain's heard--
As if young lips had breathed a perfumed word.How long must I await
With night,--that all impatience is,--
Thy greeting at the gate,
And at the gate thy kiss?"Take one of the hired men with you," Florence called after him, but he
made no answer, and the next moment a mad beat of hoofs once more broke
out as the uneasy horses galloped furiously back across the fenced-in
space.CHAPTER XX
HAIL
The air had grown very still again when Florence leaned on the veranda
balustrade, gazing into the darkness, which was now intense.The brief
shower of heavy rain had wet the grass, and waves of warm moisture
charged with an odor like that of a hothouse seemed to flow about her
and recede again, leaving her almost shivering in her gauzy dress, for
between whiles it was by contrast strangely cold.She could hear Hunter
calling to the horses, which apparently broke away from him now and then
in short, savage rushes, but she could see nothing of him or them.Presently the sharp cries of one of the hired men broke in, and
Florence, who felt her nerves tingling, became conscious of an
unpleasant tension.Then for a second, or part of it, the figures of moving men and beasts
became visible, etched hard and black against an overwhelming
brightness, as a blaze of lightning smote the prairie.The glare of it
was dazzling, and when it vanished Florence was left gripping the
balustrade, bewildered and wrapped in an intolerable darkness.After
that a drumming of hoofs and a hoarse cry broke upon her ears, but both
were drowned and lost in a deafening crash of thunder.It rolled far
back into the distance in great reverberations, and while her light
skirt fluttered about her in an icy draught another sound emerged from
them as they died away.It grew nearer and louder in a persistent, portentous crescendo, for at
first it suggested the galloping of a squadron of horse, then a
regiment, and at length the furious approach of a division of cavalry.Holding fast to the balustrade, she could even imagine that there were
mingled with it the crash of jolting wheels and a clamor of wild voices
as of a host behind pressing onward to the onslaught.The din was
scarcely drowned by a tremendous rumbling that twice filled the air; and
there was forced upon her a vague perception of the fact that it was a
very real attack upon the things that enabled her to have the ease she
loved.Wheat and cattle, stables and homestead must, it almost seemed,
go down, and there were, as sole and pitiful defense, two men somewhere
out in the darkness exposed to the outbreak of elemental fury.There was
now no sign of her husband or his companion.It was quite impossible to
hear any sound they made, and she stood quivering, until, loosing her
hold of the balustrade with an effort, she ran down the steps.She knew it was useless to call, but an
overmastering fear came upon her as she remembered the mad flight of the
terrified horses, and she ran on a few paces over the wet grass, crying
out again.Then she was beaten back, gasping, with her hands raised in a
futile attempt to shield her face and her dress driven flat against her,
as a merciless shower of ice broke out of the darkness.John travelled to the garden.It swept the
veranda like the storm of lead from a volley, only it did not cease;
crashing upon the balustrade and lashing the front of the house, while
the very building seemed to rock in the savage blast.She staggered back
before it, too dazed and bewildered to notice where she was going,
until she struck the wall and cowered against the boards.There was a
narrow roof above her, but it did not keep off much of the wind-driven
hail, and she could not be sure that the whole of it was now standing.The veranda was wrapped in darkness, for the lamp had blown out.For a time, every sense
was concentrated on an effort to shelter her face from the hail which
fell upon her thinly covered arms and shoulders like a scourge of
knotted wire.Then, faint and breathless, she crept forward toward where
she supposed the door must be, and staggered into the unlighted room.She struck a chair, and sank into it, to sit shivering and listening
appalled to the cataclysm of sound.Then a terror which had been driven out of her mind for the last few
minutes crept back.Elcot was out amid the rush of hurtling ice; and she
knew him well enough to feel certain that he would stay in the paddock
until the horses were secured.She could picture him trying to guide the
maddened beasts out between the slip-rails, heading them off from the
perilous fence they rushed down upon at a terror-stricken gallop, or,
perhaps, lying upon the hail-swept grass with a broken limb.It was
horrible to contemplate, and she became conscious of a torturing anxiety
concerning the safety of the man for whose comfort she had scarcely
spared a thought since she married him.Daniel moved to the hallway.Though it was difficult, she contrived to shut the door and window, and
to relight the lamp, and then she glanced round the room.Elcot's paper
had fallen to pieces and had been scattered here and there, while a
long pile of hail lay melting on the floor.She could understand now
why she felt bruised all over except where the fullness of her dress had
protected her, for she had never seen hail like this in England.The
jagged lumps were of all shapes, and most of them seemed the size of
hazelnuts.Then she became conscious that her hair was streaming about
her face and that her dress clung saturated to her limbs.This, however,
appeared of no moment, for her anxiety about her husband was becoming
intolerable.Nerving herself for an effort, she moved toward the door.It was flung
back upon her when she lifted the latch, and she staggered beneath the
blow.Then, panting hard, she forced it to again and went back limply to
her chair.It was utterly impossible for her to face that hail.She had
the will to do so, and she was no coward, but the flesh she had pampered
and shielded failed her, which was in no way astonishing.Wheat-growers,
herders, police troopers, and, unfortunately, patient women learn that
the body must be sternly brought into subjection to the mind by long
repression before one can face wind-driven ice, snow-laden blizzard, or
the awful cold which now and then descends upon the vast spaces of
western Canada.In a few more minutes the uproar subsided.The drumming on the walls and
roof suddenly ceased and the wind no longer buffeted the house.The
tumult receded in gradations of sinking sound, until at last there was
silence, except for the drip from the veranda eaves.It was shortly
broken by quick footsteps and Florence turned toward the door as Hunter
came in.His face showed where the hail had beaten it, for his hat had gone; the
water ran from him, and one hand was bleeding.He looked limp and
exhausted, but what struck her most was the sternness of his expression.I got a rip from the fence somehow, and one leg's
a little stiff; one of the horses must have kicked me.Guess I'll know
more about it to-morrow."It seemed extraordinary that while she had seldom
felt the least diffidence in dealing as appeared expedient with any of
the men she had known, she was unable to inform her husband that she had
been driven into the storm by anxiety for his safety; but somehow she
could not get the words out.She recognized that it had never occurred
to him that she could have been actuated by any motive of this kind,
though she was forced to own that, considering everything, this was no
more than natural.The thought brought a half-bitter smile into her
eyes."I was on the steps when the hail began, and I could scarcely get back
into the house," she said."That's a point I'm most afraid to investigate, and it can't be done
to-night.In the meanwhile, hadn't you better get those wet things off?"His preoccupied manner indicated that he was in no mood for
conversation, and Florence left him standing moodily still.It was some
minutes before he felt chilly and went upstairs to change his clothes,
but he came back almost immediately and took some papers and a couple
of account books from a bureau.After this he lighted his pipe and sat
down to make copious extracts, with a view to discovering how he stood.He had no great trouble in ascertaining his liabilities, for he was a
methodical man, but it was different when he came to consider what he
had to set off against them.He had counted on his wheat crop to leave
him a certain surplus, but it now seemed unfortunately probable that
there would be no harvest at all that year.Admitting this, he busied
himself with figures in an attempt to discover how far it might be
possible to convert what promised to be a crushing disaster into a
temporary defeat, and several hours slipped by before any means of doing
so occurred to him.His expenses had been unusually heavy, there were
many points to consider and balance against each other, and a gray light
was breaking low down on the rim of the prairie when at length he rose
and thrust the books back into the bureau.The night's labor had at
least convinced him that if he were to hold his own during the next
twelve months it could be only by persistent effort and stern economy,
and he had misgivings as to how his wife would regard the prospect of
the latter.On going out on to the veranda a few minutes later he was astonished to
hear footsteps behind him, and when he turned and waited Florence came
out of the doorway."I heard you moving and I came down," she said."Are you going to look
at the wheat?""I'm afraid there won't be very much of it to
see."The light was growing a little clearer and Florence noticed the
weariness of his face.He seemed to hold himself slackly and she had
never seen him fall into that dejected attitude.The man was, however,
physically jaded, for a day of severe labor had preceded the struggle in
the paddock and the hours he had spent in anxious thought, and he had,
as he was quite aware, a heavy blow to face.The question was not encouraging, nor was his manner, and Florence felt
reluctant to explain that her request had been prompted by a desire to
share his troubles.She was conscious that a statement to this effect
would probably appear somewhat |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | "If you must have a reason, I'm as anxious to see what damage the hail
has done as you are.Sandra went back to the kitchen.It can't very well affect you without affecting
me.""Yes," agreed Hunter, "that's undoubtedly the case.I'm afraid you'll
have to put up with me and the homestead for the next twelve months.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.It's quite likely that there'll be very few new dresses, either."Florence endeavored to keep her patience.It was not often that she felt
in a penitent mood, and he did not seem disposed to make it any easier
for her."Do you suppose new dresses are a matter of vital importance to me?""Well," answered Hunter, "since you put the question, several things
almost lead me to believe it.""If you are coming with me, we may as well go along."They crossed the wet paddock together, and now and then Florence
glanced covertly at her husband's face.It was set and anxious, but
there was no sign of surrender in it.She had, however, not expected to
see the latter, for she knew that Elcot was one who could, when occasion
demanded it, make a very stubborn fight.John travelled to the garden.At length they stopped and stood looking out across what at sunset had
been a vast sea of tall, green wheat.Now it had gone down, parts of it
as before the knife of a reaper, while the rest lay crushed and flung
this way and that, as though an army had marched through it.Lush blades
and half-formed ears were smashed into the mire and the odd clusters of
battered stalks that stood leaning above the tangled chaos only served
to heighten the suggestion of widespread ruin.Florence watched her husband, but she did not care to speak, for there
are times when expressions of sympathy are superfluous.When he walked
slowly forward along the edge of the grain she followed him, without
noticing that her thin shoes were saturated and her light skirt was
trailing in the harsh wet grass.The ground rose slightly, and stopping
when they reached the highest point he answered her inquiring glance."Some of it--a very little--may fill out
and ripen and we might get the binders through it, but the thing's going
to be difficult.""Will this hit you very hard, Elcot?"Hunter turned and looked at her with gravely searching eyes, and she
shrank from his gaze while a warmth crept into her face."Oh," she broke out indignantly, "I'm not thinking--now--of what I might
have to do without.Still, I suppose it was only natural that you should
suspect it."The man's gesture seemed to imply that this was after all a matter of
minor importance, and it jarred on her."Well," he answered, "I guess I can weather the trouble, though it will
mean a long, stiff pull and a general whittling down of expenses.I
spent most of last night figuring on the latter, and I've got my plans
worked out, though it was troublesome to see where I was to begin."Her allowance was a liberal one, but she
knew it would only be when every other expedient had failed that he
would think of touching that.It would have been a relief to tell him he
could begin with it, but she remembered Nevis's loan.The thought of
that loan was becoming a burden, and she felt that it must be wiped off
somehow at any cost."Yes," she sympathized, "it must have been difficult.You don't spend
much money unnecessarily, Elcot."He did not answer, and she glanced at his hands, which were hard and
roughened like those of a workman.There was an untended red gash which
the fence had made across the back of one.Another glance at his
clothing carried her a little farther along the same line of thought,
for his garments were old and shabby and faded by the weather."Anyway," he said, apparently without having heeded her last
observation, "I'm thankful I have no debts just now."It was an unconscious thrust, but Florence winced, for it wounded her,
and she began to see how Nevis had with deliberate purpose strengthened
the barrier between her and her husband.What was more, she determined
that the man should regret it.Why she had ever encouraged him she did
not know, but there was no doubt that she was anxious to get rid of him
now.She would have made an open confession about the loan then and
there, but the time was singularly inopportune.It was out of the
question that she should add to her husband's anxiety."After all, it doesn't often hail," she encouraged him."Another good
year will set you straight again."The man seemed lost in thought, but he looked up when she spoke."We can make a bid for it," he replied."I must have bigger and newer
machines.Like most of the rest, I've been too afraid of launching out
and have clung to old-fashioned means.There will have to be a change
and a clearance before next season."It was very matter-of-fact, but Florence knew him well enough to realize
what it implied.Defeat could not crush him; it only nerved him to a
more resolute fight, for which he meant to equip himself at any
sacrifice with more efficient weapons.Again she was conscious of a
growing respect for him."I'm afraid I have been a drag on you, Elcot, but in this case you can
count upon my doing--what I can."He scarcely seemed to hear her, and she realized with a trace of bitter
amusement that her assurance did not appear of any particular
consequence to him."I have teams enough," he continued, picking up the course of thought
where he had broken off."Anyway, one should get something for the old
machines."Florence set her lips as they turned back toward the house.This was a
matter in which she evidently did not count; but there was no doubt that
in the light of past events the man's attitude was justified.It would
be necessary to prove that he was wrong, and, with Nevis's loan still to
be met, that promised to be difficult."Elcot," she said, "I don't think I've told you yet how sorry I am."He looked at her in a manner which implied that his mind was still busy
with his plans.CHAPTER XXI
A POINT OF HONOR
Florence Hunter sat in her wagon in front of the grocery store at
Graham's Bluff waiting until the man who kept it should bring out
various goods she had ordered.Though a fresh breeze swept the
surrounding prairie the little town was very hot, and it looked
singularly unattractive with the dust blowing through its one unpaved
street.In one place a gaily striped shade, which flapped and fluttered
in the wind, had been stretched above the window of an ambitious store;
but with this exception the unlovely wooden buildings boldly fronted the
weather, with the sun-glare on their thin, rent boarding and the roofing
shingles crackling overhead, as they had done when they had borne the
scourge of snow-laden gales and the almost Arctic frost.They were
square and squat, as destitute, most of them, of paint as they were of
any attempt at adornment; and in hot weather the newer ones were
permeated with a pungent, resinous smell.Daniel moved to the hallway.Where Florence sat, however, the odors that flowed out of the store were
more diffuse, for the fragrance of perspiring cheese was mingled with
that of pork which had gained flavor and lost its stiffness in the heat,
and the aroma of what was sold as coffee at Graham's Bluff.Florence,
indeed, had been glad to escape from the store, which resembled an oven
with savory cooking going on, though after all it was not a great deal
better in the wagon.The dust was beginning to gather in the folds of
her dainty dress, the wind plucked at her veil, and the fierce sun smote
her face.On the whole, she was displeased with things in general and inclined to
regret that she had driven into the settlement, which she had done in a
fit of compunction.Hitherto she had contented herself with sending the
storekeeper an order for goods to be supplied, without any attempt to
investigate his charges, but now, with Elcot's harvest ruined it had
appeared her duty to consider carefully the subject of housekeeping
accounts.She rather resented the fact that her first experiment had
proved unpleasant, for she had shrunk from the sight of the slabs of
half-melted pork flung down for her inspection, and having hitherto
shopped only in England and eastern Canada she had found the naive
abruptness of the western storekeeper somewhat hard on her temper.Retail dealers in the prairie settlements seldom defer to their
customers.If the latter do not like their goods or charges they are
generally favored with a hint that they would better go somewhere else,
and there is an end of the matter.It really did not look as if much
encouragement was held out to those who aspired to cultivate the
domestic virtues.At length the storekeeper appeared with several large
packages."You want to cover this one up; it's the butter," he cautioned."Guess
you're going to have some trouble in keeping it in the wagon if the sun
gets on to it.Better bring a big can next time, same as your hired man
does."John went to the kitchen.The warning was justified, because when the inexperienced customer
brings nothing to put it in, butter is usually retailed in light baskets
made of wood, in spite of the fact that it is addicted to running out
of them in the heat of the day.The man next deposited a heavy cotton
bag in the wagon, and while a thin cloud of flour which followed its
fall descended upon Florence he laid his hands on the wheel and looked
at her confidentially."I guess if your husband meant to let up on that creamery scheme you
would have heard of it," he suggested."Yes," replied Florence; "I don't think he has any intention of doing
so.""That's just what I was telling the boys last night.There were two or
three of them from Traverse staying at the hotel, and when we got to
talking about the hail they allowed that he'd have to cut the creamery
plan out.I said that when Elcot Hunter took a thing up he stayed with
it until he put it through."This, it seemed, was what the
men who dealt with Elcot thought of him.After a few more general
observations about the creamery her companion went back into his store,
and as he did so Nevis came out of a house near by."I didn't know you were in the settlement," he said, and his manner
implied that had he been acquainted with the fact he would have sought
her out.Florence glanced at him sharply as she gathered up the reins.The man
seemed disposed to be more amiable than he had shown himself on the last
occasion, but she now cherished two strong grievances against him.He
had cunningly saddled her with a debt which was becoming horribly
embarrassing, and he had given her husband a hint that she had dealings
of some kind with him.As the latter course was, on the face of it,
clearly not calculated to earn her gratitude, she surmised that he must
have had some ulterior object in adopting it."I've been buying stores," she answered indifferently."That's a new departure, isn't it?""You generally
contented yourself with sending in for them."Florence did not like his tone, and he seemed suspiciously well informed
about her habits.This indicated that he had been making inquiries about
her, and she naturally resented it."Yes," answered Nevis, and there was something significant in his
manner; "I thought it wiser to look up my clients after the hail we had
two nights ago.It's going to make things very tight for many of the
prairie farmers."Daniel journeyed to the garden."And a disaster naturally brings you on the field.Rather like the
vultures, isn't it?"She was about to drive on, but Nevis suddenly laid his hand on the rein."I think you ought to give me a minute or two, if only to answer that,"
he said with a laugh."You compared me to a pickpocket not long ago, and
I'm not prepared to own that you have chosen a very fortunate simile
now."After the fact you mentioned it struck me as rather apposite; but I
may have been wrong.The point's hardly worth discussing, and I'm going
on to the hotel."She had expected him to take the hint and drop the rein, but he showed
no intention of doing so, and it suddenly dawned on her that he meant
to keep her talking as long as possible.Everybody in the settlement who
cared to look out could see them, and she had no doubt that the women in
the place were keenly observant.It almost seemed as if he wished the
fact that they had a good deal to say to each other to attract
attention, with the idea that this might serve to give him a further
hold on her.It was an opposite policy to the one he had pursued when
she had driven him across the prairie some time ago, but the man had
become bolder and more aggressive since then.Nevis did not comply, and though he made a gesture of deprecation the
look in his eyes warned her that he meant to let her feel his power."Won't you give me an opportunity for convincing you that I'm not like
the vultures first?You see, they gather round the carrion, and I don't
suppose you would care to apply that term to the farmers in our
vicinity.Most of them aren't more than moribund yet."It struck Florence that he was indifferent as to whether she took
offense at this or not; and he was undoubtedly determined to stick fast
to the rein.There were already one or two loungers watching them, and,
if he persisted, she could not start the team without some highly
undesirable display of force.The man, she fancied, realized this, and
an angry warmth crept into her face.Then, somewhat to her relief, she
saw Thorne strolling down the street behind her companion.He wore a
battered, wide gray hat, a blue shirt which hung open at the neck, duck
trousers and long boots, and though he was freely sprinkled with dust he
looked distinctly picturesque.What was more to the purpose, he seemed
to be regarding Nevis with suspicion, and she knew that he was a man of
quick resource.In any case, the situation was becoming intolerable, and
she flashed a quick glance at him.She fancied that he would understand
it as an intimation that he was wanted, and the expectation was
justified, for although she had never been gracious to him he approached
a little faster.In the meanwhile Nevis, who had seen nothing of all
this, talked on."There are, of course," he added, "people who are prejudiced against me;
but on the other hand I have set a good many of the small farmers on
their feet again.""Presumably you made them pay for it?"The man had no opportunity for answering this, for just then Thorne's
hand fell heavily upon his shoulder.Nevis dropped the rein as he swung around and Florence wasted no time in
starting her team.As the wagon jolted away down the rutted street
Nevis, standing still, somewhat flushed in face, gazed at Thorne."Well," he demanded, "what do you want?"Thorne leaned against the front of the store with sardonic amusement in
his eyes."Oh," he replied, "it merely occurred to me that Mrs.I thought I'd better point it out to you."Nevis glanced at him savagely and then strode away, which was, indeed,
all that he could do.An altercation would serve no useful purpose, and
his antagonist was notoriously quick at repartee.Thorne proceeded toward the wooden hotel and crossing the veranda he
entered a long roughly boarded room, where he found Alison and Mrs.Farquhar as well as Florence Hunter waiting for supper.Farquhar
told him that supper would be served to them before the regular
customers came in for theirs.They chatted a while and then a young lad
appeared in the doorway and stopped hesitatingly."I'm sorry if I'm intruding," he apologized."I meant to have supper
with the boys, and Symonds didn't tell me there was anybody in the
room.""Then unless you would prefer to take it with the boys, Dave, there's no
reason why you should run away," he said."I think you will remember him, Miss Leigh.He's the young man who
boiled |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | Alison laughed and shook hands with him, but after a word or two with
her he looked at Thorne significantly and moved a few paces toward the
door."Did you know that Winthrop was in the neighborhood?"Alison still stood near them and Thorne fancied that she started
slightly, which implied that she had overheard, though why the news
should cause her concern was far from clear to him."It's a little difficult to believe it now."I was riding here along the trail and
I'd come to the ravine.It's quite likely the birches had hidden me, for
when I came out of them he was sitting on the edge of the sloo on the
south side, near enough for me to recognize him, eating something.The
next moment he rolled over into the grass and vanished."It looked as if he didn't want me to see him, and I
rode on.I had to call at Forrester's and I found Corporal Slaney there.One or two things he said made it clear that he hadn't the faintest
notion that Winthrop was within a mile or two of him."He was apparently about to add something further when Thorne looked at
him warningly.They were standing near the entrance, the approach to
which led through the veranda, and the next moment Nevis walked into the
room."I believe I
caught Winthrop's name."It was spoken sharply, in the expectation, Thorne fancied, that his
companion, taken off his guard, would blurt out some fresh information;
but the lad turned toward Nevis with an air of cold resentment.Nevis laughed, though Thorne noticed that he did not do it easily."Well," he said, "I'm sorry if I interrupted you."Then he turned toward the others as if he had just noticed them."I didn't know that Symonds had placed the room at your disposal; I've
no doubt that will excuse me."Nobody invited him to remain, but he withdrew gracefully, and when he
had gone Thorne led the lad out on to the veranda.It was unoccupied,
but as it stood some little height above the ground he walked to the
edge of it and looked over before he spoke."Now, Dave, I want you to tell me one or two things as clearly as you
can."The lad answered his questions, and in a minute or two Thorne nodded as
if satisfied.Keep clear of Nevis, and ride home as
soon as you can after supper.If you feel compelled to mention the
thing, there's no reason why you shouldn't to-morrow.He went down the steps and along the street, and when he came back some
time later he found Alison waiting for him on the veranda."The question is whether Nevis heard him too.""He certainly heard part, but there are one or two things he can't very
well know.For instance, it was Slaney's intention to ride in to the
railroad as soon as he'd had supper.""Forrester's place must be at least two leagues from here," commented
Alison."About that," Thorne agreed with a smile."It's far enough to make it
exceedingly probable that anybody who started from this settlement when
he'd had his supper would only get there after Winthrop had gone.""But Nevis might send a messenger immediately.""It strikes me as very unlikely that he'd get any one to go.There are
only one or two horses in the place, and I've been round to see the men
to whom they belong."Nevis is not the man to deny himself
unless it seems absolutely necessary, and he'll naturally assume that
Slaney is spending the night with Forrester.But there's a certain
probability of his setting out immediately after the meal.""And what are you going to do about it?""I'm very much afraid I can't do anything.You see,
the--arrangement--with Corporal Slaney stands in the way.""You never thought that Winthrop would come back here when you made it,"
Alison suggested.Sandra went back to the kitchen."No," acknowledged Thorne; "the point is that the corporal didn't
either."Alison appeared to reflect, and he watched her with quiet amusement."I've changed my mind about Winthrop," she told him at length.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.Thorne made no answer, and she continued:
"Lucy Calvert is, no doubt, a good deal more anxious than I am that he
should escape, and it would be only natural if you wished to earn her
thanks.I think she could be very nice, and her eyes are wonderfully
blue."Thorne met her inquiring gaze with one of contemplative scrutiny."Yours," he said, "are usually delightfully still and gray--like a pool
on a moorland stream at home under a faintly clouded sky; but now and
then they gleam with a golden light as the water does when the sun comes
through."His defense was too
vigorous for her to follow it up."You feel that your hands are absolutely tied by the hint you gave
Slaney that afternoon?""That's how it strikes me," Thorne declared."In this case I'm afraid
I'll have to stand aside and content myself with looking on.""But haven't you already made it difficult for Nevis to get a
messenger?""I've certainly given a couple of men a hint that I'd rather they didn't
do any errand of his to-night.That may have been going too far--I can't
tell.""Except when it's a case of selling
patent medicines, I'm not a casuist."Alison realized his point of view and in several ways it appealed to
her.He had treated the matter humorously, but, though so little had
been said by either of the men, it was clear that he felt he had pledged
himself to Slaney, and was not to be moved."Well," she urged, "somebody must stop Nevis from driving over to
Forrester's.""It would be very desirable," Thorne admitted dryly.John travelled to the garden."The most annoying
thing is that it could have been managed with very little trouble."Thorne, suspecting nothing, fell into the trap.Daniel moved to the hallway."Nevis's hired buggy is a rather rickety affair.It wouldn't astonish
anybody if, when he wished to start, there was a bolt short."John went to the kitchen.A look of satisfaction flashed into Alison's eyes."Then he will certainly have to put up with any trouble the absence of
that bolt is capable of causing.As there doesn't seem to be any other
way, I'll pull it out myself.Your scruples won't compel you to forbid
me?"The man expostulated, but she was quietly determined."If you won't tell me what to do, I'll get Dave," she laughed."I've no
doubt he'd be willing to help me."Thorne thought it highly undesirable that they should take a third
person into their confidence, and he reluctantly yielded."Then," he advised, "it would be wiser to set about it while the boys
are getting supper; there'll be nobody about the back of the hotel then.In the meanwhile, we'd better go in again and talk to the others."CHAPTER XXII
ALISON SPOILS HER GLOVES
Mrs.Farquhar and her friends had finished supper, and the men who got
their meals there were trooping into the hotel, when Alison found Thorne
waiting on the veranda."I've no intention of keeping you waiting, anyway," Thorne replied.Alison looked at him with a hint of sharpness."If you would very much rather stay here, why should you come at all?Now that you have told me what to do, it really isn't necessary.""Well," he said, "on the whole, it strikes me as advisable."He walked down the steps with her, and, sauntering a few yards along the
street, they turned down an opening between the houses and stopped at
the back of the hotel.There were only two windows in that part of the
building, and the rude wooden stable would shield anybody standing close
beneath one side of it from observation.Several gigs stood there to
wait until their owners were ready to drive back to their outlying
farms, and behind them the gray-white prairie ran back into the
distance, empty and unbroken except for the riband of rutted trail.There was no sound from the hotel, for the average Westerner eats in
silent, strenuous haste, and the two could hear only the movements of a
restless horse in the stable.Alison walked up to a somewhat dilapidated buggy and inspected it
dubiously."This must be the one, and I suppose that's the bolt," she said."There
seems to be a big nut beneath it, and I don't quite see how I'm to get
it off.Would your scruples prevent your making any suggestion?"Thorne appeared to consider, though there was a twinkle in his eyes."I might go so far as to point out that if you went into the stable you
would find a spanner on the ledge behind the door.It's an instrument
that's made for screwing off nuts with."Alison disappeared into the stable and came back with the spanner in her
hand.Thorne noticed that she had put on a pair of rather shabby light
gloves, with the object, he supposed, of protecting her fingers.Stooping down behind the buggy she stretched out an arm beneath the
seat, and became desperately busy, to judge from the tapping and
clinking she made.Then she straightened herself and looked up at him,
hot and a trifle flushed."It won't go on to the nut," she complained."Is it quite out of the
question that you should help me?"She saw the constraint in his face, and was pleased with it.She did not
wish the man to break his pledge, and it is probable that she would have
refused his assistance; but she was, on the other hand, very human in
most respects, and she greatly desired to ascertain how strong the
temptation to help her was.Daniel journeyed to the garden."In the first place, you might try turning the screw on the spanner a
little," he advised.She did so, and had no more difficulty on that point, but the bolt was
rusty and the nut very stiff.While she struggled with it there was a
sound of footsteps, and Thorne, moving suddenly forward, snatched the
tool from her."Stay there until I make it possible for you to slip away!"he whispered
sharply; then he stepped swiftly back a few paces and leaned against a
wagon with the spanner in his hand.He had scarcely done so when a man came out of the opening between the
houses, and Alison felt her heart throb unpleasantly fast.If the
newcomer should look around toward the stables it seemed impossible that
he should fail to notice Thorne.The
contractions were both more vigorous, and more constant when the metals
were placed in contact with the heart itself, than when touching only
its blood vessels and nerves.I have several times attempted to trace
some of the nerves, which may be seen near the large blood vessels of
the heart of a frog, into the heart itself, in order to arm them
separated from other parts; but, partly on account of their minuteness,
and partly on account of the weak state of my eyes, which does not
permit me to look intently at minute objects, I have never been able to
succeed.Since making this last experiment, I have repeated it upwards of twenty
times.In order to its complete success, it is necessary that the
spontaneous contractions of the heart should nearly, if not altogether,
have ceased; and, when in this state, the experiment is rendered still
more satisfactory by removing the heart from the body of the frog, and
laying it upon a plate of zinc.We are then sure that its contractions
cannot have been excited, by any mechanical irritation, arising from
the contractions of the muscles of the thorax.For want of sufficient leisure, and convenient opportunities, I have
neglected to make this experiment upon any animals of warm blood,
except cats and rabbits.A few days after I had discovered the
possibility of exciting the heart to contraction by means of zinc, and
silver applied to its nerves, I procured an ordinary sized cat, and
drowned it in water, as nearly as possible, of its own temperature.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.Four minutes after immersion, it was taken out of the water and dryed.Its thorax was immediately laid open, but no contractions were observed
in any part of its heart, except in the right auricle, and even these
were very slight.A plate of zinc was then placed in contact with the
parvagum, and intercostal nerves, on one side of the trachea, and a
half crown piece in contact with those of the other; both at the
distance of about one third of an inch from the auricles.Every time
the zinc and silver were brought into contact, complete contractions of
the right auricle, and sometimes slight ones of the left were produced,
but none in the ventricles.The contractions were observed to become
stronger, in proportion as the metals were approached to the heart, and
were strongest when one or both was in contact with the auricle.I
think the contractions were fully as strong when molybdena, as when
silver was used.No contractions could be excited, by arming any of the
nerves of voluntary muscles, in this cat.The next experiment was made upon a female cat, far gone with young.She was drowned in very cold water, and although her thorax was opened
the instant she had ceased to struggle, which was in less than four
minutes after immersion, her heart had ceased to contract; nor could
its contractions be renewed, either by the application of the metals in
the way described, in the last experiment, or by pricking or otherwise
irritating its surface: but the diaphragm, the intercostal muscles, the
fore legs, and the ears, continued to contract long and vigorously,
when the metals were as usual applied to their nerves.On cutting into
the uterus, however, and taking out one of the young, I found both
auricles and ventricles of its heart, contracting most vigorously,
though the mother had now been dead upwards of twenty minutes.An opportunity, not to be neglected, now presented itself, of trying if
it were possible to transmit this influence from the mother to the
foetus, through the medium of the umbilical chord.I therefore applied
the two metals in the manner I before described, 1st, to the uterus of
the mother, and to the cotyledans; afterwards to several different
parts of her; but neither uterus nor foetus were in any instance
affected.As little was the foetus affected, by arming the chord itself.As the hearts of the kittens continued their spontaneous contractions,
for more than an hour after they were taken from the mother, I had
repeatedly the pleasure of observing, and pointing out to Mr Thomson,
and Mr Simpson, who obligingly lent me their assistance in these
experiments, the effects of the metals when in contact with the
parvagum, and entercostal nerves, both of quickening the repetition of
the hearts contractions, while they continued spontaneous, and of
exciting them anew when they had ceased to be so.This experiment,
repeated upon a kitten a few days after birth, succeeded, but not quite
in so satisfactory a manner as the foregoing, although the heart
continued contracting for more than an hour and an half after the
thorax was opened.Its contractions were quickened, and rendered
vibratory by the slightest mechanical touch of its surface; so that it
was difficult to determine the precise share which the application of
the metals had in their production.When these had ceased, I did not find that I could revive them by the
application of the metals.In the hearts of some young rabbits, upon
which I tried this experiment, the contractions appeared to be still
more decidedly, occasioned by the application of the metals, than even
in the cats.Having ascertained this important fact, that one muscle, not subjected
to the influence of the will, might be made to contract by the
application of zinc and silver to its nerves; I proceeded to examine
whether the same were the case with respect to all involuntary muscles.I could not, however, observe that any contractions were produced in
the stomach or intestines, by placing the metals near the stomachic
flexus and semilunar ganglion in a cat.Sandra journeyed to the garden.I next proceeded to examine the
effects of the metals upon the different organs of sense.M. Volta's discovery of the sensation produced upon the end of the
tongue, by coating its upper and under surfaces with different metals,
led me to compare this sensation with that produced by electricity.I
found a very considerable difference between them.Both |
hallway | Where is John? | Sandra went back to the kitchen.That occasioned by the metals is
accompanied with what is familiarly called the metallic taste; and
differs according to the metals employed.With the greater number of
metals it is scarcely perceptible.With zinc and gold, I think, it is
strongest; next so with zinc and silver, or molybdena, and insufferably
disagreeable with any of them.The sensation is most distinct when the tongue is of its ordinary
temperature, and when the metals are of the same temperature with the
tongue.When either the tongue, or the metals, or both, are heated or
cooled, as far as can be borne without inconvenience, scarcely any
sensation is produced.That this difference in the effect is owing to
the alteration which has been produced in the state of the tongue, and
not to that in the temperature of the metals, is evident from
experiments which I have already related; from which it appears that
neither the conducting, nor the exciting powers of metals are affected
by differences of their temperature.But I have found it the uniform
result of many experiments, that both the life and irritability of the
most vigorous frogs is completely destroyed in a few minutes, by
placing them in water heated to 106 degrees of Fahrenheit's scale.Cold, however, though it appears to affect the sensibility of the
tongue nearly as much as heat, did not, in one or two instances in
which I tried it, affect the irritability of the muscles of a frog.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.Some separated legs contracted equally well after they had lain upon a
piece of ice for some hours, as they did before they had been in that
situation.Whatever has a tendency to blunt the sensibility of the tongue, as
laudanum, a strong solution of opium in water, distilled spirits,
acids, &c. diminishes the effect of the metals.Acids, I think,
diminish it least.On placing different metals in the meatus auditorius externus of both
my ears, and establishing an insulated metallic communication between
them, I felt, or fancied that I felt, a disagreeable jirk of my head.The metals used were a silver probe, a roll of tin-foil, and a common
brass conductor belonging to an electrical machine.On withdrawing them
from my ears, I experienced a feeling similar to that which one has
after emerging from under water.I was not sensible of having hurt my
ears by the experiment, nor had I any uneasy sensation after it; but,
on getting out of bed next morning, I perceived both my pillow and my
face stained with blood; and, on examining, found that it had come from
one of my ears.An haemorrhagy from this part had never happened to me
before.From whatever cause this accident happened, (and it is highly
probable that it arose from some hurt unperceived at the time), I need
not say, that I have never repeated the experiment, and that I
certainly never shall.I never could perceive, that the senses, either of touch or of smell,
were in the least affected by the metals; but the effect which they
produce upon the eye is very remarkable.Having laid a piece of
tin-foil upon the point of my tongue, I placed the rounded end of a
silver pencil-case, against the ball of my eye, in the inner canthus,
and suffered them to remain in these situations till the parts were so
far accustomed to them, that I could examine the sensations produced; I
then brought the metals into contact with each other, and, to my
surprise, perceived a pale flash of light diffuse itself over the whole
of my eye.My tongue was at the same time affected with a similar
sensation to that produced when both the metals are in contact with it.On darkening the room, the flash became more distinct, and of a
stronger colour.This sensation is not the effect of pressure upon the
eye, as in Sir Isaac Newton's experiment; for no pressure should be
used.All that is required, is, that the silver lie between the lids of
the eye, and in contact with any part of the ball.John travelled to the garden.If the experiment be
made with zinc and gold, instead of tin-foil and silver, the flash is
incomparably more vivid.I had the disagreeable opportunity of trying
this experiment upon one of my eyes, in a state of inflammation; and,
in this case, found the flash much more strong than it was in the
uninflamed eye.I tried it likewise upon a patient, affected with
amaurosis; but the man was so stupid that I could not satisfy myself as
to the precise result.Recollecting that fine nervous twigs pass from the ciliary or
ophthalmic ganglion, through the sclerotic coat of the eye, to the
choroid coat, and to the uvea; and that this ganglion is in great part
formed from a twig of the nasal branch, of the fifth pair of nerves, in
conjunction with a branch of the third, I proceeded to try if, by
insinuating a rod of silver, as far as possible, up my nose, and thus
arming this nasal branch, I could, by bringing the silver into contact
with a piece of zinc, placed upon my tongue, pass this new influence up
the course of the nerve, and thus produce the flash in the eye.The
experiment answered my most sanguine expectation.The flash, in this
way produced, is, I think, if any thing, stronger than when the ball of
the eye itself is armed.I now thought I had discovered a certain
method, by which I could ascertain the effect of Galvani's influence,
upon a very important, involuntary muscle, the human iris.Daniel moved to the hallway.It occurred
to me that the ingenious physiologist Dr Whytt, had been able, through
the medium of the nasal branch of the fifth pair of nerves, to produce,
at pleasure, dilatations of the contracted pupil of a boy, in the last
stage of hydrocephalus, by applying aq.ammonia to his nostrils; and
this instance of the affection, of an involuntary muscle, through the
medium of its nerves, had, previously to making any experiments upon
the subject, always operated with me as a strong presumptive argument,
that the contractions of the heart might be influenced in a similar
manner.I therefore desired some of my friends to observe my pupil, while I
repeated the experiment, which I have above described.When the
external light was strong, they found some difficulty in determining,
whether the pupil contracted or not; but when no more light was
admitted, than what was just sufficient for discerning the pupil, they
perceived a very distinct contraction, every time the metals were
brought into contact with each other.This experiment requires some
attention, in order that it may succeed satisfactorily; but although I
have repeated it a great number of times upon the eyes of others, it
has seldom failed, when made in a steady light, and when the silver has
been passed far enough up the nose.The dilatation of the pupil, instead of its contraction, on the
application of a stimulus to its nerves, as in the case related by Dr
Whytt, is, I apprehend, not so uncommon a circumstance, as it may at
first be supposed.I have myself seen three instances of it in diseases
of the head.One of these was in an epileptic patient, whose pupils,
during the intervals of his fits, became suddenly dilated whenever his
eyes were exposed to a strong light.My friend, Mr George Hunter of York, while one day amusing himself with
repeating some of these experiments, discovered that by placing one of
the metals as high up as possible between the gums and the upper lip,
and the other in a similar situation with respect to the under lip, a
flash was produced as vivid as that occasioned by passing one of the
metals up the nose, and placing the other upon the tongue.It differs,
however, from the flash produced in any other way, in the singular
circumstance of not being confined to the eye alone, but appearing
diffused over the whole of the face.John went to the kitchen.On attending to the concomitant
sensations produced by this disposition of the metals, I perceived that
a sense of warmth, at the instant they were brought into contact,
diffused itself over the whole upper surface of the tongue, proceeding
from its root to the point.Dr Rutherford, to whom Mr Hunter had
communicated this experiment, remarked, on repeating it, that a flash
is produced not only at the instant the metals are brought into
contact, but likewise at the instant of their separation.While they
remain in contact, no flash is observed.Daniel journeyed to the garden.This fact is precisely analogous to one already mentioned of
contractions being produced in the leg of a frog, at the instant one of
the metals in contact with the other metal is withdrawn from the leg.After this full detail of these curious phenomena, I hardly need
remark, that they demonstrate the free communication, which subsists
between the several branches of the fifth pair of nerves, and
consequently give strong support, if not absolute confirmation, to the
well known doctrine of nervous sympathy, or of the reciprocal
influence, which different parts exert upon each other, through the
medium of nerves.If I might be allowed to hazard a conjecture, where we cannot have
recourse to demonstration, I should say that the flash, observed in the
above experiments, was the effect of contractions excited in
involuntary muscles by the application of a stimulus to their nerves;
or, in other words, that the effects of the application of the metals
to the nasal branch of the first division of the fifth pair of nerves,
had been propagated through the ciliary ganglion, along the ciliary
nerves, and to the choroid coat, whose vessels it had excited into
instantaneous action; and that their action again (as in the case of
action excited by pressure, or a blow upon the eye,) had by stimulating
the retina occasioned the sense of light.This supposition is, I think, rendered probable by several
considerations.I have already shewn that this influence can excite
contractions in involuntary muscles, through the medium of their
nerves.And certainly no reason can be assigned, _a priori_, why it
should not act equally upon every description of involuntary muscles;
upon those which make a part of the minutest vessels in the body, as
well as upon the heart, or upon the iris.That it excites to increased action the arteries of the tongue in the
experiment, in which a sense of warmth is produced along its surface by
the application of the metals to the lips, seems to be almost
demonstrated; for it would be difficult to point out the presence of
another cause competent to occasion the evolution of the heat, in this
case, besides the increased action of the arteries: and that this cause
is competent to the effect we know from numberless experiments, too
familiar to need being particularized here.Whether the metals, however, do or do not affect the action of the
blood vessels, is a question which admits of solution by experiment.The following, I confess, was not quite satisfactory, and I have not
yet found leisure and opportunity to repeat it with all the attention
it requires.I inspected the foot of a living frog with a microscope of very high
powers.In fixing the foot so as to keep the web expanded, a
considerable degree of inflammation was excited, notwithstanding every
precaution to avoid it.The current of blood was seen distinctly in
several vessels, now flowing rapidly, now slowly, and now in a
direction contrary to that in which it was first observed, but with
equal rapidity.A thin plate of zinc was introduced between the fleshy
part of the foot and its supporter, and a silver probe was used as an
excitor.To me, the circulation appeared very decidedly to be quickened
several times when the metals were made to touch each other: but the
gentlemen who assisted me could observe no change.To prevent the
contractions in the muscles of the leg from producing any fallacy, the
crural artery should be laid bare, and insulated from surrounding
parts, by passing a thin plate of glass, or sealing wax, between it and
them.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.That the flash is the effect of such an increased action of the
vessels, composing the choroid coat, might be somewhat more difficult
to prove.It is however known to every one, that a blow, and that
pressure upon the eye, are capable, as I have before observed, of
producing a similar effect.And the following case, which Bonetus
quotes from Hermannus Cummius, if it may be credited, affords an almost
positive proof, that vision depends upon the stimulus given to the
retina by the activity of blood vessels in some part of the eye.Sandra journeyed to the garden.'Quando theologus, plaga dolorifica, a rupta instrumenti musici chorda
accepta, nocte subsequenti jam adulta, e somno evigilans, cuncta clare,
ac si de die esset, vidit, adeo, ut minimos picturarum et tapetum
tractus observare, characteresque ex libro legere posset.Oculo vero
laeso clauso, tenebras densissimas adesse ille percepit, eodemque iterum
aperto, conclave illustratum visum est, lucem tamen candelae allatae
solisque splendorem de die, aegre tulit oculus affectus, quod per
aliquot dies duravit, tandemque sensim remisit.'Haller speaks of such cases as by no means uncommon, and quotes the
names of several authors, who have related similar ones.The direction of this influence, when suffered to pursue its natural
course, appears to be the same with that of most other stimuli, i. e.
from the place at which it first affects a nerve, onwards to the part,
in which that nerve terminates.I have repeatedly caused electrical
sparks to be passed into my own ulnar nerve at its passage over the
inner condyle of the humerus, but both the sensations and the
contractions produced by them have been entirely confined to the hand
and fore arm.It appears too, both from the experiments of Dr Monro, and of Dr
William Alexander of Halifax in Yorkshire, that when no communication
is left between the trunk and posterior extremities of a frog, except
by its sciatic nerves, a strong solution of opium, injected under the
skin of its posterior extremities, deprives them both of their
sensibility and of their contractile power; but that it does not in the
least affect the trunk of the body.If, on the contrary, it be applied
to the trunk, it exhausts both the trunk and the extremities.M. Galvani is said to have observed the effects of the influence, which
he discovered, diffused over the whole body of a frog, when the metals
were applied to a nerve merely laid bare, without being either divided
or separated from surrounding parts.If we are allowed to infer this
diffusion of the influence from the restlessness expressed by the
animal, M. Galvani's observation may be just.If from the contractions
produced, I suspect it is by no means so; since, in every experiment
which I have made upon the subject, the contractions have been confined
to those parts to which the nerve touched by the metals was distributed.That this influence, however, may pass in a direction contrary to the
course of nerves, is evident from some of the experiments which I have
related relative to its effects upon the senses, but is still more
clearly demonstrated by the following.John went back to the hallway.If, after having divided at the pelvis a frog recently killed, the
sciatic nerves be freed from cellular membrane up to their origin from
the spine, and all the parts below this, except themselves, be cut
away, the muscles on each side of the spine, for some little way up,
may be brought into contraction by touching the nerves alone with the
two metals in contact.This experiment has not always succeeded with
me, and never unless the frog had been recently killed.So long as the
hind legs remain undivided from the nerves, it never succeeded; the
only contractions produced being in the legs.We are told by Dr Valli, that no contractions are excited by arming the
blood vessels; but as he has not told us whether his experiments were
made upon them while the blood still continued to flow through them, or
after they had been deprived of their blood, I determined to make the
following experiment.Having laid bare, and separated from surrounding parts and from each
other, the crural artery, and nerve, in the thigh of a full grown frog,
I cut out the whole of the nerve between the pelvis and the knee.IMary travelled to the office. |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | The blood still continued
to flow, through the whole course of the artery, in an undiminished
stream.The artery, thus partially insulated, was touched with silver
and zinc, which were then brought into contact with each other; but no
contraction whatever was produced, in any muscle of the limb.This
experiment was frequently repeated upon several different frogs, both
in whom the nerve was, and in whom it was not, divided.Daniel moved to the bedroom.The result was
uniformly the same.But vivid contractions were produced in the whole
limb, when an electrical spark, or even a full stream of the aura, was
passed into the artery.It, however, by no means follows from this experiment, that the
sanguiferous system of animals bears no relation whatever to the
influence discovered by Galvani.I have already shewn, that the heart
may be affected by it, and have given reason to believe, that the
smallest arteries of the body are not exempted from its action.Should
it ever be proved to be an exclusive property of animals, it is not
impossible but that even its origin may be traced to their sanguiferous
system.-----
Footnote 11:
I have not been at the pains to inform myself, who first was the
author of this doctrine; but its adoption by Caldani, by Haller, and
by Fontana, and by all upon the faith of experiment, was certainly
sufficient to give it currency, in opposition to that of Willis,
Lower, Kaau, Boerhaave, Laghi, and even of the ingenious Whytt.------------------------------------------------------------------------
SECTION IV._An attempt to investigate the Source from which the respective
Powers of Nerves, and of Muscles, are derived._
As yet, the question whence the nerves and muscles of animals derive
their respective properties, remains in a state of doubt.By many, the
brain has been considered as the source not only of the several
energies exerted by nerves, whether appropriated to sensation, to the
excitement of muscles subservient to the will, or distributed to organs
exempted from its influence; but likewise of that unascertained power,
by which muscles contract on the application of a stimulus.By others again, these several properties are supposed to be derived
from the arteries, which may either supply the materials and
construction of that exquisite and peculiar organization, which fits
nerves and muscles for performing their respective functions, or may
furnish, from the blood, some subtile principle, such as that believed
by M. Fontana, to exist there, or such as that we are now examining,
which differently modified in different parts, may be the latent cause
of all the phenomena exhibited by animals.The advocates for the first opinion observe, that whenever the brain is
considerably injured, or its free communication, by means of nerves,
with moving parts is interrupted, a deprivation both of sense and
motion is the uniform consequence: and, further, that the several
organs, both of sense and of motion, appear to suffer detriment from
the over strained exertions of the brain in thinking, equal to that
which they experience from their own exertions.The second opinion is countenanced by facts and observations not less
important.From experiments of Haller; some which are recorded in one
of the early volumes of the Philosophical Transactions, and others, it
appears that a paralysis of the posterior extremities of animals was
induced by tying their aorta.Both Dr Monro and Dr Alexander of Halifax have remarked, that when all
the blood vessels, supplying the posterior extremities of frogs, had
been divided, and a solution of opium injected under the skin of these
extremities, they became, in less than half an hour, both motionless
and insensible; whereas, the fore part of the body was not observably
affected six hours afterwards; and, in Dr Monro's experiments, the
frogs lived till the day following.Hence Dr Monro concludes, 'that
concomitant arteries, somehow or other, tune the nerves, so as to fit
them to convey impression[13].'On the other hand, where it is intended that nerves shall convey
impressions with great accuracy, as in all the senses, and very
remarkably in the part which some have amused themselves by considering
as a sixth organ of sense, the distribution of blood vessels is more
profuse than in almost any other equal part.It is likewise universally
true, that increase of vascular action in a part is always attended
with a proportional increase of sensibility there.From the valuable experiments made by Mr Cruikshanks, and which have
since received the fullest confirmation from those repeated by M.
Fontana and others, it appears, that whatever may be the relation
between brain and nerves, the latter may certainly be regenerated after
excision, and have their functions fully restored.Now, in what manner
this can be accomplished, unless by the agency of arteries, would, I
imagine, be no easy task to point out.The influence discovered by Galvani appeared to me an admirable test,
by which something decisive might be ascertained relative to these
important points in the physiology of animals, and as such I have
employed it in the following experiments.Considering, therefore, the brain on the one hand, and the sanguiferous
system on the other, as the possible sources from which nerves and
muscles might derive their power, I began by comparing the effects
which result from interrupting their communication, first with the
brain, and then with the arteries.This mode of procedure seemed to
afford the best prospect of information with respect to every object
which I had in view, but particularly with regard to the relations
which this influence may bear to the several parts examined.Before relating the experiments, I must observe that the comparison was
instituted between the effects of only partially interrupted
communication; since it must be obvious that a complete interruption,
either of nervous or of arterious communication between any part of an
animal, and the rest of its body, could not have been effected without
so far injuring the animal, as to render the result fallacious._Experiments in which the Sciatic Nerves of Frogs were divided._
EXPERIMENT I.
I divided the sciatic nerve, on one side only, in four large frogs.The
division was made at the very top of their thighs, and before the nerve
had given off the first large branch to the muscles of the thigh.This
nerve lies immediately underneath the large crural artery, to which it
is closely attached by a sheath of fine but very strong cellular
membrane.A small nerve, which supplies some of the muscles on the
under side of the thigh, was suffered to remain undivided.The legs,
whose nerves had been divided, became completely paralytic below the
knee, and very nearly so above it.These legs too, immediately after
the division of their nerves, contracted vigorously when laid upon
zinc, and excited by passing a rod of silver in contact with the under
part of the knee till it touched the zinc; but the other legs which
were suffered to remain in their natural state, in order that the
contractility of one leg might all along be compared with that of the
other, did not contract when the metals were similarly applied to them.These frogs were all killed by cutting off their heads; the first, at
the end of two days after dividing the nerve; the second, at the end of
five days; the third, at the end of seven; and the fourth, at the end
of nine.Their legs were carefully examined, in the manner I have
described, four or five times every day after their heads had been
taken off, so long as any contractions could be excited; but I could
not perceive, in any one of these instances, that the contractile power
continued either longer or more vigorous in the legs, in which the
nerves were not divided than it did in those in which they were.Both in these experiments, and in all my others, where a comparison was
instituted between the two legs of the same frog, I divided equal
portions of skin on both thighs, that there might be no unequal
exposure of the muscles to the water, which would have occasioned a
fallacy in the result.On the 31st of March last, I divided, in two, a frog, in one of whose
legs I had four months before excited inflammation, by laying bare the
crural artery and nerve.The inflammation had been so violent and
general, that the frog lost its cuticle in consequence of it, and, when
compared with a healthy frog, its resperation was observed to be
remarkably frequent.Three weeks after this, when the wound in its
thigh had perfectly skinned over, I laid it open again, and divided the
sciatic nerve.No general inflammation this time took place, nor did
the wound again skin over; but for about a month before it was killed,
a large ulcer had formed immediately over the division of the nerve,
but had not proceeded down to it.The limb, at the time I killed the
frog, was as destitute both of motion and of sensation, as at the first
instant the nerve was divided, but contractions were excited in it, by
touching the ulcer with zinc and silver.When the frog was dead,
however, the contractions were found much more feeble in this than in
the other leg.The metals were now applied to the sciatic nerves within the abdomen.Vigorous contractions were excited in the sound leg, but none in that
whose nerve had been divided.Hence it was plain, that no actual
regeneration had taken place.On examining the nerve accurately at the
part divided, I found the divided ends, which had receded considerably
from each other, connected by a transparent gelatinous substance.From
the upper end, which appeared elongated into a conical form, several
red streaks projected into the interposed substance.The lower end was
opaque, thickened, and rounded.No appearance of spiral bands could be
detected, either in the interposed substance, or in the part of the
nerve below the division, when these parts were examined with the
assistance of a microscope.This substance had attained sufficient
consistence to support the under part of the nerve, when the upper was
raised with a pair of forceps.The leg, in which the nerve had been
divided, continued to contract as long as the other, though much less
vigorously, and the part, from which I could longest excite
contractions, was the ulcer.On the 14th of April last, I killed two other frogs, by dividing their
hind extremities from their bodies.In one, the right sciatic nerve had
been divided more than six weeks previous to its death.In the other,
one of the sciatic nerves had been divided between three weeks and a
month.The legs of these frogs, examined by the metals both before and after
their separation from the body, were found in a state very different
from those before spoken of.The contractions were scarcely
perceptible.The incisions made through the skin, in order to get at
their nerves, had closed completely in less than a week after they had
been made.The appearance of the muscles in the legs, whose nerves had been
divided, was found to be precisely the same as in those where nothing
had been done; but, notwithstanding this circumstance, even strong
electrical sparks excited but very feeble contractions.On examining
the nerves, the ends of that which had been longest divided were found
connected by a substance not at all resembling nerve, but similar to
that found in the former experiment, and evidently proceeding from the
upper division.In the nerve which had not been so long divided, this
circumstance was still more apparent, as the substance had not extended
quite to the lower division.The cellular membrane surrounding these
upper divisions had the appearance of innumerable vessels finely
injected, and some red streaks were seen projecting, as if from the
nerve itself, into the gelatinous production.In the sound nerves, the
obliquely transverse lines of alternate opacity and transparency, or,
as Fontana has called them, the white spiral bands of nerves, were seen
distinctly at the first glance of the eye, and without the assistance
of a glass; but no appearance of these could be found in the parts of
the divided nerves below the division; these were uniformly opaque.Their bulk, however, was not in the least diminished.The organization
of nerves long divided, therefore, undergoes a very evident alteration,
although it is by no means so clear that the same change happens in the
muscles, to which these nerves are distributed.Yet their
susceptibility to the action of electricity, as well as to that of this
new influence, was nearly lost.Some may consider this as an additional
argument, that stimuli act upon muscles only through the medium of
nerves.I have before observed that muscles of frogs, from whom the skin has
been stripped, become in a short time hard when exposed to the action
of water.Wishing, therefore, to see if there would be any difference
between these legs, whose nerves had been divided, and others, in this
respect, I laid them in water, and examined them every ten minutes, but
both became hard nearly at the same time.Mr Allen, a gentleman well
versed in physiological pursuits, was with me when I examined the
alteration which had taken place in one of these nerves, in consequence
of its having remained long divided, and I had afterwards an
opportunity of shewing it to Dr Rutherford.In all the frogs, whose
nerves I have divided, I have observed that the divided extremities,
though placed in most exact contact from each other, had after a time
receded at least 1/12 of an inch from each other._Experiments in which the Crural Arteries of Frogs
were tied as near to the Trunks of their Bodies,
as where the Nerves had been divided in the former Experiments._
EXPERIMENT I.
Both crural arteries of a full grown frog having been laid bare, one of
them was tied.The leg, in which this was done, became instantly weaker
than the other, and rather dragged when the animal was put into water.The frog, however, could still jump about with great agility.Four
hours after this operation, it was killed by crushing its brain.John went back to the garden.It
continued to move its legs spontaneously, when touched, during more
than two days after this, and contractions were excitable by the
application of the metals for two days longer.Sometimes it appeared
rather doubtful, which leg contracted most vigorously, but, in general,
the leg in which the artery remained free did so, and contractions
could be excited in it, more than an hour after every means to excite
them in the other leg had failed.On the arrival of a stranger it will immediately
parade the room, and receive him with a musical welcome.Here are also several varieties of pigeons and other small birds,
particularly humming birds; these beautiful flutterers fly in all
directions, sipping the honey from the flowers, especially those of the
plantain and the banana, which are their favourites, and in which they
are often completely hidden while feeding on their nectareous sweets.The small birds are more worthy of admiration for the brilliancy of
their plumage than for the sweetness of their notes; indeed very few of
them ever sing; and the continued chattering of the parrots is very
disagreeable.The most useful bird here is the gallinaso, it may be
called the public scavenger, and it is protected by the municipal law,
which imposes a fine of five dollars on any person who kills one of
them.Numerous snakes infest the whole of the province of Guayaquil, and
individuals are often bitten by them; but the natives are possessed of
remedies, and against the poison of some, of specific antidotes.They
make the patient drink a considerable quantity of olive oil, scarify
round the wound, and apply pieces of calcined stag's horn; but the
safest remedy known among the natives is the leaves of a creeper called
_huaco_, which growls in the woods.The leaves are bruised to the
consistency of paste, which is made into small cakes, each about the
size of half a crown, and then dried in the shade.When a person is
bitten, he puts one of these small cakes in his mouth, and chews it till
the bitter taste is gone, at the same time swallowing his saliva; he is
then bathed, the chewed herb is taken from his mouth and bound over the
wound, and he |
garden | Where is John? | The visible effects are a copious perspiration.When at Esmeraldas I was bitten in the hand by a coral snake, the bite
of which is considered mortal if not immediately cured; the pain which I
felt was a violent burning near the wound; it gradually spread over the
part affected, accompanied with a peculiar sensation, which appeared as
if a large weight were hanging to my hand, and which prevented me from
raising it.A native who was with me having observed what had happened,
immediately gave me a cake of the huaco herb, ordered me to chew it, and
began to press my hand, squeezing the wound; in about five minutes the
pain abated, and the bitter taste of the herb was gone.I bathed in the
river, and laid myself down in a canoe, where I was covered with a
poncho and taken to my home, which was about four miles from the spot
where the accident happened.During the time that I remained in the
canoe I perspired most profusely, and after retiring to my bed, more so;
the pain in my hand was very much allayed, but I felt a general numbness
and great debility, accompanied with nausea; I drank a large glass of
almond milk, _orchata_, and slept about an hour; on waking I found
myself feverish, my tongue parched and hard, and for four days I was
very ill.A poultice of boiled pumpkin was continually kept on my hand,
and the wound began to suppurate on the fourth day, when my health was
gradually restored.All this time I was very apprehensive of danger,
although the natives assured me that as twenty-four hours had elapsed
since the bite, I was perfectly safe.For more than a fortnight I felt
the effects of the poisonous fangs of the reptile, which the natives had
killed almost immediately after it had wounded me, and brought it to my
house.I never saw the huaco herb growing, but I have seen it when
brought from the woods; the leaves are about two and a half inches long
and half an inch broad; the upper surface is of a dark green, with
purple veins running along it, of a glossy appearance and solid texture;
the under side is of an obscure purple hue; the leaves grow singly, two
being placed opposite to each other on the stem, which is slender, hard,
and ribbed, and of a bluish colour.I never saw the flower, and the
natives when I asked them concerning it, told me that it never did
flower, at least that they had never observed any flowers on the plant.Fortunately, a bird at Guayaquil called _quiriquinqui_, at Esmeraldas
and on the coast of Choco, _huaco_, and at Quito, _beteado de oro_, is a
great enemy to the snakes, and other venomous reptiles and insects, on
which it feeds.It is a species of vulture, about the size of a hen, and
is easily domesticated; its colour is a bright brown, variegated with
stains of pale yellow.It flies about the woods, or runs along the
savanas in quest of its food, and attacks the snakes, opposing its wing
to them as a shield; when the animal is somewhat exhausted by striking
at the bird, it seizes the reptile near the head, and biting it rises on
its wings, and afterwards alights, and observes if it be dead; if not,
it again bites it, and sometimes soaring aloft with it lets it fall, and
immediately drops down after it; when dead the bird devours it.The
natives affirm, that to this bird they owe the discovery of the herb
which they call huaco; they observed that the bird, after fighting with
a snake, would sometimes search for the herb and eat it; hence they
supposed it to be an antidote for the poison, which experience has
proved to be correct.Daniel moved to the bedroom.The poisonous snakes found here are the _bejuco_, about two feet long,
very slender, and of a brown colour, having the appearance of a small
cane; the _cascabel_, one of the varieties of the rattle snake; it is
sometimes five feet long, and spotted with white and yellow; the coral,
of a very beautiful appearance, owing to its bright colours, which are a
deep red, bright yellow, and black, in alternate belts; the head is very
flat, and although the animal is small, seldom exceeding two feet in
length, its bite is considered of the most poisonous kind, and if not
directly cured generally proves mortal in a few hours; the effects are
an immediate swelling, and afterwards an exudation of blood from every
part of the body, accompanied with the most agonizing pain, till death
relieves the wretch from the anguish he endures.Don Pedro Figueroa, to
whose attention I owed my cure, assured me, that he once saw the corpse
of a <DW64> who died of the bite of the coral snake, and that it had
become completely white.The _exis_ is so called on account of the marks
along the back, from the head to the extremity of the tail; its length
is from three to four feet, head flat, colour dark brown, with white
marks like XX along the back.This snake is most active and poisonous,
and is much dreaded.The _sierpe volante_ is very dangerous; it is about
eighteen inches long, very slender, of a dark brown colour, and can
spring to a great distance to inflict its poisonous wound; hence the
natives call it the flying serpent.Here are several kinds of harmless
snakes, which the natives never kill, as they are great enemies of the
poisonous ones; I once saw one of these, called the _sobre cama_,
devouring an exis larger than itself.The river of Guayaquil and the creeks that empty themselves into it,
abound with alligators, _lagartos_, or _caimanes_, so much so, that on
the banks where they lie basking in the sun they appear like logs of
wood thrown up by the tide, and are so unapprehensive of danger, that a
canoe or boat may pass very near to them without their being disturbed;
when basking in this manner they keep their enormous mouths open, and
owing to the colour of the fleshy substance on the inside of the lower
jaw, as well as to a musky scent which accompanies their breath, great
numbers of flies are allured to enter the mouth, the upper jaw of
which, when a sufficient number are collected, suddenly falls down, and
the deluded insects are swallowed.The alligator is an oviparous animal; the female deposits her eggs in
the sand, laying in the course of one or two days from eighty to a
hundred; they are much larger than those of a goose, and much thicker;
they are covered with a very tenacious white membrane, and are often
eaten by the indians, who when they take them first open a small hole in
the larger end, and place the egg in the sand with the hole downward; by
this means a peculiarly disagreeable musky taste is destroyed; they
afterwards cook them in the same manner as other eggs.I have tasted
them, and found nothing disagreeable, except their being very tough.After depositing her eggs the female covers them with sand, and then
rolls herself over them, and continues rolling to the water side, as if
to prevent the spot being found where she has left her deposit; but the
vigilant gallinasos are generally on the alert at this season, and when
they have found the nest, destroy the whole of them.The people who live
near the sides of the river train their dogs to search for the eggs, as
well as to destroy them; and thus thousands are annually broken.When instinct informs the alligator that the time of ovation is
completed, both the male and female go to the nest, and if undisturbed
the female immediately uncovers the eggs, and carefully breaks them; the
young brood begin to run about, and the watchful gallinasos prey upon
them, while the male alligator, who appears to have come for no other
purpose, devours all that he possibly can; those that can mount on the
neck and back of the female are safe, unless they happen to fall off, or
cannot swim, in which cases she devours them.Thus nature has prepared a
destruction for these dangerous animals, which would otherwise be as
numerous as flies, and become the absolute proprietors of the
surrounding country; even at present, notwithstanding the comparatively
few that escape, their number is almost incredible.I have frequently seen the lagartos eighteen or twenty feet long.They
feed principally on fish, which they catch in the rivers, and are known
sometimes to go in a company of ten or twelve to the mouths of the small
rivers and creeks, where two or three ascend while the tide is high,
leaving the rest at the mouth; when the tide has fallen, one party
besets the mouth of the creek, while the other swims down the stream,
flapping their tails, and driving the fish into the very jaws of their
devourers, which catch them, and lift their heads out of the water to
swallow them.When these voracious creatures cannot procure a sufficient quantity of
fish to satisfy their hunger, they betake themselves to the savanas,
where they destroy the calves and foals, lurking about during the day,
and seizing their prey when asleep at night, which they drag to the
water side, and there devour it.The cattle and the dogs appear sensible
of their danger when they go to the rivers to drink, and will howl and
bark until they have attracted the attention of the lagartos at one
place, and then drop back and run to another, where they drink in a
hurry, and immediately leave the water side; otherwise, as has been the
case, an alligator would seize on them by the nose, drag them under the
water, and drown and eat them.When the lagarto has once tasted the flesh of animals it will almost
abandon the fish, and reside principally ashore.I crossed the large
plain of Babaoyo, where I saw a living one, buried, except the head, in
the clay, beside the remains of several dead ones.On inquiring how they
came there, the _montubios_, a name given here to the peasantry, told
me, that when the rains fall in the mountains the great part of this
savana is inundated, at which time the lagartos prowl about in search of
the cattle remaining on the small islands that are then formed; and when
the waters retire they are left embedded in the clay, till the ensuing
rains set them at liberty; they feed on flies in the way already
described, and can exist in this manner for six or seven months.When
found in this state the natives always kill them; sometimes by piercing
them with lances between the fore leg and the body, the only visible
part in which they are vulnerable; if they be not prepared with a lance,
they collect wood, and kindle a fire as near to the mouth of the lagarto
as they dare venture, and burn him to death.John went back to the garden.These animals will sometimes seize human beings when bathing, and even
take children from the shores; after having succeeded once or twice they
will venture to take men or women from the balsas, if they can surprize
them when asleep; but they are remarkably timid, and any noise will
drive them from their purpose.They have also been known to swim
alongside a small canoe, and to suddenly place one of their paws on the
edge and upset it, when they immediately seize the unwary victim.Whenever it is known that a _cebado_, one that has devoured either a
human being or cattle, is in the neighbourhood, all the people join in
the common cause to destroy it; this they often effect by means of a
noose of strong hide rope, baited with some animal food; when the
lagarto seizes the bait its upper jaw becomes entangled with the rope,
and the people immediately attack it with their lances, and generally
kill it.The natives sometimes divert themselves in catching the lagartos alive;
they employ two methods, equally terrific and dangerous to a spectator,
at first sight; both of these were exhibited to Count Ruis, when we were
at Babaoyo, on our way to Quito.A man takes in his right hand a
truncheon, called a tolete; this is of hard wood, about two feet long,
having a ball formed at each end, into which are fastened two iron
harpoons, and to the middle of this truncheon a platted thong is
fastened.John travelled to the bathroom.The man takes this in his hand, plunges into the river, and
holds it horizontally on the surface of the water, grasping a dead fowl
with the same hand, and swimming with the other: he places himself in a
right line with the lagarto, which is almost sure to dart at the fowl;
when this happens the truncheon is placed in a vertical position, and
at the moment that the jaw of the lagarto is thrown up the tolete is
thrust into the mouth, so that when the jaw falls down again the two
harpoons become fixed, and the animal is dragged to the shore by the
cord fastened to the tolete.When on shore the appearance of the lagarto
is really most horrible; his enormous jaw propped up by the tolete,
shewing his large sharp teeth; his eyes projecting almost out of his
head; the pale red colour of the fleshy substance on his under jaw, as
well as that of the roof of the mouth; the impenetrable armour of scales
which covers the body, with the huge paws and tail, all contribute to
render the spectacle appalling; and although one is perfectly aware that
in its present state it is harmless, yet it is almost impossible to look
on it without feeling what fear is.The natives now surround the lagarto
and bait it like a bull; holding before it any thing that is red, at
which it runs, when the man jumps on one side and avoids being struck by
it, while the animal continues to run forward in a straight line, till
checked by the thong which is fastened to the tolete.John travelled to the garden.When tired of
teazing the poor brute, they kill it by thrusting a lance down its
throat, or under the fore leg into its body; unless by accident it be
thrown on its back, when it may be pierced in any part of the belly,
which is soft and easily penetrated.The other method is, by taking a fowl in one hand, and a sharp strong
knife in the other; the man swims till he is directly opposite to the
alligator, and at the moment when it springs at the fowl the man dives
under the water, leaving: the fowl on the surface; he then holds up the
knife to the belly of the animal, and cuts it open, when the alligator
immediately rolls over on its back, and is carried away by the stream.Much has been said about the surprizing agility of some of the Spanish
bull fighters, and I have often beheld feats that have astonished me;
but this diversion at Babaoyo, for so the natives consider it, evinced
more bravery and agility than I had ever before witnessed.The teeth of
the alligator are often taken from the jaws, and _yesqueros_, small
tinder boxes, which are generally carried in the pocket for the purpose
of lighting segars, are made from them; they are beautifully white and
equal to the finest ivory; some are four inches long, and I have seen
them most delicately carved, and mounted with gold or silver.In fishing, the natives also evince extraordinary dexterity, both in the
river and on the sea shores.In the river I have seen them stand up in
small canoes, five or six feet long, and hold a net fastened to a
triangular frame, having a long pole affixed to it; they will dip the
net into the river, inclining the body backwards to preserve a perfect
balance on the canoe, sweep the net along the stream, and draw it to the
surface, raising the body gradually to an erect posture, so that the
equipoise is never lost; this indeed is a wonderful effort, because any
slight tremulous motion would upset the slender foundation on which they
stand.From similar canoes they will also throw the casting net,
_ataraya_, already described.At sea the natives, chiefly indians, mount
astride on logs of balsa wood, and take their large nets with them,
which they let drop; after which they fasten the cord of the two
extremities to the logs and paddle to the shore, dragging the net after
them, |
garden | Where is Daniel? | In the sea along the coast of the department la Manta, very large cuttle
fish abound, some of which are twelve feet long and seven feet broad; it
was owing to the accidents which happened by their enveloping and
killing the divers that the pearl fishery on this coast was abandoned,
although some very valuable pearls have been found.Daniel moved to the bedroom.This lucrative
occupation, however, if attended with such precautions as science may
suggest, will probably be reassumed; and the expectations of the natives
may be realized, that Providence has made a reserve and hidden treasures
from the Spaniards, that the country may not be unworthy of notice when
they lose it.John went back to the garden.The only mineral production in the province of Guayaquil of which any
mention is made, is emeralds, in the district of la Manta; but they have
not been sought for since the conquest; tradition states, that before
that period the indians possessed many of these gems, but it is probable
they obtained them from the neighbouring province de las Esmeraldas,
where I have seen several.After the foregoing description of Guayaquil and its productions, it is
almost unnecessary to say any thing respecting its importance as a place
of commerce.It is likewise the principal, and till very lately (1824)
was the only port to the provinces of Quito, Cuenca, Paste, and Papayan,
all of which are extensive, well peopled, and comparatively rich
districts.The only thing wanting here is an increase of capital,
activity, and inhabitants; for the climate and the soil are calculated
to produce whatever is found between the tropics; and there is no doubt
but that this will at a future date become one of the most flourishing
countries in the new world.John travelled to the bathroom.Journey from Guayaquil to Quito....Babaoyo....Road to Chimbo....
_Cuesta de San Antonio_....Arrival at Huaranda....Triumphal Arch
and Harangue....Description of Huaranda and Province of Chimbo....
Chimboraso....Accident at la Ensillada....Road to San Juan....
_Obrage_ of Indians....Arrival at Riobamba....Description of....
Remains of Old Riobamba......Visit to an old Cacique......Province
of Riobamba......Road to Ambato....Description of....Produce....
Arrival at Tacunga....Description of....Earthquakes at....Ruins of
Callo....Provincial Produce....Arrival at Chisinchi, Ensillada, and
Quito....Remarks.The health of the count being re-established, we left Guayaquil under a
discharge of nineteen guns, some pieces of cannon having been placed in
front of the custom-house for this purpose.We remained two days at the
Bodegas de Babaoyo, a small village, where there is a custom-house for
the collection of the duties which are paid on goods, on entering or
leaving the province of Guayaquil.The roads across the savana, notwithstanding the absence of rain for
three months, were in some places very bad, although a number of Indians
had been sent by the Corregidor of Huaranda to repair them; they were
mended by putting the trunks of trees in the deep, muddy places, and
laying the branches and leaves of trees on the top.A considerable
number of cattle were grazing on the open plains, some of which were
very fat.At noon we halted at a farm-house, where a splendid dinner was
provided for us by the cura of San Miguel de Chimbo, who had come here
to meet us.After dinner we proceeded on our journey to a small
farm-house, where every convenient accommodation had been prepared for
us, and we remained here during the night.On the following day we
arrived at the village of San Miguel, situated in a deep ravine,
commanding a beautiful prospect of the mountains, which gradually rose
above each other, till their heads were lost in the clouds.On our
arrival at this village we were met by about forty indian boys,
_cholos_, fantastically dressed; and the little fellows danced along the
sides of the street as we passed to the house prepared for our
reception.On the following day, July 22d, a dreary prospect presented itself; this
was the ascent of the cuesta de San Antonio; we began to ascend at nine
o'clock in the morning, and at every step new difficulties and greater
dangers presented themselves; in some places the road ran along a narrow
ridge, with a precipice on each side; in others we had to travel along
_ladcras_, or narrow skirts of the mountain beaten down by travellers
into a path, with a deep valley on one side, and a perpendicular rock on
the other--a fall on one side threatening inevitable death, and on the
other broken arms or legs against the rough sides of the rock.In other
parts there was a narrow gully formed by the heavy rains and the transit
of mules, the perpendicular sides rising ten or fifteen feet above our
heads.To these may be added, that the whole of the road for six leagues
is composed of abrupt acclivities or rapid descents, while the track in
which the mules tread was composed of deep furrows, called _camellones_,
filled with mud; some of them were more than two feet deep, so that the
belly of the mule and the feet of the rider were dragged over the ridges
that divide the furrows: these indeed serve as steps, and in some degree
may be accounted a security; but if a mule should happen to fall, or
even to stumble, the danger of being thrown headlong down a precipice is
rather frightful.In some places there are two roads; the one by which
the mules descend has no camellones, or furrows, down which the mules
seem to prefer sliding to stepping down the others.When at the top,
these sagacious animals halt for a short time, shake themselves, and
snort, as if conscious of the hazard of the undertaking; they then draw
their hind feet forward, place their fore legs in a slanting position,
and approach very gradually to the beginning of the descent, when with
uncommon velocity they slide on their haunches to the bottom.Their
dexterity in the crooked places is truly astonishing; for by a motion of
the body they incline themselves first to one side then to the other,
keeping the most perfect equilibrium, which is the only means of saving
them and their riders from being hurled headlong forward, or dashed to
pieces by a fall.During all this time the rider has only to sit still,
to lay the reins on the mule's neck, and trust to its sagacity and the
recommendation given by its master; for many mules are kept in this
neighbourhood, and are highly esteemed for their dexterity in sliding
down this part of the road; fortunately for us, being in company with
the Captain-general of the kingdom, all the best mules were collected
for our use.At two o'clock in the afternoon we were cheered with _se ha acabado la
cuesta_, we are at the end of the mountain road.This place is called
_parcara_, a gate or entrance; it also signifies a fortified place; such
this probably was before the conquest, and such it was made in 1811 by
the Quiteños, to prevent the entrance of the Peruvian troops.We all
alighted, and shook some of the dirt from our clothes, after which we
were politely received by Don Gaspar Morales, the Corregidor of
Huaranda, the two alcaldes, several officers, and other gentlemen of the
province; but what proved far more welcome, was a relay of horses.[Illustration: INDIAN WATER CARRIER, & FEMALE INDIAN BRUSH-WOOD CARRIER,
_OF QUITO_._Engraved for Stevenson's Narrative of South America._]
After our saddles had been placed on our new steeds we mounted, and
proceeded in regular procession, two indians, with silver trumpets,
going before.At the distance of a league from the town we were met by
the brawny vicar, mounted on the finest mule I ever beheld; indeed, such
an animal was quite necessary, when it is considered what an unwieldy
mass it had to carry: the circumstance made several of us smile, and we
could scarcely refrain from laughter when the corregidor presented him
to his excellency, saying, "the vicar of Huaranda, Don Juan Antonio
Maria de la Magdalena Jaramillo, Pacheco, y Tavera."Heaven help us,
said I, to an officer who stood near me, how I pity the parson's mule.We had not proceeded far when a troop of militia cavalry met us; these
tatterdemalions would certainly have borne away the prize had they been
put in competition with the infantry of Sir John Falstaff; and could I
have chosen for myself, hang me if I would have entered Huaranda in
their company.The next that made their appearance were the indian dancers, singing
their _cachuas_ in _Quichua_, welcoming the arrival of the governor with
the most discordant yellings, and such extravagant expressions as beggar
all description.At the entrance of the town there was a triumphal arch!This was composed of canes, decorated with curtains of all colours and
descriptions of stuffs; ribbons for streamers, and flags made of pocket
handkerchiefs; silver plates, dishes, spoons, and forks were hung round
it.When his excellency had arrived close to it, a curtain was withdrawn
in the upper story, and an indian in the uniform of an officer, his
coarse black hair stiffened with tallow and flour, still incapable of
being turned into a curl, but standing upright in every direction,
advanced to the front, made a most profound bow, and then stepped back;
after this he looked up, and exclaimed, "_angil bello, daja el papel_,"
"beautiful angel, give me the paper," but in such a broken dialect, that
nothing, save an acquaintance with the Spanish language, can afford any
idea.Several white muslin handkerchiefs, which were tied in festoons
above his head in imitation of clouds, opened, and down fell, or rather
was lowered with a rope, an indian angel, his head as thickly cased in
tallow and flour as that of his invocater; he delivered a folded paper,
and was again dragged up into the muslin clouds, while the delighted
multitude expressed their approbation with shouts of joy.The orator
re-advanced, and read his harangue with all the rhetoric and graceful
attitudes of a Bombasto.His address was succeeded by the throwing up of
innumerable rockets, amid the sound of trumpets and other music
stationed on one side of the arch; this was followed by our arrival at
the house of the Corregidor, where a most sumptuous dinner was on the
table.Huaranda is the residence of the Corregidor, or governor of the province
of Chimbo, and may be considered the capital of that province.John travelled to the garden.John went to the kitchen.The town
is large but poor, the inhabitants being chiefly occupied as carriers.Their wealth consists in their droves of mules, which during the summer,
when the road is open, are employed in conveying merchandize between
Quito and Guayaquil.The climate at this place is remarkably cold, owing
to its elevation above the sea and the vicinity of Chimboraso, which is
seen from the town, and has the appearance of a huge white cloud
piercing the blue vault of heaven.The province of Chimbo has an extensive breed of mules in the valleys;
barley, potatoes, and maize are cultivated by the indians in various
parts, and some sugar cane in the bottoms of the ravines.At a place
called Tomabela is a spring of salt water, which is so completely
saturated that it forms large crusts on the stones against which the
water dashes, and along the sides of the small stream; the indians also
put the water into troughs, and stir it with a wooden spatula; the salt
then crystallizes on the sides of the trough, and is taken out; this
salt is packed in small baskets and sent to different parts of the
kingdom, as well as to Peru; it is a specific for the _cotos_,
bronchocele, by merely eating food seasoned with it.This valuable
production is delicately white, easily pulverised, and very slightly
deliquescent.Having taken some refreshment at Huaranda, we proceeded on the following
morning to the Pajonal, at the foot of the majestic Chimboraso, the
giant of the Andes.The day was beautifully clear, and the view of this
lofty mountain highly interesting; we had seen it at the mouth of the
Guayaquil river, as well as at that city, a distance of forty leagues,
where we were almost suffocated with heat; but now we felt almost
perished with cold: the kingdom of lofty palms and shady plantains was
in four days exchanged for a region where vegetation is reduced to its
lowest ebb--the dwarf pined mosses.A _tambo_, resting house, stands on the plain at the foot of Chimboraso;
this had been prepared for our reception; and to contribute in a degree
to make it more warm, or rather to keep out some of the cold, the inside
had been neatly covered with long dry grass, called _pajon_, which grows
on this plain.Owing to an accident, the grass caught fire in one of the
rooms, at two o'clock in the morning; we immediately ran from our beds,
or rather ran with our beds, for we dragged them with us, not a little
pleased, in this dilemma, that we had all of us retired to rest without
undressing; notwithstanding this we were dreadfully pinched by the
frosty air blowing from Chimboraso on one side, or Carguairaso on the
other.After the first blaze of the pajon had subsided, the indians
entered the house, and dragged out a few things which had been placed
inside, but fortunately the principal part of our luggage had been left
on the outside.We waited till morning, sitting on our mattresses, and
wrapped up in our ponchos and blankets, as near the fire as we dared to
venture.In the morning we proceeded on our journey, winding round the foot of
Chimboraso, till the valley of San Juan opened on our right; we
descended along a very rugged steep path, and at twelve o'clock arrived
at the _obrage_ of San Juan, belonging to Don Martin Chiriboga, where we
remained till the following morning.I here beheld the South American
indian reduced to the most abject state of servitude and bondage,
compared to which the slave belonging to the plantations on the coast of
Peru, is free indeed.These unfortunate beings, robbed of their country, are merely allowed to
exist in it; because the plunderers would only possess a barren waste
without their labour: the fertility of the soil would be useless without
beings to harvest the crops and manufacture the produce; the gold and
the silver must sleep in the mountains if no human beings were employed
to extract it.these beings are the degraded original proprietors,
on whom the curse of conquest has fallen with all its concomitant
hardships and penury.A miserable pittance of fourteen dollars a year is
the wages of a man who works in this cloth manufactory; and ten that of
him who tends a flock of sheep; and for this miserable pay they are
subject to the whip and to other corporal punishments: their home is a
hut, composed of rude stones placed one upon another, and thatched with
the long grass from the foot of Chimboraso: here, hunger, misery, and
wretchedness seem to have fixed their abode, at the sight of which pity
would wring tears from the heart of oppression; but pity has no part in
the composition of the oppressors of the Children of the Sun!Some of the cloth made at this obrage was the finest I had ever seen
manufactured in America, but this was by a transgression of the colonial
laws, which had established the precise quality of colonial
manufactures.Happy at leaving behind that misery which I could only
compassionate, we left San Juan in the morning, and arrived at two
o'clock in theDaniel journeyed to the garden. |
garden | Where is John? | Riobamba is the capital of the province of the same name; the old town
was founded in 1533, by the Adelantado Sebastian Benalcasar; it
contained twenty thousand inhabitants, two parish churches, four
convents, two nunneries, and a hospital; but it was completely destroyed
by an earthquake in 1797, when with very few exceptions the whole
population perished, besides a much larger number in different parts of
the province, and perhaps no remains of these terrible convulsions of
nature are more awful than those at Riobamba.Some of the ruins of the
old town may be seen on the acclivities of the mountains on each side
the valley, where the new town now stands, separated from each other at
least a league and a half; and I was shewn some ruins on each side of
the valley which the inhabitants assured me had formed part of one
edifice, particularly the two steeples which had belonged to the
Franciscan church; these were on one side, and a portion of the body of
the church on the other.The face of the country was entirely changed, so much so, that after the
shock the surviving inhabitants, and those of the neighbouring
provinces, could not tell where their houses formerly stood, or where
their friends had formerly lived; mountains rose where cultivated
valleys had existed; the rivers disappeared or changed their course, and
plains usurped the situation of the mountains and ravines.Daniel moved to the bedroom.The face of
the country was so completely altered, that no one knows the site of the
largest farm in the province, belonging to Zamora.The new town is built on a sandy plain, much below the level of the
surrounding elevated plains, which are called _paramos_; its climate is
very agreeable, and calculated to produce all kinds of European fruits,
but at present only a few trees are to be seen in the orchards or
gardens.I spent the evening that we remained at Riobamba with an old
Indian Cacique, the only person whom I ever saw who could knot and
interpret the meaning of the knots of the quipus.He boasted of being a
descendant of the _huasta puncay_, the ancient lord of the surrounding
country.He had an account of the peopling of that part of the territory
of Maynas, to the eastward of the Cordilleras; first by a colony of
puncay indians, who had become too numerous for the country which they
inhabited; and secondly by part of the tribe, after they had been routed
by Benalcasar, on the plain of Trocajas, where they opposed the entrance
of the Spaniards.He also had a tradition that, a short time before the
arrival of the Spaniards, a colony of monkeys crossed the mountains from
the westward, and infested the country, till they were all destroyed by
the indians; and that on the arrival of the first Spaniards, the natives
considered them as a migration of destructive animals, and determined to
prevent their entrance; but on being defeated, many left the country
and joined the colony in Maynas.John went back to the garden.My kind host assured me, that the
province of Riobamba contained extremely rich mines of gold and silver,
and that from undoubted tradition this province sent more silver and
gold for the purpose of ransoming Atahualpa than any other in the
kingdom.The province produces annually about four thousand quintals of sheep's
wool, which is manufactured into different kinds of cloth; its other
productions are wheat, maize, barley, potatoes, arracachas, and European
culinary vegetables.The capital is so situated, that it is not likely
ever to become a place of commercial notoriety.Our next stage brought us to the town of Ambato, the road we travelled
being very irregular and disagreeable, owing as well to the coldness of
the climate as to the difficult ascents and descents; but the view of
our resting place cheered us.As soon as we descended into the valley of
Ambato, we found a triumphal arch, covered with ripe strawberries; these
had been plucked with their stalks, and then fastened to cords of maguey
fibres; large bunches were hanging down from the top, and in different
parts festoons and other ornaments were tastefully displayed, and the
fragrance was peculiarly delightful.John travelled to the bathroom.Here the Corregidor and other
gentlemen received us, and accompanied us to the town; part of the road
being confined with hedges of _tunas_, rosemary bushes, magueys, and
rose trees, with other vegetables belonging to the old and the new
world: the natives of such distant parts of the globe were here blended,
and were thriving in the most luxuriant manner.Before we arrived at the
town we passed under two other arches covered with strawberries, and for
more than a league the indian boys and girls danced along with us;
stopping till we had passed the arches, which they immediately pulled
down and stripped of their fruit, and then followed us running and
singing, with long wreaths of strawberries hanging about them.If
I have to blush for it, at least let it be in the privacy of my family.Ought not such a secret to remain buried in our hearts?You will forgive
me, I hope, for my apparent indifference to the woes of a Chabert in
whose existence I could not possibly believe.I received your letters,"
she hastily added, seeing in his face the objection it expressed, "but
they did not reach me till thirteen months after the battle of Eylau.They were opened, dirty, the writing was unrecognizable; and after
obtaining Napoleon's signature to my second marriage contract, I could
not help believing that some clever swindler wanted to make a fool of
me.Therefore, to avoid disturbing Monsieur Ferraud's peace of mind,
and disturbing family ties, I was obliged to take precautions against a
pretended Chabert.It was I who was the idiot, the owl, the dolt, not
to have calculated better what the consequences of such a position might
be.--But where are we going?"he asked, seeing that they had reached the
barrier of La Chapelle."To my country house near Groslay, in the valley of Montmorency.There,
monsieur, we will consider the steps to be taken.Though I am yours by right, I am no longer yours in fact.Can you wish
that we should become the talk of Paris?We need not inform the public
of a situation, which for me has its ridiculous side, and let us
preserve our dignity.You still love me," she said, with a sad, sweet
gaze at the Colonel, "but have not I been authorized to form other ties?In so strange a position, a secret voice bids me trust to your kindness,
which is so well known to me.Can I be wrong in taking you as the sole
arbiter of my fate?Be at once judge and party to the suit.I trust in
your noble character; you will be generous enough to forgive me for the
consequences of faults committed in innocence.I may then confess to
you: I love M. Ferraud.I believed that I had a right to love him.I
do not blush to make this confession to you; even if it offends you, it
does not disgrace us.When fate made me a
widow, I was not a mother."The Colonel with a wave of his hand bid his wife be silent, and for a
mile and a half they sat without speaking a single word.Chabert could
fancy he saw the two little ones before him."The dead are very wrong to come to life again.""Oh, monsieur, no, no!Only, you find me a
lover, a mother, while you left me merely a wife.Though it is no longer
in my power to love, I know how much I owe you, and I can still offer
you all the affection of a daughter.""Rosine," said the old man in a softened tone, "I no longer feel any
resentment against you.We will forget anything," he added, with one of
those smiles which always reflect a noble soul; "I have not so little
delicacy as to demand the mockery of love from a wife who no longer
loves me."The Countess gave him a flashing look full of such deep gratitude that
poor Chabert would have been glad to sink again into his grave at Eylau.Some men have a soul strong enough for such self-devotion, of which the
whole reward consists in the assurance that they have made the person
they love happy."My dear friend, we will talk all this over later when our hearts have
rested," said the Countess.The conversation turned to other subjects, for it was impossible to
dwell very long on this one.Though the couple came back again and
again to their singular position, either by some allusion or of serious
purpose, they had a delightful drive, recalling the events of their
former life together and the times of the Empire.The Countess knew how
to lend peculiar charm to her reminiscences, and gave the conversation
the tinge of melancholy that was needed to keep it serious.She revived
his love without awakening his desires, and allowed her first husband to
discern the mental wealth she had acquired while trying to accustom him
to moderate his pleasure to that which a father may feel in the society
of a favorite daughter.The Colonel had known the Countess of the Empire; he found her a
Countess of the Restoration.At last, by a cross-road, they arrived at the entrance to a large park
lying in the little valley which divides the heights of Margency from
the pretty village of Groslay.The Countess had there a delightful
house, where the Colonel on arriving found everything in readiness
for his stay there, as well as for his wife's.Misfortune is a kind
of talisman whose virtue consists in its power to confirm our original
nature; in some men it increases their distrust and malignancy, just as
it improves the goodness of those who have a kind heart.Sorrow had made the Colonel even more helpful and good than he had
always been, and he could understand some secrets of womanly distress
which are unrevealed to most men.Nevertheless, in spite of his loyal
trustfulness, he could not help saying to his wife:
"Then you felt quite sure you would bring me here?""Yes," replied she, "if I found Colonel Chabert in Derville's client."The appearance of truth she contrived to give to this answer dissipated
the slight suspicions which the Colonel was ashamed to have felt.For
three days the Countess was quite charming to her first husband.By
tender attentions and unfailing sweetness she seemed anxious to wipe out
the memory of the sufferings he had endured, and to earn forgiveness
for the woes which, as she confessed, she had innocently caused him.She
delighted in displaying for him the charms she knew he took pleasure
in, while at the same time she assumed a kind of melancholy; for men are
more especially accessible to certain ways, certain graces of the heart
or of the mind which they cannot resist.She aimed at interesting him in
her position, and appealing to his feelings so far as to take possession
of his mind and control him despotically.Ready for anything to attain her ends, she did not yet know what she
was to do with this man; but at any rate she meant to annihilate him
socially.On the evening of the third day she felt that in spite of her
efforts she could not conceal her uneasiness as to the results of her
manoeuvres.John travelled to the garden.To give herself a minute's reprieve she went up to her room,
sat down before her writing-table, and laid aside the mask of composure
which she wore in Chabert's presence, like an actress who, returning to
her dressing-room after a fatiguing fifth act, drops half dead, leaving
with the audience an image of herself which she no longer resembles.She
proceeded to finish a letter she had begun to Delbecq, whom she desired
to go in her name and demand of Derville the deeds relating to Colonel
Chabert, to copy them, and to come to her at once to Groslay.She had
hardly finished when she heard the Colonel's step in the passage; uneasy
at her absence, he had come to look for her.John went to the kitchen.she exclaimed, "I wish I were dead!My position is
intolerable..."
"Why, what is the matter?"She rose, left the Colonel, and went down to speak privately to her
maid, whom she sent off to Paris, impressing on her that she was herself
to deliver to Delbecq the letter just written, and to bring it back to
the writer as soon as he had read it.Then the Countess went out to sit
on a bench sufficiently in sight for the Colonel to join her as soon as
he might choose.Daniel journeyed to the garden.The Colonel, who was looking for her, hastened up and
sat down by her."Rosine," said he, "what is the matter with you?"It was one of those glorious, calm evenings in the month of June, whose
secret harmonies infuse such sweetness into the sunset.The air was
clear, the stillness perfect, so that far away in the park they could
hear the voices of some children, which added a kind of melody to the
sublimity of the scene."My husband----" said the Countess, who broke off, started a little, and
with a blush stopped to ask him, "What am I to say when I speak of M."Call him your husband, my poor child," replied the Colonel, in a kind
voice."Is he not the father of your children?""Well, then," she said, "if he should ask what I came here for, if he
finds out that I came here, alone, with a stranger, what am I to say
to him?Listen, monsieur," she went on, assuming a dignified attitude,
"decide my fate, I am resigned to anything--"
"My dear," said the Colonel, taking possession of his wife's hands, "I
have made up my mind to sacrifice myself entirely for your happiness--"
"That is impossible!"she exclaimed, with a sudden spasmodic movement."Remember that you would have to renounce your identity, and in an
authenticated form."The word "authenticated" fell on the old man's heart, and roused
involuntary distrust.He looked at his wife in a way that made her
color, she cast down her eyes, and he feared that he might find himself
compelled to despise her.The Countess was afraid lest she had scared
the shy modesty, the stern honesty, of a man whose generous temper and
primitive virtues were known to her.Though these feelings had brought
the clouds to her brow, they immediately recovered their harmony.A child's cry was heard in the distance."Jules, leave your sister in peace," the Countess called out."Yes, but I told them not to trouble you."The old soldier understood the delicacy, the womanly tact of so gracious
a precaution, and took the Countess' hand to kiss it.The little girl ran up to complain of her brother.John went back to the garden."It was Jules--"
"It was her--"
Their little hands were held out to their mother, and the two childish
voices mingled; it was an unexpected and charming picture.cried the Countess, no longer restraining her
tears, "I shall have to leave them.A
mother's heart cannot be divided; I want them, I want them."Sandra went back to the kitchen.said Jules, looking fiercely at the Colonel.The two children stood speechless, examining their mother and the
stranger with a curiosity which it is impossible to express in words."If I am separated from the Count, only leave me my
children, and I will submit to anything..."
This was the decisive speech which gained all that she had hoped from
it."Yes," exclaimed the Colonel, as if he were ending a sentence already
begun in his mind, "I must return underground again."If some men have
died to save a mistress' honor, they gave their life but once.But
in this case you would be giving your life every day.If it were only your life, it would be nothing; but to sign
a declaration that you are not Colonel Chabert, to acknowledge yourself
an imposter, to sacrifice your honor, and live a lie every hour of the
day!But for my poor
children I would have fled with you by this time to the other end of the
world.""But," said Chabert, "cannot I live here in your little lodge as one of
your relations?I am as worn out as a cracked cannon; I want nothing but
a little tobacco and the _Constitutionnel_."There was |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | One evening, seeing this mother with her children, the
soldier was bewitched by the touching grace of a family picture in the
country, in the shade and the silence; he made a resolution to remain
dead, and, frightened no longer at the authentication of a deed, he
asked what he could do to secure beyond all risk the happiness of this
family.Daniel moved to the bedroom."Do exactly as you like," said the Countess."I declare to you that I
will have nothing to do with this affair.Delbecq had arrived some days before, and in obedience to the Countess'
verbal instructions, the intendant had succeeded in gaining the old
soldier's confidence.So on the following morning Colonel Chabert went
with the erewhile attorney to Saint-Leu-Taverny, where Delbecq had
caused the notary to draw up an affidavit in such terms that, after
hearing it read, the Colonel started up and walked out of the office.Why, I should make
myself out a swindler!""Indeed, monsieur," said Delbecq, "I should advise you not to sign in
haste.In your place I would get at least thirty thousand francs a year
out of the bargain.After annihilating this scoundrel _emeritus_ by the lightning look of an
honest man insulted, the Colonel rushed off, carried away by a thousand
contrary emotions.He was suspicious, indignant, and calm again by
turns.Finally he made his way back into the park of Groslay by a gap in a
fence, and slowly walked on to sit down and rest, and meditate at his
ease, in a little room under a gazebo, from which the road to Saint-Leu
could be seen.The path being strewn with the yellowish sand which is
used instead of river-gravel, the Countess, who was sitting in the upper
room of this little summer-house, did not hear the Colonel's approach,
for she was too much preoccupied with the success of her business to pay
the smallest attention to the slight noise made by her husband.Nor did
the old man notice that his wife was in the room over him."Well, Monsieur Delbecq, has he signed?"the Countess asked her
secretary, whom she saw alone on the road beyond the hedge of a haha.I do not even know what has become of our man."Then we shall be obliged to put him into Charenton," said she, "since
we have got him."John went back to the garden.The Colonel, who recovered the elasticity of youth to leap the haha,
in the twinkling of an eye was standing in front of Delbecq, on whom he
bestowed the two finest slaps that ever a scoundrel's cheeks received."And you may add that old horses can kick!"His rage spent, the Colonel no longer felt vigorous enough to leap the
ditch.He had seen the truth in all its nakedness.The Countess' speech
and Delbecq's reply had revealed the conspiracy of which he was to be
the victim.The care taken of him was but a bait to entrap him in a
snare.John travelled to the bathroom.That speech was like a drop of subtle poison, bringing on in the
old soldier a return of all his sufferings, physical and moral.He came
back to the summer-house through the park gate, walking slowly like a
broken man.Then for him there was to be neither peace nor truce.From this moment
he must begin the odious warfare with this woman of which Derville had
spoken, enter on a life of litigation, feed on gall, drink every morning
of the cup of bitterness.And then--fearful thought!--where was he to
find the money needful to pay the cost of the first proceedings?John travelled to the garden.He felt
such disgust of life, that if there had been any water at hand he would
have thrown himself into it; that if he had had a pistol, he would
have blown out his brains.John went to the kitchen.Then he relapsed into the indecision of
mind which, since his conversation with Derville at the dairyman's had
changed his character.At last, having reached the kiosque, he went up to the gazebo, where
little rose-windows afforded a view over each lovely landscape of the
valley, and where he found his wife seated on a chair.The Countess was
gazing at the distance, and preserved a calm countenance, showing that
impenetrable face which women can assume when resolved to do their
worst.She wiped her eyes as if she had been weeping, and played
absently with the pink ribbons of her sash.Nevertheless, in spite of
her apparent assurance, she could not help shuddering slightly when she
saw before her her venerable benefactor, standing with folded arms, his
face pale, his brow stern."Madame," he said, after gazing at her fixedly for a moment and
compelling her to blush, "Madame, I do not curse you--I scorn you.I can
now thank the chance that has divided us.I do not feel even a desire
for revenge; I no longer love you.Live in
peace on the strength of my word; it is worth more than the scrawl of
all the notaries in Paris.I will never assert my claim to the name I
perhaps have made illustrious.I am henceforth but a poor devil named
Hyacinthe, who asks no more than his share of the sunshine.--Farewell!"The Countess threw herself at his feet; she would have detained him by
taking his hands, but he pushed her away with disgust, saying:
"Do not touch me!"The Countess' expression when she heard her husband's retreating steps
is quite indescribable.Then, with the deep perspicacity given only
by utter villainy, or by fierce worldly selfishness, she knew that she
might live in peace on the word and the contempt of this loyal veteran.The dairyman failed in business, and
became a hackney-cab driver.The Colonel, perhaps, took up some similar
industry for a time.Perhaps, like a stone flung into a chasm, he went
falling from ledge to ledge, to be lost in the mire of rags that seethes
through the streets of Paris.Six months after this event, Derville, hearing no more of Colonel
Chabert or the Comtesse Ferraud, supposed that they had no doubt come
to a compromise, which the Countess, out of revenge, had had arranged by
some other lawyer.So one morning he added up the sums he had advanced
to the said Chabert with the costs, and begged the Comtesse Ferraud to
claim from M. le Comte Chabert the amount of the bill, assuming that she
would know where to find her first husband.The very next day Comte Ferraud's man of business, lately appointed
President of the County Court in a town of some importance, wrote this
distressing note to Derville:
"MONSIEUR,--
"Madame la Comtesse Ferraud desires me to inform you that your
client took complete advantage of your confidence, and that the
individual calling himself Comte Chabert has acknowledged that he
came forward under false pretences."Yours, etc., DELBECQ.""One comes across people who are, on my honor, too stupid by half,"
cried Derville.Be humane,
generous, philanthropical, and a lawyer, and you are bound to
be cheated!There is a piece of business that will cost me two
thousand-franc notes!"Daniel journeyed to the garden.Some time after receiving this letter, Derville went to the Palais de
Justice in search of a pleader to whom he wished to speak, and who was
employed in the Police Court.As chance would have it, Derville went
into Court Number 6 at the moment when the Presiding Magistrate was
sentencing one Hyacinthe to two months' imprisonment as a vagabond, and
subsequently to be taken to the Mendicity House of Detention, a sentence
which, by magistrates' law, is equivalent to perpetual imprisonment.On
hearing the name of Hyacinthe, Derville looked at the deliquent, sitting
between two _gendarmes_ on the bench for the accused, and recognized in
the condemned man his false Colonel Chabert.The old soldier was placid, motionless, almost absentminded.In spite
of his rags, in spite of the misery stamped on his countenance, it
gave evidence of noble pride.His eye had a stoical expression which no
magistrate ought to have misunderstood; but as soon as a man has fallen
into the hands of justice, he is no more than a moral entity, a matter
of law or of fact, just as to statists he has become a zero.When the veteran was taken back to the lock-up, to be removed later
with the batch of vagabonds at that moment at the bar, Derville availed
himself of the privilege accorded to lawyers of going wherever they
please in the Courts, and followed him to the lock-up, where he stood
scrutinizing him for some minutes, as well as the curious crew of
beggars among whom he found himself.The passage to the lock-up at that
moment afforded one of those spectacles which, unfortunately, neither
legislators, nor philanthropists, nor painters, nor writers come to
study.Like all the laboratories of the law, this ante-room is a dark
and malodorous place; along the walls runs a wooden seat, blackened
by the constant presence there of the wretches who come to this
meeting-place of every form of social squalor, where not one of them is
missing.A poet might say that the day was ashamed to light up this dreadful
sewer through which so much misery flows!There is not a spot on that
plank where some crime has not sat, in embryo or matured; not a corner
where a man has never stood who, driven to despair by the blight which
justice has set upon him after his first fault, has not there begun a
career, at the end of which looms the guillotine or the pistol-snap of
the suicide.All who fall on the pavement of Paris rebound against these
yellow-gray walls, on which a philanthropist who was not a speculator
might read a justification of the numerous suicides complained of by
hypocritical writers who are incapable of taking a step to prevent
them--for that justification is written in that ante-room, like a
preface to the dramas of the Morgue, or to those enacted on the Place de
la Greve.At this moment Colonel Chabert was sitting among these men--men with
coarse faces, clothed in the horrible livery of misery, and silent at
intervals, or talking in a low tone, for three gendarmes on duty paced
to and fro, their sabres clattering on the floor.said Derville to the old man, standing in front
of him."Yes, sir," said Chabert, rising."If you are an honest man," Derville went on in an undertone, "how could
you remain in my debt?"The old soldier blushed as a young girl might when accused by her mother
of a clandestine love affair."She wrote to me that you were a swindler."The Colonel cast up his eyes in a sublime impulse of horror and
imprecation, as if to call heaven to witness to this fresh subterfuge."Monsieur," said he, in a voice that was calm by sheer huskiness, "get
the gendarmes to allow me to go into the lock-up, and I will sign an
order which will certainly be honored."At a word from Derville to the sergeant he was allowed to take his
client into the room, where Hyacinthe wrote a few lines, and addressed
them to the Comtesse Ferraud."Send her that," said the soldier, "and you will be paid your costs and
the money you advanced.Believe me, monsieur, if I have not shown
you the gratitude I owe you for your kind offices, it is not the less
there," and he laid his hand on his heart."Yes, it is there, deep and
sincere."Did you not stipulate for an allowance?""You cannot conceive how deep
my contempt is for the outside life to which most men cling.I was
suddenly attacked by a sickness--disgust of humanity.When I think
that Napoleon is at Saint-Helena, everything on earth is a matter of
indifference to me.I can no longer be a soldier; that is my only real
grief.After all," he added with a gesture of childish simplicity, "it
is better to enjoy luxury of feeling than of dress.For my part, I fear
nobody's contempt."And the Colonel sat down on his bench again.On returning to his office, he sent Godeschal, at
that time his second clerk, to the Comtesse Ferraud, who, on reading the
note, at once paid the sum due to Comte Chabert's lawyer.In 1840, towards the end of June, Godeschal, now himself an attorney,
went to Ris with Derville, to whom he had succeeded.When they reached
the avenue leading from the highroad to Bicetre, they saw, under one
of the elm-trees by the wayside, one of those old, broken, and hoary
paupers who have earned the Marshal's staff among beggars by living on
at Bicetre as poor women live on at la Salpetriere.This man, one of
the two thousand poor creatures who are lodged in the infirmary for the
aged, was seated on a corner-stone, and seemed to have concentrated all
his intelligence on an operation well known to these pensioners, which
consists in drying their snuffy pocket-handkerchiefs in the sun, perhaps
to save washing them.He was
dressed in a reddish cloth wrapper-coat which the work-house affords to
its inmates, a sort of horrible livery."I say, Derville," said Godeschal to his traveling companion, "look at
that old fellow.Isn't he like those grotesque carved figures we get
from Germany?John went back to the garden.And it is alive, perhaps it is happy."Derville looked at the poor man through his eyeglass, and with a little
exclamation of surprise he said:
"That old man, my dear fellow, is a whole poem, or, as the romantics
say, a drama.--Did you ever meet the Comtesse Ferraud?""Yes; she is a clever woman, and agreeable; but rather too pious," said
Godeschal."That old Bicetre pauper is her lawful husband, Comte Chabert, the
old Colonel.Sandra went back to the kitchen.She has had him sent here, no doubt.And if he is in
this workhouse instead of living in a mansion, it is solely because he
reminded the pretty Countess that he had taken her, like a hackney cab,
on the street.I can remember now the tiger's glare she shot at him at
that moment."This opening having excited Godeschal's curiosity, Derville related the
story here told.Two days later, on Monday morning, as they returned to Paris, the two
friends looked again at Bicetre, and Derville proposed that they should
call on Colonel Chabert.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.Halfway up the avenue they found the old man
sitting on the trunk of a felled tree.With his stick in one hand, he
was amusing himself with drawing lines in the sand.On looking at him
narrowly, they perceived that he had been breakfasting elsewhere than at
Bicetre."Good-morning, Colonel Chabert," said Derville.My name is Hyacinthe," replied the veteran."I am no longer a man, I am No.164, Room 7," he added, looking at
Derville with timid anxiety, the fear of an old man and a child.--"Are
you going to visit the man condemned to death?"Daniel moved to the bathroom.he asked after a
moment's silence."Would you like something to buy snuff?"With all the simplicity of a street Arab, the Colonel eagerly held out
his hand to the two strangers, who each gave him a twenty-franc piece;
he thanked them with a puzzled look, saying:
"Brave troopers!"He ported arms, pretended to take aim at them, and shouted with a smile:
"Fire!And he drew a flourish in the air
with his stick."The nature of his wound has no doubt made him childish," said Derville.said another old pauper, who was looking on."Why, there
are days when you had better not tread on his corns.He is an old rogue,
full of philosophy and imagination.But to- |
garden | Where is Mary? | He
has had his Monday treat.--He was here, monsieur, so long ago as 1820.At that time a Prussian officer, whose chaise was crawling up the hill
of Villejuif, came by on foot.We two were together, Hyacinthe and I,
by the roadside.The officer, as he walked, was talking to another, a
Russian, or some animal of the same species, and when the Prussian saw
the old boy, just to make fun, he said to him, 'Here is an old cavalry
man who must have been at Rossbach.'--'I was too young to be there,'
said Hyacinthe.And the Prussian made off pretty
quick, without asking any more questions.""Taken out of the Foundling
Hospital to die in the Infirmary for the Aged, after helping Napoleon
between whiles to conquer Egypt and Europe.--Do you know, my dear
fellow," Derville went on after a pause, "there are in modern society
three men who can never think well of the world--the priest, the doctor,
and the man of law?And they wear black robes, perhaps because they are
in mourning for every virtue and every illusion.The most hapless of
the three is the lawyer.When a man comes in search of the priest, he
is prompted by repentance, by remorse, by beliefs which make him
interesting, which elevate him and comfort the soul of the intercessor
whose task will bring him a sort of gladness; he purifies, repairs and
reconciles.But we lawyers, we see the same evil feelings repeated again
and again, nothing can correct them; our offices are sewers which can
never be cleansed."How many things have I learned in the exercise of my profession!I have
seen a father die in a garret, deserted by two daughters, to whom he had
given forty thousand francs a year!I have known wills burned; I have
seen mothers robbing their children, wives killing their husbands, and
working on the love they could inspire to make the men idiotic or mad,
that they might live in peace with a lover.I have seen women teaching
the child of their marriage such tastes as must bring it to the grave in
order to benefit the child of an illicit affection.I could not tell
you all I have seen, for I have seen crimes against which justice is
impotent.In short, all the horrors that romancers suppose they have
invented are still below the truth.You will know something of these
pretty things; as for me, I am going to live in the country with my
wife."I have seen plenty of them already in Desroches' office," replied
Godeschal.ADDENDUM
The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy.Frances Bridges, Countess of Exeter, by Faithorne, for
L10.Lot 3602, Strutt's Dictionary of Engravers, illustrated by 2820
prints, exhibiting specimens of the works of 1680 different engravers,
bound in 18 vols.Lot 3600, Vandyck's Works, a
magnificent collection of engravings after his paintings, for L198; and
others in the same proportion.Your obedient servant and collaborateur,
CHARLES EDMONDS.TOKENS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.The notice of Tradesmen's tokens, inserted in the "Current Notes"
of Feb.25th, has attracted more attention than I expected, as
besides the letters published in the Notes of March 25th, I have had
direct communications from Andover and Downpatrick.In reply to the
obliging letter of "K.Dublin, I beg to say, that I had seen the
engraving of the Cork farthing in Mr.Lindsay's work, but as I did not
sufficiently express my meaning, I will now explain what I meant by
"_the Commonwealth Arms_," viz.that the two shields of Arms of England
and Ireland were side by side, as shewn on the Token engraved in the
"Notes," and precisely in the form they appear on the Coins of the
Commonwealth, not separate as on the Cork farthing, one shield on the
obverse, the other on the reverse side.They are all scarce: I do not
know a single example of these Arms on an English token.Smith's
Catalogue of Irish Tokens was unknown to me; I shall take the first
opportunity to procure a copy.My chief object in writing the notice was to get any information
concerning the Tokens of Scotland, whether there are any besides the
Royal tokens.Mary travelled to the hallway.The Scotch tokens of the 18th Century, mentioned by your
correspondent "M. A.are well known, and engraved in the excellent
work by Charles Pye, on the "Provincial Coins and Tokens issued from
the year 1787 to 1801, Birmingham, 1801."The following passage from Thoresby, the Leeds historian, who was a
celebrated Numismatist in his day, gives the best information I can
find on the subject: he says:--
"When private persons first obtained liberty of having their own names
inscribed on the Tokens, I cannot learn.Sir William Dick had that
favour in Charles I.It seems to have
been otherwise in England.I have by me a copy of an order in Council,
whereby it appears that only the King's farthing tokens should be
current here,[C] and the privilege of coining them was granted to the
Duke of Lennox, and the Marquis of Hamilton, under the Great Seal."The passage is obscure, and does not sufficiently give the information
wanted, as the great bulk of these tokens were issued during the time
of the Commonwealth and the reign of Charles II.The study of Tradesmen's tokens has met with such unmerited contempt
from some of our ablest antiquaries, that it seems rash to attempt an
apology for them; but any one who is well acquainted with them knows
the fund of amusement and instruction that may be derived from them,
and if they continue to be slighted as they have been, many specimens
will be irretrievably lost to future antiquaries.A few further remarks
on them may be interesting to your general readers.After a careful calculation, I cannot estimate the number of these
tokens at less than 40,000, and I think that number less than the
real quantity; from various correspondence with collectors, I always
find that they have a large number different to mine.Akerman has
described 2461 in his list of London Tokens only.The great loss to the
public compelled the Government to put them down under the severest
penalties: very large numbers may be picked out of a collection,
which would require a dozen to weigh a modern halfpenny; their paltry
intrinsic value, no doubt, prompted many unprincipled shopkeepers to
issue them, from the profit they derived from the quantity which would
be lost, owing to their small size.There is scarcely a village that
had not its local currency.I possess tokens of 684 cities, towns, and
villages.Amongst the different trades and professions which appear on the
tokens, that of a Musician is seldom met with: the following is an
interesting example, and furnishes an early example of Punch--
[Illustration]
Henry Laude, Newark, says, "Noe want where these are."The cruel sport
of cock fighting is on the token of William Docker, of Leeds, drawer.Gateshead has a punning coat of arms--a goat's head: to the lovers of
Heraldry there is a fund of amusement; besides the Arms of the Trading
Companies of London, we have the Arms of Corporations, and families.Many of the Corporations issued their tokens: Wotton-under-Edge has,
"This farthing token will be owned by the Mayor and Aldermen."The
Bristol Corporation farthing is of good size and execution: many
different dies were used.It is an exceedingly common token, and
remarkable, as being the only one issued in that important commercial
town.Many names of towns appear on these tokens, which would puzzle a
gazetteer to find out: two names occur to me at this moment, OZED and
FAIREFAX.To those who are interested in Tokens, I would recommend the "Reliquiae
Antiquae Eboracenses, or Remains of Antiquities in Yorkshire," which can
be supplied by you: two numbers are published, each containing a plate
of Yorkshire Tokens.THE PERCY SOCIETY have resolved "that considering the present
circumstances of the Society, it is expedient that the Society be
dissolved at the close of the current year, (30th April next); and
that the Books which remain in hand be divided amongst those Members,
then not in arrear of their subscriptions, so far as the stock will
allow, and with advantage of priority in proportion to the period of
subscription."MONUMENT TO THE POET BLAIR.--"The Glasgow _literati_ propose to erect a
monument at Athelstaneford, to the memory of Blair, the author of "The
Grave," and other poetical works.Blair was long the parish Minister of
Athelstaneford, and is buried in the grave-yard there."--_Sunday Times,
11th April._
BOCCACCIO'S DECAMERONE.("Current Notes" for March last, p.20),
will find a curious account of the auction sale of the _Boccaccio_,
in the third volume of Dibdin's Bibliographical Decameron, and a
minute description of the precious volume itself in the Bibliotheca
Spenceriana, Vol.There was a copy in
the Blenheim Collection, and another somewhat defective and "cruelly
washt and cropt," in the Royal Library at Paris,
Yours truly,
A BOOKWORM.WILLIAM DENHAM.--Who was a Member of the Goldsmith's Company in
the reign of Elizabeth.F. R. S. enquires, "Can any of G.'s
Correspondents give me any particulars respecting him?If so, I should
feel much obliged."SHAKESPEARE'S CHARACTERS.Gainsborough, March 15, 1852.SIR,--There has gone the round of the papers a paragraph, stating that
though individuals of almost every nation appear as characters in one
or other of Shakespeare's Plays, yet there never occurs an Irishman.I do not know whether this has been contradicted or not; but it is
capable of contradiction, as a distinguished Prelate proved to me by
taking down his volume of Shakespeare, containing the Play of Henry
V. There in the 3rd Act, Scene 2nd, Fluellen, the Welchman, holds an
animated and very characteristic conversation with Capt.The Irish peculiarities are
well hit off.So much for the charge of omission which has been brought
against our great Bard,
I am, Sir, yours, faithfully,
C. S. B.
MR.SIR,--I shall be greatly obliged if you will permit me to propound the
following queries in your "Current Notes:"
1.Is any endeavour being made to complete that vast work, the "Acta
Sanctorum," the last volume of which was published at Brussels in 1845?Where can I see a list of the persons on whom it was proposed by
Charles the Second to confer the Order of the Royal Oak?Is there any English translation of the "Aurea Legenda" besides the
one by Caxton, and has that translation ever been reprinted?Mary moved to the garden.E. P.
AUTOGRAPHIC BIOGRAPHY.SIR,--I have taken some little pains to find out S.'s quere
("Current Notes," Feb.15), without further success than to presume
(in the absence of a facsimile) that the "Orford" must be the Earl
created 1742, there being a "Kendal" title then in existence: extinct
1743.Your correspondent can, without great difficulty, compare it with
those mutilated documents, I should say, that have been so frequently
dispersed at the various sales from the stock of Messrs.Upcott, Cole
& Co., originally in the Exchequer State Paper Office, from whence no
doubt it came.Yours,
"MAGOG."SIR--Perhaps some of your readers will kindly afford me some
information relative to Mrs.BODDINGTON, authoress of _The Gossip's
Week_, _Reminiscences of the Rhine_, _Sketches of the Pyrenees_, and a
volume of _Poems_, published by Longman & Co.Yours obediently,
W.
THE ARCTIC SEARCHING EXPEDITION.--No less than twenty Flags have been
presented to Captain Sir Edward Belcher, designed and embroidered by
the fair fingers of his relatives and friends.Previous to the sailing
of the "Assistance," they were displayed on the quarter-deck of that
ship, for the inspection of the distinguished visitors who repaired on
board to take leave of this distinguished, gallant, and enterprising
officer.The following list of their devices and mottoes may not be an
uninteresting record:--
1.Black pouncing eagle, white ground, scarlet border.Motto, on
scarlet ground,
"SPEED TO THE RESCUE."Golden lion, blue ground, scarlet border.Garter enclosing, with
motto in black,
"WHILST I BREATHE, I HOPE."Motto,
"HOPE ON--HOPE EVER."Motto,
"BEAR AND FORBEAR."Spade, ice-saw, pickaxe, bright green ground.Motto, on black scroll,
"PERSEVERE AND PROSPER."Gold star, crimson ground,
"LEAD THOU US ON."Motto, on scarlet,
"GO FORTH IN FAITH."Motto,
"FAITHFUL AND TRUE."Motto,
"NONE BUT THE BRAVE DESERVE THE CROWN."Motto, on blue garter,
"DANGERS DO NOT DAUNT ME."Motto,
"SWIFT ON MY COURSE."Family motto, on garter,
"LOYAL AU MORT."Motto,
"SUCCESS TO THE BRAVE."Motto, in purple,
"BE OF GOOD COURAGE."Motto,
"SUCCESS TO THE BRAVE."Enclosed in a garter, a setting sun; on the garter, a white daisy.Motto, in purple,
"BY FAITH AND COURAGE."Motto,
"NEVER DESPAIR.VICTORY FOLLOWS THE BRAVE."Greek oak wreath, "BLANCHE" in centre, maize ground.Motto,
"BRIGHT EYES FOR BRAVE HEARTS."An eagle on rock, breaking his chain, light blue; in the four
corners, the initials H.D. and U. D., light blue ground.Motto,
"ADVERSA REPELLO VIRTUTE."L.
This flag was |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Mary travelled to the hallway.Mary moved to the garden.Misses
Denison, and to have been presented to Sir Edward Belcher by Lady
Londesborough.The flag, said to have been presented, with the motto, "GO IT, NED,"
was not among the number exhibited.AN EASTER MONDAY VISITOR TO WOOLWICH.ORIENTALIS.--In type; must stand over.Sandra went to the kitchen.THE DRAMATIC REGISTER FOR 1851, received.MEADLEY.--Four communications, W. S. G., "WM.DODD," G., and "A BOOKWORM," in type, but must stand
over.PILGRIM'S BADGE, Venice, 26th February, 1852.--Ditto.AN ARTIST.--Doorway in Woking Church, Surrey, must, and
will, be considered.R. B., New York, 19th March.--Received, and will be
attended to.Gaelic Scholar, "Annals of
the English Bible," &c. Edinburgh.Inventor of Chain Cables,
Bridges and Piers of Suspension.Vanbrugh Lodge,
Blackheath.BUCHANAN, Alexander of Govan.Lyric Writer in Glasgow
periodicals.CAVE, M. Formerly Director of the Fine Arts in the
Ministry of the Interior.Editor of various
Welsh periodicals.LANDSEER, John, A.R.A.March
29th.Editor of the _National_ before the
Revolution of 1848.MERLE, M. Dramatic Critic.Aged
67.SAINT-EDME, M. Author of the "Dictionnaire des Peines
et des Delits de l'Europe," and joint author with M.
Sarrut of the "Biographie des Hommes du Jour."SEDDELER, M. Military Encyclopedia.51, Rupert Street,
Haymarket.TAILLEFER, M. Ex-curator of the Lyceums of Versailles,
and of Louis-le-Grand.TUCKER, John, Montmorency.(Colonel late 27th
Enniskilleners and a Waterloo Officer.)"Biographies
of Wellington and Nelson," &c. Huggens's Asylum,
Northfleet, Kent.WATTS, W. Engraver.Aged
99.Little Bowden,
Market Harborough.WINTERFELDT, Rodolphe de.History of Hexham, &c. Bexley
Heath, Kent.* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[A] _H.M. will find the drawing so kindly forwarded addressed to him
at the Publisher's._
G. W.[B] See communication from "One of the Executors" of the late Sir
Samuel R. Meyrick, printed in "Current Notes" for January last, p.[C] The word "here" is ambiguous; I suppose "in Scotland" is intended.* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Willis's Current Notes, No.Edited by the Author of "The Heir of Redclyffe."4_s._ 6_d._
"_This is not a regular book of natural history, but a
description of all the living creatures that came and went
in a summer's day beneath an old pear tree, observed by
eyes that had for the nonce become microscopic, recorded
by a pen that finds dramas in everything, and illustrated
by a dainty pencil.... We can hardly fancy anyone with a
moderate turn for the curiosities of insect life, or for
delicate French esprit, not being taken by these clever
sketches._"--GUARDIAN."_A whimsical and charming
little book._"--ATHENAEUM.=Prince Florestan of Monaco, The Fall of.= By HIMSELF.New Edition,
with Illustration and Map.Extra gilt edges, 5_s._
A French Translation, 5_s._ Also an Edition for the People.1_s._
"_Those who have read only the extracts given, will not
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in England as by the nation to whom the author directly
addresses his moral._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE."_This
little book is very clever, wild with animal spirits,
but showing plenty of good sense, amid all the heedless
nonsense which fills so many of its pages._"--DAILY
NEWS."_In an age little remarkable for powers of
political satire, the sparkle of the pages gives them every
claim to welcome._"--STANDARD.=Rankine.=--SONGS AND FABLES.By W. J. MCQUORN RANKINE, late
Professor of Civil Engineering and Mechanics at Glasgow.6_s._
"_A lively volume of verses, full of a fine manly
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are admirably conceived, and executed with fidelity and
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=Rhoades.=--POEMS.4_s._ 6_d._
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"_It is impossible to read it without recognizing the value
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._"--GLOBE.=Rossetti.=--GOBLIN MARKET, AND OTHER POEMS.With two Designs by D. G. ROSSETTI.5_s._
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"_This is one of the best, if not indeed the very best, of
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far away._"--SATURDAY REVIEW.=Ruth and her Friends.= A Story for Girls.2_s._ 6_d._
"_We wish all the school girls and home-taught
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it._"--NONCONFORMIST.=Scouring of the White Horse; or, the Long Vacation Ramble of a
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"_A glorious tale of summer joy._"--FREEMAN."_There is a genial hearty life about the book._"--JOHN
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author._"--SATURDAY REVIEW.=Shairp (Principal).=--KILMAHOE, a Highland Pastoral, with other
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College, St.5_s._
"_Kilmahoe is a Highland Pastoral, redolent of the warm
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_The_ GUARDIAN _calls it an_ "_excellent, and,
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=Shakespeare's Tempest.= Edited with Glossarial and Explanatory
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=Slip (A) in the Fens.=--Illustrated by the Author.6_s._
"_An artistic little volume, for every page is a
picture._"--TIMES."_It will be read with
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"_Wealthy in feeling, meaning, finish, and grace; not
without passion, which is suppressed, but the keener for
that._"--ATHENAEUM.Walter).=--HYMNS OF CHRIST AND THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.WALTER C. SMITH, M.A.6_s._
"_These are among the sweetest sacred poems we have read
for a long time.With no profuse imagery, expressing a
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are true and elevated, and their pathos is profound and
simple._"--NONCONFORMIST.=Spring Songs.= By a WEST HIGHLANDER.With a Vignette Illustration
by GOURLAY STEELE.1_s._ 6_d._
"_Without a trace of affectation or sentimentalism, these
utterances are perfectly simple and natural, profoundly
human and profoundly true._"--DAILY NEWS.=Stanley.=--TRUE TO LIFE.--A SIMPLE STORY.10_s._ 6_d._
"_For many a long day we have not met with a more simple,
healthy, and unpretending story._"--STANDARD.)=--THE SERVICE OF THE POOR; being an Inquiry into
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"_It touches incidentally and with much wisdom and
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"_It is as far more interesting than ninety-nine novels out
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and beauty.We should most strongly advise everybody to
read 'Convict Once.'_"--WESTMINSTER REVIEW.=Streets and Lanes Of a City=: Being the Reminiscences of AMY DUTTON.Sandra moved to the bathroom.With a Preface by the BISHOP OF SALISBURY.Second and Cheaper
Edition.2_s._ 6_d._
"_One of the most really striking books that has ever come
before us._"--LITERARY CHURCHMAN.=Thring.=--SCHOOL SONGS.With the
Music arranged for four Voices.E. THRING and
H. RICCIUS.7_s._ 6_d._
_The collection includes the_ "_Agnus Dei_," _Tennyson's_
"_Light Brigade_," _Macaulay's_ "_Ivry_," _etc.among other
pieces_.=Tom Brown's School Days.=--By AN OLD BOY.Golden Treasury Edition,
4_s._ 6_d._ People's Edition, 2_s._ With Seven Illustrations by
A. HUGHES and SYDNEY HALL.6 |
garden | Where is Mary? | =Tom Brown at Oxford.=--New Edition.6_s._
"_In no other work that we can call to mind are the
finer qualities of the English gentleman more happily
portrayed._"--DAILY NEWS."_A book of great power
and truth._"--NATIONAL REVIEW.=Trench.=--Works by R. CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D., Archbishop of Dublin.(For other Works by this Author, see THEOLOGICAL, HISTORICAL,
and PHILOSOPHICAL CATALOGUES.)Mary travelled to the hallway.7_s._ 6_d._
ELEGIAC POEMS.2_s._ 6_d._
CALDERON'S LIFE'S A DREAM: The Great Theatre of the World.With an Essay on his Life and Genius.4_s._ 6_d._
HOUSEHOLD BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY.Selected and arranged, with
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for Use.Third Edition, Corrected and
Improved.7_s._
JUSTIN MARTYR, AND OTHER POEMS.6_s._
=Trollope (Anthony).=--SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE.By
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_The_ ATHENAEUM _remarks_: "_No reader who begins
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shorter stories._"
=Turner.=--Works by the Rev.CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER:--
SONNETS.Dedicated to his Brother, the Poet Laureate.4_s._ 6_d._
SMALL TABLEAUX.4_s._ 6_d._
=Under the Limes.=--By the Author of "Christina North."6_s._
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well illustrated with his own sketches._"--TIMES.=Wandering Willie.= By the Author of "Effie's Friends," and "John
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"_This is an idyll of rare truth and beauty.... The
story is simple and touching, the style of extraordinary
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will amply repay those of their elders who may give an hour
to its perusal._"--DAILY NEWS.=Webster.=--Works by AUGUSTA WEBSTER:--
"_If Mrs.Webster only remains true to herself, she will
assuredly take a higher rank as a poet than any woman has
yet done._"--WESTMINSTER REVIEW.5_s._
"_A volume as strongly marked by perfect taste as by poetic
power._"--NONCONFORMIST.A WOMAN SOLD, AND OTHER POEMS.7_s._ 6_d._
"_Mrs.Webster has shown us that she is able to draw
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her._"--GUARDIAN.3_s._ 6_d._
"_Mrs.Webster's poems exhibit simplicity and tenderness
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"_Closeness and simplicity combined with literary
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an honourable place among our female poets.She writes
with remarkable vigour and dramatic realization, and bids
fair to be the most successful claimant of Mrs.Browning's
mantle._"--BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW.3_s._ 6_d._
"_Mrs.Webster's translation surpasses our utmost
expectations.It is a photograph of the original without
any of that harshness which so often accompanies a
photograph._"--WESTMINSTER REVIEW.5_s._
"_The 'Auspicious Day' shows a marked advance, not only in
art, but, in what is of far more importance, in breadth
of thought and intellectual grasp._"--WESTMINSTER
REVIEW."_This drama is a manifestation of high
dramatic power on the part of the gifted writer, and
entitled to our warmest admiration, as a worthy piece of
work._"--STANDARD.YU-PE-YA'S LUTE.3_s._ 6_d._
"_A very charming tale, charmingly told in
dainty verse, with occasional lyrics of tender
beauty._"--STANDARD."_We close the book with the
renewed conviction that in Mrs.Webster we have a profound
and original poet.The book is marked not by mere sweetness
of melody--rare as that gift is--but by the infinitely
rarer gifts of dramatic power, of passion, and sympathetic
insight._"--WESTMINSTER REVIEW.=When I was a Little Girl.= STORIES FOR CHILDREN.By the Author
of "St.4_s._ 6_d._
With Eight Illustrations by L. FROeLICH."_At the head, and a long way ahead, of all
books for girls, we place 'When I was a Little
Girl.'_"--TIMES."_It is one of the choicest
morsels of child-biography which we have met
with._"--NONCONFORMIST.=White.=--RHYMES BY WALTER WHITE.7_s._ 6_d._
=Whittier.=--JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER'S POETICAL WORKS.Complete
Edition, with Portrait engraved by C. H. JEENS.4_s._ 6_d._
"_Mr.Whittier has all the smooth melody and the pathos
of the author of 'Hiawatha,' with a greater nicety of
description and a quainter fancy._"--GRAPHIC.=Wolf.=--THE LIFE AND HABITS OF WILD ANIMALS.Twenty Illustrations by
JOSEPH WOLF, engraved by J. W. and E. WHYMPER.Sandra went to the kitchen.With descriptive
Letter-press, by D. G. ELLIOT, F.L.S.Super royal 4to, cloth
extra, gilt edges.21_s._
_This is the last series of drawings which will be made
by Mr.The_ PALL
MALL GAZETTE _says_: "_The fierce, untameable side
of brute nature has never received a more robust and
vigorous interpretation, and the various incidents in which
particular character is shown are set forth with rare
dramatic power.For excellence that will endure, we incline
to place this very near the top of the list of Christmas
books._" _And the_ ART JOURNAL _observes_,
"_Rarely, if ever, have we seen animal life more forcibly
and beautifully depicted than in this really splendid
volume._"
Also, an Edition in royal folio, handsomely bound in
MOROCCO elegant, Proofs before Letters, each Proof
signed by the Engravers.Price 8_l._ 8_s._
=Wollaston.=--LYRA DEVONIENSIS.BY T. V. WOLLASTON, M.A.3_s._ 6_d._
"_It is the work of a man of refined taste, of deep
religious sentiment, a true artist, and a good
Christian._"--CHURCH TIMES.=Woolner.=--MY BEAUTIFUL LADY.With a
Vignette by ARTHUR HUGHES.5_s._
"_No man can read this poem without being struck by the
fitness and finish of the workmanship, so to speak, as well
as by the chastened and unpretending loftiness of thought
which pervades the whole._"--GLOBE.=Words from the Poets.= Selected by the Editor of "Rays of
Sunlight."With a Vignette and Frontispiece.limp., 1_s._
"_The selection aims at popularity, and deserves
it._"--GUARDIAN.)=--Works by CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE.6_s._
HEARTSEASE.6_s._
THE DAISY CHAIN.6_s._
THE TRIAL: MORE LINKS OF THE DAISY CHAIN.6_s._
DYNEVOR TERRACE.6_s._
HOPES AND FEARS.6_s._
THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER.Sandra moved to the bathroom.6_s._
CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY.6_s._
THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S NEST.6_s._
"_We think the authoress of 'The Heir of Redclyffe'
has surpassed her previous efforts in this illuminated
chronicle of the olden time._"--BRITISH QUARTERLY.Daniel went back to the bedroom.6_s._
"_Prettily and tenderly written, and will with young
people especially be a great favourite._"--DAILY NEWS."_Everybody should read this._"--LITERARY CHURCHMAN.THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS; OR, THE WHITE AND BLACK RIBAUMONT."_Miss Yonge has brought a lofty aim as well as high art to
the construction of a story which may claim a place among
the best efforts in historical romance._"--MORNING
POST."_The plot, in truth, is of the very first order
of merit._"--SPECTATOR."_We have seldom read a
more charming story._"--GUARDIAN.2_s._ 6_d._
"_A tale which, we are sure, will give pleasure to many
others besides the young people for whom it is specially
intended.... This extremely prettily-told story does not
require the guarantee afforded by the name of the author
of 'The Heir of Redclyffe' on the title-page to ensure
its becoming a universal favourite._"--DUBLIN EVENING
MAIL.THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD.New Edition, with
Illustrations.4_s._ 6_d._
"_The illustrations are very spirited and rich in colour,
and the story can hardly fail to charm the youthful
reader._"--MANCHESTER EXAMINER.THE LITTLE DUKE: RICHARD THE FEARLESS.2_s._ 6_d._
A STOREHOUSE OF STORIES.3_s._ 6_d._ each.CONTENTS OF FIRST SERIES:--History of Philip
Quarll--Goody Twoshoes--The Governess--Jemima Placid--The
Perambulations of a Mouse--The Village School--The Little
Queen--History of Little Jack."_Miss Yonge has done great service to the infantry of
this generation by putting these eleven stories of sage
simplicity within their reach._"--BRITISH QUARTERLY
REVIEW.CONTENTS OF SECOND SERIES:--Family
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Illustrations by FROeLICH.John went back to the office.6_s._
(See also GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES).1_s._
"_We have seen no prettier gift-book for a long time,
|
bathroom | Where is Mary? | LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE.Pictured by FROeLICH,
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"_'Lucy's Wonderful Globe' is capital, and will give
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"_Instead of dry details_," _says the_
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P'S AND Q'S; OR, THE QUESTION OF PUTTING UPON.With Illustrations by C. O. MURRAY.4_s._ 6_d._
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"_A domestic story of English professional life, which for
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material workmanship._"--BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW.=The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in
the English Language.= Selected and arranged, with Notes, by
FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.Mary moved to the garden."_This delightful little volume, the Golden Treasury, which
contains many of the best original lyrical pieces and songs
in our language, grouped with care and skill, so as to
illustrate each other like the pictures in a well-arranged
gallery._"--QUARTERLY REVIEW.Sandra went to the kitchen.=The Children's Garland from the best Poets.= Selected and arranged
by COVENTRY PATMORE."_It includes specimens of all the great masters in
the art of poetry, selected with the matured judgment
of a man concentrated on obtaining insight into the
feelings and tastes of childhood, and desirous to
awaken its finest impulses, to cultivate its keenest
sensibilities._"--MORNING POST.=The Book of Praise.= From the Best English Hymn Writers.Selected
and arranged by LORD SELBOURNE.Sandra moved to the bathroom._A New and Enlarged Edition._
"_All previous compilations of this kind must undeniably
for the present give place to the Book of Praise.... The
selection has been made throughout with sound judgment and
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have been immense, embracing, as it does, every writer of
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ranging over the most widely divergent tracks of religious
thought._"--SATURDAY REVIEW.=The Fairy Book=; the Best Popular Fairy Stories.Selected and
rendered anew by the Author of "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.""_A delightful selection, in a delightful external form;
full of the physical splendour and vast opulence of proper
fairy tales._"--SPECTATOR.=The Ballad Book.= A Selection of the Choicest British Ballads."_His taste as a judge of old poetry will be found, by
all acquainted with the various readings of old English
ballads, true enough to justify his undertaking so critical
a task._"--SATURDAY REVIEW.=The Jest Book.= The Choicest Anecdotes and Sayings.Selected and
arranged by MARK LEMON."_The fullest and best jest book that has yet
appeared._"--SATURDAY REVIEW.=Bacon's Essays and Colours of Good and Evil.= With Notes and
Glossarial Index.By W. ALDIS WRIGHT, M.A."_The beautiful little edition of Bacon's Essays, now
before us, does credit to the taste and scholarship of Mr.Aldis Wright.... It puts the reader in possession of all
the essential literary facts and chronology necessary for
reading the Essays in connection with Bacon's life and
times._"--SPECTATOR.=The Pilgrim's Progress= from this World to that which is to come."_A beautiful and scholarly reprint._"--SPECTATOR.=The Sunday Book of Poetry for the Young.= Selected and arranged
by C F. ALEXANDER."_A well-selected volume of Sacred
Poetry._"--SPECTATOR.=A Book of Golden Deeds= of All Times and All Countries.Gathered
and narrated anew.By the Author of "THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE.""_... To the young, for whom it is especially intended, as
a most interesting collection of thrilling tales well told;
and to their elders, as a useful handbook of reference, and
a pleasant one to take up when their wish is to while away
a weary half-hour.We have seen no prettier gift-book for a
long time._"--ATHENAEUM.=The Poetical Works of Robert Burns.= Edited, with Biographical
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Burns yet out._"--EDINBURGH DAILY REVIEW.=The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.= Edited from the Original Edition
by J. W. CLARK, M.A."_Mutilated and modified editions of this English classic
are so much the rule, that a cheap and pretty copy of it,
rigidly exact to the original, will be a prize to many
book-buyers._"--EXAMINER.=The Republic of Plato.= TRANSLATED into ENGLISH, with Notes by
J. LL.and D. J. VAUGHAN, M.A."_A dainty and cheap little edition._"--EXAMINER.=The Song Book.= Words and Tunes from the best Poets and Musicians.Selected and arranged by JOHN HULLAH, Professor of Vocal Music
in King's College, London."_A choice collection of the sterling songs of England,
Scotland, and Ireland, with the music of each prefixed to
the Words.How much true wholesome pleasure such a book can
diffuse, and will diffuse, we trust through many thousand
families._"--EXAMINER.Daniel went back to the bedroom.=La Lyre Francaise.= Selected and arranged, with Notes, by
GUSTAVE MASSON, French Master in Harrow School._A selection of the best French songs and lyrical pieces._
=Tom Brown's School Days.= By AN OLD BOY.The best and most
healthy book about boys for boys that ever was
written._"--ILLUSTRATED TIMES.=A Book of Worthies.= Gathered from the Old Histories and written
anew by the Author of "THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE.""_An admirable addition to an admirable
series._"--WESTMINSTER REVIEW.=A Book of Golden Thoughts.= By HENRY ATTWELL, Knight of the Order
of the Oak Crown.Attwell has produced a book of rare value....
Happily it is small enough to be carried about in the
pocket, and of such a companion it would be difficult to
weary._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE.=Guesses at Truth.= By TWO BROTHERS.=The Cavalier and his Lady.= Selections from the Works of the
First Duke and Duchess of Newcastle.With an Introductory Essay
by EDWARD JENKINS, Author of "Ginx's Baby," &c.4_s._ 6_d._
"_A charming little volume._"--STANDARD.=Theologia Germanica.=--Which setteth forth many fair Lineaments of
Divine Truth, and saith very lofty and lovely things touching a
Perfect Life.John went back to the office.PFEIFFER, from the only complete
manuscript yet known.Translated from the German, by SUSANNA
WINKWORTH.CHARLES KINGSLEY,
and a Letter to the Translator by the Chevalier Bunsen, D.D.=Milton's Poetical Works.=--Edited, with Notes, &c., by PROFESSOR
MASSON.9_s._
=Scottish Song.= A Selection of the Choicest Lyrics of Scotland.Mary went back to the office.Compiled and arranged, with brief Notes, by MARY CARLYLE
AITKIN.4_s._ 6_d._
"_Miss Aitken's exquisite collection of Scottish Song is
so alluring, and suggests so many topics, that we find
it difficult to lay it down.The book is one that should
find a place in every library, we had almost said in every
pocket, and the summer tourist who wishes to carry with
him into the country a volume of genuine poetry, will find
it difficult to select one containing within so small a
compass so much of rarest value._"--SPECTATOR.MACMILLAN'S GLOBE LIBRARY._Beautifully printed on toned paper and bound in cloth
extra, gilt edges, price_ 4_s._ 6_d._ _each; in cloth
plain_, 3_s._ 6_d._ _Also kept in a variety of calf and
morocco bindings at moderate prices._
BOOKS, Wordsworth says, are
"the spirit breathed
By dead men to their kind;"
and the aim of the publishers of the Globe Library has been to make
it possible for the universal kin of English-speaking men to hold
communion with the loftiest "spirits of the mighty dead;" to put
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are competent to afford every assistance to readers of all kinds: this
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little to "make the whole world kin."_The_ SATURDAY REVIEW _says_: "_The Globe
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the Globe Editions of Messrs.Macmillan surpass any popular
series of our classics hitherto given to the public.As
near an approach to miniature perfection as has ever been
made._"
=Shakespeare's Complete Works.= Edited by W. G, CLARK, M.A., and
W. ALDIS WRIGHT, M.A., of Trinity College, Cambridge, Editors
of the "Cambridge Shakespeare."Mary went to the bathroom._The_ ATHENAEUM _says this edition is_ "_a marvel
of beauty, cheapness, and compactness.... For the busy
man, above all for the working student, this is the best
of all existing Shakespeares._" _And the_ PALL MALL
GAZETTE _observes_: "_To have produced the complete
works of the world's greatest poet in such a form, and at
a price within the reach of every one, is of itself almost
sufficient to give the publishers a claim to be considered
public benefactors._"
=Spenser's Complete Works.= Edited from the Original Editions and
Manuscripts, by R. MORRIS, with a Memoir by J. W. HALES, M.A."_Worthy--and higher praise it needs not--of the beautiful
'Globe Series.'The work is edited with all the care so
|
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | =Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works.= Edited with a Biographical
and Critical Memoir by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE, and copious
Notes, pp."_We can almost sympathise with a middle-aged grumbler,
who, after reading Mr.Palgrave's memoir and introduction,
should exclaim--'Why was there not such an edition of Scott
when I was a school-boy?'_"--GUARDIAN.=Complete Works of Robert Burns.=--THE POEMS, SONGS, AND LETTERS,
edited from the best Printed and Manuscript Authorities, with
Glossarial Index, Notes, and a Biographical Memoir by ALEXANDER
SMITH, pp.Mary travelled to the hallway."_Admirable in all respects._"--SPECTATOR."_The
cheapest, the most perfect, and the most interesting
edition which has ever been published._"--BELL'S
MESSENGER.=Robinson Crusoe.= Edited after the Original Editions, with a
Biographical Introduction by HENRY KINGSLEY."_A most excellent and in every way desirable
edition._"--COURT CIRCULAR."_Macmillan's
'Globe' Robinson Crusoe is a book to have and to
keep._"--MORNING STAR.=Goldsmith's Miscellaneous Works.= Edited, with Biographical
Introduction, by Professor MASSON."_Such an admirable compendium of the facts of Goldsmith's
life, and so careful and minute a delineation of the mixed
traits of his peculiar character as to be a very model of a
literary biography in little._"--SCOTSMAN.=Pope's Poetical Works.= Edited, with Notes and Introductory Memoir,
by ADOLPHUS WILLIAM WARD, M.A., Fellow of St.Mary moved to the garden.Peter's College,
Cambridge, and Professor of History in Owens College, Manchester._The_ LITERARY CHURCHMAN _remarks_: "_The editor's
own notes and introductory memoir are excellent, the memoir
alone would be cheap and well worth buying at the price of
the whole volume._"
=Dryden's Poetical Works.= Edited, with a Memoir, Revised Text,
and Notes, by W. D. CHRISTIE, M.A., of Trinity College,
Cambridge."_An admirable edition, the result of great research and
of a careful revision of the text.The memoir prefixed
contains, within less than ninety pages, as much sound
criticism and as comprehensive a biography as the student
of Dryden need desire._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE.=Cowper's Poetical Works.= Edited, with Notes and Biographical
Introduction, by WILLIAM BENHAM, Vicar of Addington and
Professor of Modern History in Queen's College, London.Hitherto they had met with few Indians, and these few were friendly,
being acquainted either personally or by report with Spotted Tiger, for
the man's reputation as a jaguar and puma slayer had extended far beyond
his own tribe.That day, however, several native canoes were passed,
and in the evening they found that the place on which Tiger had made up
his mind to encamp was in possession of Indians.asked Pedro, as they approached the shore."Would it not be better to go a little further and encamp away from
them?"asked Lawrence, who retained unpleasant memories of the dirtiness
of Indian encampments."Tiger wishes to speak to them," said Pedro, as the canoe was run on
shore.It was found that the party consisted of several families of Indians who
were out on a turtle-hunting expedition, for the season had arrived when
turtles lay their eggs.This laying season of the turtle sets the whole population of those
regions, civilised and savage, in motion, searching in the sands for
eggs, and capturing or killing the animals.The Indians now met with
were on the latter business.Upon the weather depends the commencement
of this season of unwonted activity among the turtles and wild
excitement among the river-side Indians, for the snows must cease to
fall on the summits of the Andes, and the rivers must decrease in volume
so as to lay bare vast spaces of sand, before the eggs can be laid.No alderman in London city ever equalled--much less excelled--a South
American savage of that region in his love of turtle, or in his capacity
for devouring it.But the savage goes immeasurably further than the
alderman!He occupies altogether a higher and more noble position in
regard to the turtle, for he not only studies, with prolonged care and
deep interest, its habits and manners, but follows it, watches it,
catches it, kills it, and, finally, cooks it with his own hands, before
arriving at the alderman's comparatively simple and undignified act of
eating it.So exact are these Indians in their observations and knowledge of the
turtle question, that they can tell almost to a day when and where their
unsuspecting victims will land and lay.There was an extensive stretch
of flat sand close to the spot where our voyageurs put ashore, on which
the Indians had observed numerous claw-marked furrows, which had been
traced by the turtles.Here, therefore, they had called a halt, built a
number of ajoupas, or leafy sheds, about two hundred yards from the edge
of the river, under the shelter of which to sit at night and watch for
their prey.The turtles, it was found, were expected to land that night.Meanwhile,
the savages were regaling themselves with a splendid dish, or rather
jar, containing hundreds of turtles' eggs, mixed with bananas.The mess was very
palatable, though "heavy," and our travellers did justice to it--
especially the <DW64>, whose gastronomic powers were equal to all
emergencies."How do they know," asked Lawrence, as he and Pedro busied themselves in
tying up the hammocks in a suitable part of the jungle, "when to expect
the turtles?""But dey not stink at all," objected Quashy, "anyhow, not till arter
dey's dead, so't can't be dat.""It's not that kind of stink I mean, Quashy; quite another sort," said
Pedro, who felt unequal to the task of explanation."But look sharp; we
must lend the Indians a helping hand to-night.""But I don't know nuffin about it," said Quashy, "an' a man what don't
know what to do is on'y in de way ob oder peepil.""You take a just view of things, boy," returned Pedro, "but you won't
find it difficult to learn.Five minutes looking at what the Indians do
will suffice, for they only turn the turtles."Turn 'im upside-down, or outside in--w'ich?""You'd find it hard to do the last, Quashy.No, you've only to turn
them over on their backs, and let them lie; that's all."While the <DW64> was thus gathering useful knowledge, the Indians amused
themselves in various ways until darkness should call them forth to the
business of the hour.Sandra went to the kitchen.Some, with that amazing tendency to improve their
personal appearance, which is common alike to civilised and savage,
plucked out the little beard with which nature had endowed them by means
of tweezers, deeming it no doubt wiser on the whole to pluck up the
beard by the roots than to cut it off close thereto, as indeed it was,
seeing that the former process did not need regular repetition.Others
were still busy with the turtle-egg ragout, unable, apparently to decide
whether or not appetite was satisfied.Two somewhat elderly but deeply
interested savages whiled away the time with a game of cup-and-ball,
turn and turn about, with imperturbable gravity.This game was different from that of Europe to the extent of being
played on precisely opposite principles.It was not he who caught the
ball on the point of the sharp stick that won, but he who failed to
catch it, for failure was more difficult to achieve than success!The handle was a piece of pointed wood, about
the thickness of a ramrod, and a yard or so in length.To this, by a
piece of string made from fibres of the palm, was attached the ball,
which was formed of the skull of a turtle, carefully scraped.There was
no "cup" in the game.It was all point, and the great point was to
touch the ball a certain number of times without catching it, a somewhat
difficult feat to accomplish owing to the dozen or more natural cavities
with which the skull-ball was pierced, and into one of which the point
was almost always pretty sure to enter.At last the shades of night descended on the scene, and the Indians,
laying aside ragout, tweezers, cup-and-ball, etcetera, went down to the
sand-flats, and crouched, kneeled, or squatted under the leafy ajoupas.It was a profoundly dark night, for during the first part of it there
was no moon, and the stars, although they lent beauty and lustre to the
heavens, did not shed much light upon the sands.There is a weird
solemnity about such a scene which induces contemplative thought even in
the most frivolous, while it moves the religious mind to think more
definitely, somehow, of the near presence of the Creator.For some time
Lawrence, who crouched in profound silence beside Pedro, almost forgot
the object for which he was waiting there.The guide seemed to be in a
similarly absent mood, for he remarked at last in a low voice--
"How striking would be the contrasts presented to us constantly by
nature, if we were not so thoroughly accustomed to them!Storm, and
noise, and war of elements last night,--to-night, silence, calm, and
peace!At present, darkness profound,--in half an hour or so the moon
will rise, and the sands will be like a sheet of silver.This moment,
quiet repose,--a few moments hence, it may be, all will be turmoil and
wildest action--that is, if the turtles come.""True," assented Lawrence, "and we may add yet another illustration: at
one moment, subjects of contemplation most sublime,--next moment,
objects the most ridiculous."He pointed as he spoke to Quashy, whose grinning teeth and glaring eyes
alone were distinctly visible in the background of ebony.He was
creeping on his hands and knees, by way of rendering himself, if
possible, less obtrusive."Massa," he said, in a hoarse yet apologetic whisper, "I's come to ax if
you t'ink de turtles am comin' at all dis night.""How can I tell, Quash, you stupid fellow?Get away to your own ajoupa,
and keep quiet.I wonder the Indians haven't let fly a poisoned arrow
at you.Poor Quashy shut his mouth and his eyes--it was as if three little
lights had gone out--while his dusky frame melted into its native gloom.No sound was to be heard on the sand-flats after that until about
midnight, when the moon appeared on the horizon.Just then a sound was
heard on the river.Sandra moved to the bathroom.It was like a swirling, hissing noise.Soon they
could see by the increasing light that the water of the river seemed
actually to boil.Immediately afterwards, thousands of turtles came
tumbling clumsily out of the water, and spread themselves over the
flats.Evidently egg-laying was no joke with them.The well-known sluggishness
of the creatures was laid aside for this great occasion, and wonderful
activity marked their every movement from first to last.You see, they
had to manage the business in a wholesale sort of fashion, each turtle
having from thirty to forty eggs, or more, to deposit in the sand,--on
which sand, in conjunction with the sun, devolved the duty of subsequent
maternal care.That the creatures acted on pre-arranged principles was evident from the
fact that they worked in separate detachments, each working-party
devoting its energies to the digging of a trench two feet deep, four
feet broad, and sometimes 200 yards long.Their zeal was amazing; as
well it might be, for they allowed themselves less than an hour in which
to do it all.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Each animal dug like a hero with its fore-feet, and sent
the sand flying about it to such an extent that the whole flat appeared
to be enveloped in a thick fog!When satisfied that their trench was deep enough they stopped work,
deposited their soft-shelled eggs, and, with their hind feet, soon
filled up the trench.So great was their eagerness and hurry, that
during the operation more than one turtle, tumbling over her companions,
rolled into the trench and was buried alive.No sooner was the
stupendous work accomplished than they made a disorderly rush for the
river, as if aware of the fate which threatened them.And now at last came the opportunity of the savage.John went back to the office.The Iron Duke's
"Up, guards, and at 'em!"could not have been more promptly or gladly
obeyed than was the signal of the red-skinned chief.Mary went back to the office.Like catapults they responded to it, with yells of
mingled madness and joy.Mary went to the bathroom.To have run between the shelly
host and the river, so as to cut off its retreat, would have been sheer
lunacy, at which Luna herself--by that time shining superbly--would have
paled with horror, for the men would have certainly been overthrown and
trampled under foot by the charging squadrons.What the Indians did was
to rush upon the flanks of the host, seize the animals' tail, and hurl
them over on their backs, in which position they lay flapping
helplessly.Before the retreating "miserables" reached the river,
hundreds of captives were thus obtained.You may be sure that Lawrence and Pedro and Spotted Tiger acted their
part well that night, and that Quashy was not long in learning his
lesson!The first tail the <DW64> grasped slipped through his hands, so mighty
was his effort, and, as a consequence, he sat down with that sudden
involuntary flop which one associates irresistibly with nurseries.Jumping up, and rendered wise, he took a better grip next time, turned
the turtle over, and fell on the top of it, receiving a tremendous whack
on the cheek from its right flipper as a reward for his clumsiness.Even in the brief space of time at his
disposal, Quashy managed to turn ten turtles with his own hands, besides
turning himself over six times, if not more.Rendered wild by success, and desperate with anxiety, as the fugitives
neared the river, the <DW64> fixed his glittering eyes on a particularly
huge turtle, which was scuttling along in almost drunken haste.With an
impromptu war-howl, Quashy charged down on it, and caught it by the
tail.Daniel went back to the kitchen.With a heave worthy of Hercules he lifted his foe some inches off
the sand, but failed to turn it.Making a second effort, he grasped the
edge of the creature's shell with his left hand, and the tail more
firmly with the right.he shouted, and made a Herculean heave.A second time he would
have failed, if it had not been that he was on the edge of a part of the
trench which the turtles had not had time to fill up.Mary moved to the kitchen.The weight of the
creature caused a fore-leg to break off part of the edge, and over it
went, slowly, on its side,--almost balancing thus, and flapping as it
went.To expedite the process Quashy seized it by the neck and gave
another heave and howl.Unfortunately, the edge of the trench again
gave way under one of his own feet, and he fell into it with a cry of
distress, for the turtle fell on the top |
office | Where is Daniel? | Well was it for Quashy that night that Lawrence Armstrong had good ears,
and was prompt to respond to the cry of distress, else had he come to an
untimely and inglorious end!Hearing the cry, Lawrence looked quickly
round, guessed the cause, shouted to Pedro, who was not far-off, and was
soon on the spot,--yet not a moment too soon, for poor Quashy was almost
squashy by that time.They dragged the turtle off, dug the <DW64> out,
and found that he had become insensible.Raising him gently in their arms, they bore him up to the camp, where
they found Manuela ready to minister to him.exclaimed the horrified girl when she saw the <DW64> laid down,
and beheld the awful dirty-green colour of his countenance."I hope not," replied Lawrence, earnestly."I's sh---squeesh!--_sure_ not!"exclaimed Quashy himself, with a
sneeze, as he opened his eyes.And Quashy, we need scarcely add, was right.He did
not die for many years afterwards.For aught that we know, indeed, he
may be living still, for he came of a very long-lived race.His accident, however, had the useful effect of preventing his giving
way to too exuberant felicity, and rendered him a little more careful as
to the quantity of turtle-egg ragout which he consumed that night for
supper.It would be pleasant to end our chapter here, but a regard for facts
compels us to refer to the slaughter of the unfortunate turtles next
morning.There is in the interior of the turtle a quantity of yellow fat, which
is said to be superior in delicacy to the fat of the goose, and from
which is obtained a fine oil, highly prized as an article of commerce.To secure this fat, the animals which had been "turned" were killed at
daylight the following morning.The axes of the Indians caused the
shells to fly in splinters; the intestines were then torn out and handed
to the Indian women, whose duty it was to remove from them the precious
fat, after which the carcasses were left to the vultures and
fisher-eagles, which flocked from afar to the scene of carnage with that
unerring instinct which has so often been commented on by travellers,
but which no one can understand.PEDRO BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE; MANUELA VOCAL; LAWRENCE PREPOSTEROUS;
QUASHY AND TIGER VIOLENT--THE WHOLE ENDING IN A GRAND CATASTROPHE."Senhor Armstrong," said Pedro, the evening after that on which the
capture of turtles took place, "I have received some bad news--at least
unsatisfactory news--which will necessitate a change in our style of
travelling, and a more rapid progress towards our journey's end.""I'm sorry for that," Lawrence answered, "for, to my mind, our style of
travelling is very agreeable, and the rate quite fast enough, especially
for one who has no definite purpose in view.""That may be so, senhor," returned Pedro, with a grim smile, "but as _I_
have something of a definite purpose in view, the case is different."Daniel went to the office.I do not object to any change in your plans; I
merely comment on the very pleasant time we are having, and shall be
ready to act as you desire; so, you see, I am as I promised to be--an
obedient follower.I have seen no
one arrive in the camp since we came.What may the nature of the news
be, if I may venture to ask of one who is so--so very reticent?"The guide pondered some time before replying to these questions.Then,
with the air of one who has made up his mind on an uncertain point,
said--
"I had no intention of rousing your curiosity by needless secrecy.I
have not very many or very profound secrets.Only, in a disturbed
country it behoves a man to hold his tongue in regard to his affairs.But I feel that you are a friend, Senhor Armstrong, who may be trusted;
not that I have much to trust to you,--and yet, my doings are so mixed
up with the affairs of other people that to some extent I am
tongue-tied.I may tell you, however, that I am a secret agent of the
government, to which I have volunteered my services solely because I
love peace and hate war, and am desirous of doing all I can to promote
the first and abate the last.The idea may appear to you Quixotic,
but--"
"Pardon me, Senhor Pedro," interrupted Lawrence, promptly."I think you
the reverse of Quixotic.I honour you for your sentiments, and
sympathise with you most heartily.Do I not remember that it is
written, `Blessed are the peacemakers,' and also, `Scatter thou the
people that delight in war?'""Yes, I have gathered from your conversation that such are your
sentiments, but do not misunderstand me.I am not of those who would
have peace at any price.I believe in the right of self-defence.I
recognise the right of oppressed nations to rise up and draw the sword
in order to free themselves from tyrants; in short, I believe that there
are some things that are worse even than war; but while I concede so
much, I hold that most of the wars recorded in history have been
undertaken without just cause, many of them without any real or obvious
cause at all, too many of them with a distinctly bad cause.Even in the
present day, and among Christian nations, there is far too little
tendency to appeal to arbitration, which is the only legitimate way for
_reasonable_ men to settle any dispute or quarrel.Does your sympathy
go with me thus far?"Lawrence, with a glow of enthusiasm on his face, extended his hand, and,
grasping that of his companion, shook it warmly."I go with you in every word, Pedro.You are a man after my own heart;
and I say, God prosper you in your good work wherever you go!"Manuela, who was standing near at the time, looked up at the
enthusiastic youth quickly.Her knowledge of English must have been
improving, despite the badness of her pronunciation, for she seemed to
understand the conversation, and to regard Lawrence with profound
interest.The youth was so carried away with his feelings, however, that he did
not observe the girl's look or expression."That is well," Pedro said, with a pleased look, as he returned his
friend's grasp; "but I fear you won't find many of our way of thinking
in this unhappy country.You are aware, no doubt, that it is
frequently--I might almost say every three or four years--disturbed by
factious quarrels which too often end in riot and bloodshed, though
these are not often on so large a scale as to be styled civil war.John journeyed to the garden.Well, there is a party of peace-lovers even here, who do their best to
bring about a better state of things, and a more settled and powerful
government.Some of the men of influence at Buenos Ayres, and some even
of the military men, are of this party.I am, as I have said, their
secret agent--secret, because if I were to attempt the thing openly, or
as a government agent, I should be treated with ridicule by some, or be
murdered perhaps by others, in either of which cases my influence would
be gone.Of course, as you have seen, I run considerable risk in
travelling through the land on my mission, for I have been several times
taken for a spy, but I don't object to run risk, the cause being a good
one."As to the news, which I have received by mere chance from a passing
Indian, it is another outbreak in the San Juan district which makes a
change in the disposition of troops necessary; and as I have particular
business with one of the officers, I must change my route and make for
Buenos Ayres as straight as possible.That is all the mystery about it;
so you see, as I said, it is not very profound.""It is very interesting, however," returned Lawrence, "and you may
depend on my falling in with your plans, whatever they are.""Well, then," returned the guide, "the first part of my plan is simple
enough--merely to start off to-morrow by the first peep of day.Will
you go, therefore, and tell Quashy to get ready, while I have a talk
with Manuela?"We do not intend to inflict on the reader the whole of the conversation
that took place in the Indian tongue between the little brown maiden and
the guide."I repeat, Manuela," said the latter, in a remonstrative tone, "that you
are not wise.""My kind protector forgets," replied the girl, with a modest look, "that
I have never set up any claim to wisdom.""I really cannot guess what he will say," she answered, with one of her
prettiest little smiles."But you may be quite sure that the thing is impossible.Consider the
immense difference between you, and, forgive me, Manuela, but I think it
is not fair.""Now my protector forgets _himself_," returned the maiden, drawing
herself up and bestowing a look on the guide which was quite worthy of
an Inca princess--supposing Lawrence to have been right in his
conjecture on that point!"Well, well, please yourself, Manuela," returned Pedro, with a laugh, in
which exasperation slightly mingled, "but do me the justice to tell your
father when you meet that I fairly remonstrated with and warned you.After all, nothing would please me better,--if it should ever come
about."He turned on his heel and went off, with a mingling of expressions on
his handsome face, to look after the canoe and make preparations for an
early start in the morning.Canoe travelling appears to be rather slow work while it is going on,
even when descending the current of a river.Each point of land seems
to be reached and passed so gradually; every vista of the river seems so
extensive, and the trees on shore drop so leisurely astern, that when
you think of the hundreds of miles which lie in advance, you are apt to
feel as if the journey or voyage would never come to an end.But when
you forget the present and reflect on the past, when you think how many
hundreds of miles now lie behind, although it seems but yesterday that
you set out on the journey, then you realise the fact that the "power of
littles," of steady, daily unremitting perseverance, has had too little
weight with you in your estimates, and that, just as fast as your
starting-point recedes from you, exactly so fast does your goal
approach, although those misleading factors, your feelings, may have
induced you to think otherwise.Five days after the occurrence of the events on what we may style
Turtle-beach, Lawrence found himself wondering at what appeared to be
the far-off-ness of the spot, considering the slowness of the hourly
progress, yet at the same time wondering if they should _ever_ traverse
the nine hundred or a thousand miles that yet intervened between him and
Buenos Ayres.To do Lawrence Armstrong justice, however, he was by no means impatient.He was quite satisfied that things should go as slowly as they pleased,
for was he not travelling through the most interesting of countries, in
which the flora and the fauna and the geological features furnished
abundant--ay, superabundant--food for the satisfaction of his scientific
appetite, while his companions were of the pleasantest character?Pedro, since the opening up of his heart to him, had laid aside much--
though not all--of his reserve, and shown himself to be a man of
extensive information and profound thought.Spotted Tiger was a splendid specimen, physically and mentally, of the
sons of the soil, in the contemplation of whom he could expend whatever
smattering he possessed of ethnological science.Then Quashy--was not
that <DW64> the very soul and embodiment of courage, fidelity, and
good-humour, the changes of whose April face alone might have furnished
rich material for the study of a physiognomist or a Rembrandt.And as for Manuela--we cannot analyse his thoughts about her.It is
probable that he could not have expounded them himself.Take the
following sample of them, as overheard by us one day when he had strayed
into the wild woods alone, and was seated on the roots of a mighty tree,
pencil in hand, attempting unsuccessfully to make a sketch."I do believe," he murmured, with a gesture of impatience--for he had
drawn a small convolvulus, hanging from a tree, with such disregard for
the rules of linear perspective that it was the proportionate size of an
omnibus--"I do believe that that girl has come between me and my wits.A white
man _could_ not fall in love with a black woman."Yes, he did the poor girl the injustice, in his perplexed indignation
with himself, to call her black, although it must have been obvious to
the most careless observer that she was only reddish-brown, or, to speak
more correctly, brownish-red."I can't understand it," he continued to murmur in that low, slow,
absent far-away tone and manner characteristic of artists when at work."No doubt her nose is Grecian, and her mouth small, as well as
exquisitely formed, her chin full and rounded, her teeth faultless, her
eyes gorgeous, and her whole contour perfect, but--but--she's black--at
least," (correcting himself with a touch of compunction), "she's brown.No; I see what it is--it's--(well that's more like a balloon than a
water-lily)--yes, it _must_ be that I am in love with her spirit.I've said so before, and--and--I say it again."He drew back his head at this point, and looked critically--even
sternly--at the sketch.There was room both for criticism and
indignation, for the display, in so small a compass, of bad drawing,
vile composition, ridiculous chiaro-oscuro, and impossible perspective,
could only have been justified by the supposition that his intellect had
been warped through the heart, in consequence of an unheard of
perplexity connected therewith."Yes," he continued, resuming his work with the air of an invincible
man, "there is something distinctly and exasperatingly wrong here.I am
in love with her spirit, and not with her person!Is it possible that
the human race, descending from Adam and Eve, should have reached the
nineteenth century without such a case ever having been heard of before,
and that I--I should be the first wretched example--or--or victim!It
is like loving the jewel without caring for the cas--no, that's a bad
simile, for one could throw away a casket and keep the jewel, which
could not conveniently be done in this case.I wonder what it is that
makes the rules of perspective so difficult, and the practice so im--"
His meditations were checked at this point by a sound so sweet that his
heart almost stood still, his pencil remained suspended over the sketch,
and the half-formed word remained in the half-opened mouth.It was as
if an angel had come to earth, and were warbling the airs of paradise.Peeping through the bushes, Lawrence saw that it was Manuela!She was
sauntering along pensively, humming as she went.From what cause we know not, but the Indian girl had not
until that day opened her mouth in song.The youth's surprise was
increased when she came near enough to let him hear that the words were
Spanish; but suddenly remembering that English girls sometimes learned
Italian songs by rote, like parrots, his surprise partly abated--why
should not an Indian girl learn Spanish songs by rote?Manuela passed close to the tree behind which our hero sat.On
observing him she stopped, and blushed intensely red.Evidently she had
thought herself quite alone, and experienced the usual dislike of
humanity to being caught in the act of singing to itself!In a burst of great enthusiasm Lawrence sprang up, overturned his
drawing materials, seized the girl's hand, and dropped it again as if it
had burnt him, as he exclaimed--
"I wish--oh!I _wish_, Manuela, that I were your _brother_!"The lightning flash is said to be quick, and we suppose, relatively
speaking, it is |
bathroom | Where is John? | Lawrence, as the reader has
doubtless observed, was not a man of much more than average
intelligence, or action of mind, yet between the first "wish" and the
word "brother," he had perceived and condemned the impropriety of
exhibiting strong feeling in thus grasping Manuela's hand; the
unmanliness of doing or saying anything to her that had the remotest
approach to love-making while in circumstances where the poor girl could
not get out of his way, however much she might wish to do so, and the
meanness, not to say absurdity, of showing anything like a lover's
affection for a spirit which could only make itself known through the
medium of a brown visage.Hence Lawrence, who was the soul of honour
and gallantry, got out of the dilemma by suddenly conceiving and
expressing the above intense wish to be Manuela's brother!It did not occur to him that the gratification of his wish might have
involved war-paint and feathers, a semi-nude body, a wild unlettered
life, and a predilection for raw meat and murder.No, rapid though
thought is, it did not convey these ideas to his mind.His one desire--
after the first unguarded "exclamation" and impulsive grasp of the hand,
was to escape from his false position without committing himself, and
without giving pain or annoyance to the unprotected girl.And his
success was in proportion to his boldness, for Manuela burst into a
hearty laugh, and said--
"Why you wants be my brudder?""Brother, Manuela, not brudder," replied Lawrence, joining in the laugh,
and much relieved in mind."The word is spelt with t-h, not with two
d's.The reason is that I should then have the right to order you to
sit at my feet and sing me these pretty songs whenever I liked.And I
fear I should be a very tyrannical brother to you, for I would make you
sing all day.""What--is--t'rannical?"asked the girl, whose tendency to laugh was
evidently not yet quite subdued.Daniel went to the office.came the guide's strong voice at that moment,
ringing through the arches of the forest, and preventing the
explanation, that might have been, of "t'rannical."John journeyed to the garden.It was the end of the noontide siesta.While
Lawrence, as we have seen, had taken to sketching and Manuela to
singing, the <DW64> had gone off on his own account, and Pedro was now
anxious to have his assistance in getting ready to start.As Lawrence hurriedly collected his pencils the Indian girl stood
admiring his work--poor ignorant thing!Just then there arose in the
forest a sound which filled them both with mingled surprise and alarm.It was a peculiar, dull sound, almost indescribable, but something like
what one might expect to hear from a hundred spades or pickaxes working
together in the depths of the forest.After a minute or two it ceased,
and profound silence reigned.Dead silence in critical circumstances is
even more alarming than definite noise, for then the imagination is
allowed full play, and only those who have got the imagination
powerfully developed know of what wild and terrifying vagaries it is
capable!Lawrence and Manuela looked at each other.The former had often before
admired the gorgeous black orbs of the latter, but he had not till then
thought them to be so very large.Suddenly the earth trembled under their feet; it seemed as if a volcano
were heaving underground.The memory of San Ambrosio rushed upon them,
and they too trembled--at least the girl did.At the same time a shout
arose which seemed to them not unfamiliar.The noise increased to
something like the galloping of a distant squadron of cavalry."Let me lift you into this tree," said Lawrence, quickly.He lifted her by the waist with his two large
hands as if she had been a little child, and placed her on a branch that
happened to be just within his reach.Scarcely had he done so when a
host, a very army, of American wild-hogs, or peccaries, burst from the
bushes like a tornado and bore down on them.They were so near that
there was no time for Lawrence to climb up beside Manuela.He could
only seize the branch with both hands and draw up his long legs.The
living torrent passed under him in a few seconds, and thus--thanks to
his gymnastic training at school--he escaped being ripped up in all
directions by the creatures' tusks.It was these same tusks digging round trees for the purpose of grubbing
up roots that had produced the strange sounds, and it was the shouts of
Quashy and Tiger in pursuit that had awakened the echoes of the forest.On the heels of the large animals came galloping and squealing a herd of
little ones, and close upon these followed the two hunters just named--
panting, war-whooping, and cheering.Several of the little pigs were
speared; some were even caught by the tail, and a goodly supply of meat
was obtained for at least that day and the next.But before noon of
that next day an event of a very different and much more serious nature
occurred.They were traversing a wide sheet of
water, both banks of which were high, richly-wooded, and all aglow with
convolvuli and other flowers, and innumerable rope-like creepers, the
graceful festoons and hanging tendrils of which gave inexpressible
softness to the scene.In the middle of the lake-like expanse were
numerous mud-flats, partly covered with tropical reeds and rushes of
gigantic size.The course our voyagers had to pursue made it necessary to keep close
under the right bank, which was unusually steep and high.They were all
silent, for the hour and the slumbering elements induced quiescence.A
severe thunderstorm accompanied by heavy rains had broken over that
district two days before, and Lawrence observed that deep watercourses
had been ploughed among the trees and bushes in several places, but
every other trace of the elemental war had vanished, and the quiet of
early morning seemed to him sweet beyond expression, inducing his
earnest spirit to wish that the mystery of sin had never been permitted,
and that it were still possible for man to walk humbly with his God in a
world of peacefulness as real as that of inanimate nature around him.When the sun arose, a legion of living creatures came out from wood and
swamp and reedy isle to welcome him.Flamingoes, otters, herons white
and grey, and even jaguars, then began to set about their daily work of
fishing for breakfast.Rugged alligators, like animated trunks of
fallen trees, crawled in slimy beds or ploughed up the sands of the
shore in deep furrows, while birds of gorgeous plumage and graceful--
sometimes clumsy--form audibly, if not always visibly, united to chant
their morning hymn.Such were the sights on which our travellers' eyes rested, with a sort
of quiet delight, when Pedro broke the silence in a low voice."You'd better keep a little farther out into the stream," he said to
Tiger.It was well that he did so promptly, for, in less than a minute, and
without the slightest premonition, the immense bank above them slid with
a terrific rumbling noise into the river.The enormous mass of sand and
vegetable detritus thus detached could not have been much, if at all,
less than half a mile in extent.It came surging and hurling down--
trees and roots and rocks and mud intermingling in a chaos of grand
confusion, the great cable-like creepers twining like snakes in agony,
and snapping as if they were mere strands of packthread; timber
crashing; rock grinding, sometimes bursting like cannon shots, and the
whole plunging into the water and raising a great wave that swept the
alligators from the mud-flats, and swallowed up the reeds and rushes,
sending herons, kingfishers, and flamingoes screaming into the air, and
dashing high into the jungle on the opposite shore.As we have said, the canoe got out of reach of the terrible avalanche
just in time, but it could not escape the wave.The Indian, however,
was prepared for that.It was not the first time he had seen such a
catastrophe.Turning the bow of the canoe instantly towards the falling
bank, he thus met the wave, as it were, in the teeth, and rode safely
over it.If he had been less alive to the danger, or less prompt to meet it, or
if he had under-estimated it, and allowed the wave to catch them on the
side of the canoe, the adventures of our five friends had that day come
to an abrupt close, and, what is probably of greater consequence to the
reader, this faithful record would never have been written!John travelled to the bathroom.“Ark al-Haláwat” = vein of sweetness.“Futúh,” which may also mean openings, has before occurred.Footnote 64:
_i.e._ four times without withdrawing.Footnote 65:
_i.e._ a correspondence of size, concerning which many rules are given
in the Ananga-ranga Shastra which justly declares that discrepancy
breeds matrimonial troubles.“Ghuráb al-_Bayn_” = raven of the waste or the parting: hence
the bird of Odin symbolises separation (which is also called Al-bayn).Corvus, one of the prehistoric
words) is supposed to be seen abroad earlier than any other bird; and
it is entitled “Abu Zájir,” father of omens, because lucky when flying
towards the right and _v.v._ It is opposed in poetry to the (white)
pigeon, the emblem of union, peace and happiness.The vulgar declare
that when Mohammed hid in the cave the crow kept calling to his
pursuers, “Ghár!Ghár!” (cavern, cavern): hence the Prophet condemned
him to wear eternal mourning and ever to repeat the traitorous words.This is the old tale of Coronis and Apollo (Ovid, lib.——who blacked the raven o’er
And bid him prate in his white plumes no more.Footnote 67:
This use of a Turkish title, “Efendi” being = our esquire, and
inferior to a Bey, is a rank anachronism, probably of the copyist.“Ghi;” butter melted, skimmed and allowed to
cool.“Ya Wadúd;” a title of the Almighty: the Mac.has “O
David!”
Footnote 70:
Arab.“Muwashshahah;” a complicated stanza of which specimens have
occurred.Payne calls it a “ballad,” which would be a “Kunyat
al-Zidd.”
Footnote 71:
Arab.“Baháim” (plur.Behemoth), applied in Egypt
especially to cattle.A friend of the “Oppenheim” house, a name the
Arabs cannot pronounce, was known throughout Cairo as “Jack al-baháim”
(of the cows.)“The father of side-locks,” a nickname of one of the Tobba Kings.This “Hasan of the ringlets” who wore two long pig-tails hanging to
his shoulders was the Rochester or Piron of his age: his name is still
famous for brilliant wit, extempore verse and the wildest debauchery.Daniel moved to the bedroom.D’Herbelot’s sketch of his life is very meagre.“His poetry has
survived to the present day and (unhappily) we shall hear more of Abu
Nowás.” On the subject of these patronymics Lane (Mod.has a strange remark that “Abu Dáúd is not the Father of Dáúd or
Abu Ali the Father of Ali, but whose Father is (or was) Dáúd or Ali.”
Here, however, he simply confounds Abu = father of (followed by a
genitive), with Abu-h (for Abu-hu) = he, whose father.“Samúr,” applied in slang language to cats and dogs, hence the
witty Egyptians converted Admiral Seymour (Lord Alcester) into
“Samúr.”
Footnote 74:
The home-student of Arabic may take this letter as a model even in the
present day; somewhat stiff and old-fashioned, but gentlemanly and
courteous.“Salím” (not Sé-lim) meaning the “Safe and sound.”
Footnote 76:
Arab.“Haláwah” = sweetmeat; meaning an entertainment such as men give
to their friends after sickness or a journey: it is technically called
as above, “The Sweetmeat of Safety.”
Footnote 77:
Arab.“Salát” which from Allah means mercy; from the Angels
intercession and pardon; and from mankind blessing.Concerning the
specific effects of blessing the Prophet, see Pilgrimage (ii.The
formula is often slurred over when a man is in hurry to speak: an
interrupting friend will say “Bless the Prophet!” and he does so by
ejaculating “Sa’am.”
Footnote 78:
Persian, meaning originally a command: it is now applied to a Wazirial
order as opposed to the “Irádah,” the Sultan’s order.“Mashá’ilí”: lit.the cresset-bearer who has before appeared as
hangman.Footnote 80:
Another polite formula for announcing a death.Footnote 81:
As he died heirless the property lapsed to the Treasury.Footnote 82:
This shaking the kerchief is a signal to disperse and the action
suggests its meaning.Thus it is used in an opposite sense to
“throwing the kerchief,” a pseudo-Oriental practice whose significance
is generally understood in Europe.Footnote 83:
The body-guard being of two divisions.“Hadbá,” lit.“hump-backed;” alluding to the Badawi bier; a pole
to which the corpse is slung (Lane).It seems to denote the
protuberance of the corpse when placed upon the bier which before was
flat.The quotation is from Ka’ab’s Mantle-Poem (Burdah v.37) “Every
son of a female, long though his safety may be, is a day borne upon a
_ridged implement_,” says Mr.Redhouse, explaining the latter as a
“bier with a ridged lid.” Here we differ: the Janázah with a lid is
not a Badawi article: the wildlings use the simplest stretcher; and I
would translate the lines:—
The son of woman, whatso his career,
One day is borne upon the gibbous bier.Footnote 85:
This is a high honour to any courtier.Footnote 86:
“Khatun” in Turk.means any lady: mistress, etc., and follows the
name, _e.g._ Fátimah Khatun.Habzalam Bazazah is supposed to be a
fanciful compound, uncouth as the named; the first word consisting of
“Habb” seed, grain; and “Zalam” of Zulm = seed of tyranny.Can it be a
travesty of “Absalom” (Ab Salám, father of peace)?286) prefer Habazlam and Hebezlem.of kumkum, cucurbite, gourd-shaped vessel, jar.Footnote 89:
A popular exaggeration for a very expert thief.“Buka’at al-dam”: lit.the “low place of blood” (where it
stagnates): so Al-Buká’ah = Cœlesyria |
kitchen | Where is John? | Footnote 91:
That common and very unpleasant phrase, full of egotism and
self-esteem, “I told you so,” is even more common in the naïve East
than in the West.In this case the son’s answer is far superior to the
mother’s question.Footnote 92:
In order to keep his oath to the letter.Footnote 93:
“Tabannuj” literally “hemping” (drugging with hemp or henbane) is the
equivalent in Arab medicine of our “anæsthetics.” These have been used
in surgery throughout the East for centuries before ether and
chloroform became the fashion in the civilised West.“Durká’ah,” the lower part of the floor, opposed to the “liwan”
or daïs.Liwán = Al-Aywán (Arab.the hall (including the
daïs and the sunken parts).Footnote 95:
_i.e._ he would toast it as he would a mistress.Daniel went to the office.Footnote 96:
This till very late years was the custom in Persia; and Fath Ali Shah
never appeared in scarlet without ordering some horrible cruelties.In
Dar-For wearing a red cashmere turban was a sign of wrath and sending
a blood-red dress to a subject meant that he would be slain.Footnote 97:
That is, this robbery was committed in the palace by some one
belonging to it.References to vinegar are frequent; that of Egypt
being famous in those days.“Optimum et laudatissimum acetum a Romanis
habebatur Ægyptum” (Facciolati); and possibly it was sweetened: the
Gesta (Tale xvii.)mentions “must and vinegar.” In Arab Proverbs, “One
mind by vinegar and another by wine” = each mind goes its own way.628); or, “with good and bad,” vinegar being spoilt
wine.Footnote 98:
We have not heard the last of this old “dowsing rod”: the latest form
of rhabdomancy is an electrical rod invented in the United States.Footnote 99:
This is the _procès verbal_ always drawn up on such occasions.Footnote 100:
The sight of running water makes a Persian long for strong drink as
the sight of a fine view makes the Turk feel hungry.“Min wahid aduww” a peculiarly Egyptian or rather Cairene
phrase.Footnote 102:
Al-Danaf = the Distressing Sickness: the title would be Ahmad the
Calamity.Al-Zaybak (the Quicksilver) = Mercury Ali: Hasan “Shuuman” =
a pestilent fellow.We shall meet all these worthies again and again:
see the Adventures of Mercury Ali of Cairo, Night dccviii., a sequel
to The Rogueries of Dalilah, Night dcxcviii.Footnote 103:
For the “Sacrifice-place of Ishmael” (not Isaac) see my Pilgrimage
(iii.According to all Arab ideas Ishmael, being the eldest son,
was the chief of the family after his father.I have noted that this
is the old old quarrel between the Arabs and their cousins the
Hebrews.Footnote 104:
This black-mail was still paid to the Badawin of Ramlah (Alexandria)
till the bombardment in 1881.Footnote 105:
The famous Issus of Cilicia, now a port-village on the Gulf of
Scanderoon.“Wada’á” = the _concha veneris_, then used as small change.“Sakati” = a dealer in “castaway” articles, such as old metal,
damaged goods, the pluck and feet of animals, etc.Footnote 108:
The popular tale of Burckhardt’s death in Cairo was that the names of
the three first Caliphs were found written upon his slipper-soles and
that he was put to death by decree of the Olema.It is the merest
nonsense, as the great traveller died of dysentery in the house of my
old friend John Thurburn and was buried outside the Bab al-Nasr of
Cairo, where his tomb was restored by the late Rogers Bay (Pilgrimage
i.a mis-spelling for Arslán, in Turk, a lion, and in slang a
piastre.“Maka’ad”; lit.“Khammárah”; still the popular term throughout Egypt for a
European Hotel.It is not always intended to be insulting but it is,
meaning the place where Franks meet to drink forbidden drinks.Footnote 112:
A reminiscence of Mohammed who cleansed the Ka’abah of its 360 idols
(of which 73 names are given by Freytag, Einleitung, etc.270,
342-57) by touching them with his staff, whereupon all fell to the
ground; and the Prophet cried (Koran xvii.84), “Truth is come, and
falsehood is vanished: verily, falsehood is a thing that vanisheth”
(magna est veritas, etc.).Amongst the “idols” are said to have been a
statue of Abraham and the horns of the ram sacrificed in lieu of
Ishmael, which (if true) would prove conclusively that the Abrahamic
legend at Meccah is of ancient date and not a fiction of Al-Islam.Hence, possibly, the respect of the Judaising Tobbas of Himyarland for
the Ka’abah (Pilgrimage, iii.Footnote 113:
This was evidently written by a Sunni as the Shí’ahs claim to be the
only true Moslems.It suggests
the common question in the South of Europe, “Are you a Christian or a
Protestant?”
Footnote 114:
Arab.“Ana fí jírat-ak!” a phrase to be remembered as useful in time
of danger.Footnote 115:
_i.e._ No Jinni, or Slave of the Jewel, was there to answer.“Kunsúl” (pron.“Gunsul”) which here means a well-to-do Frank,
and shows the modern date of the tale as it stands.“Capitano.” The mention of cannon and other terms in
this tale shows that either it was written during the last century or
it has been mishandled by copyists.“Minínah”; a biscuit of flour and clarified butter.“Waybah;” the sixth part of the Ardabb = 6 to 7 English gallons.Footnote 120:
He speaks in half-jest _à la Fellah_; and reminds us of “Hangman,
drive on the cart!”
Footnote 121:
Yochanan (whom Jehovah has blessed) Jewish for John, is probably a
copy of the Chaldean Euahanes, the Oannes of Berosus = Ea Khan, Hea
the fish.John journeyed to the garden.John travelled to the bathroom.The Greeks made it Joannes; the Arabs “Yohanná” (contracted
to “Hanná,” Christian) and “Yáhyá” (Moslem).Prester (Priest) John is
probably Ung Khan, the historian prince conquered and slain by Janghiz
Khan in A.D.The modern history of “John” is very extensive:
there may be a full hundred varieties and derivations of the name.“Husn Maryam” = the beauty (spiritual, etc.)Footnote 122:
Primarily being middle-aged; then aid, a patron, servant, etc.Also a
tribe of the Jinn usually made synonymous with “Márid,” evil
controuls, hostile to men: modern spiritualists would regard them as
polluted souls not yet purged of their malignity.The text insinuates
that they were at home amongst Christians and in Genoa.“Sar’a” = epilepsy, falling sickness, of old always confounded
with “possession” (by evil spirits) or “obsession.”
Footnote 124:
Again the true old charge of falsifying the so-called “Sacred books.”
Here the Koran is called “Furkán.” Sale (sect.Daniel moved to the bedroom.would assimilate
this to the Hebr.Perek or Pirka, denoting a section or portion of
Scripture; but Moslems understand it to be the “Book which
distinguished (faraka, divided) the true from the false.” Thus Caliph
Omar was entitled “Fárúk” = the Distinguisher (between right and
wrong).Lastly, “Furkán,” meaning as in Syr.deliverance,
revelation, is applied alike to the Pentateuch and Koran.Footnote 125:
Euphemistic for “thou shalt die.”
Footnote 126:
Lit.“From (jugular) vein to vein” (Arab.Our old friend
Lucretius again: “Tantane relligio,” etc.Footnote 127:
As opposed to the “but” or outer room.“Darb al-Asfar” in the old Jamalíyah or Northern part of Cairo.HATIM OF THE TRIBE OF TAYY.It is told of Hátim of the tribe of Tayy,[129] that when he died, they
buried him on the top of a mountain and set over his grave two troughs
hewn out of two rocks and stone girls with dishevelled hair.Mary travelled to the kitchen.At the foot
of the hill was a stream of running water, and when wayfarers camped
there, they heard loud crying and keening in the night, from dark till
daybreak; but when they arose in the morning, they found nothing but the
girls carved in stone.Now when Zú ‘l-Kurá’a,[130] King of Himyar, going
forth of his tribe, came to that valley, he halted to pass the night
there——And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.Now when it was the Two Hundred and Seventieth Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Zu ‘l-Kura’a
passed by the valley he nighted there; and, when he drew near the
mountain, he heard the keening and said, “What lamenting is that on
yonder hill?” They answered him, saying, “Verily this be the tomb of
Hatim al-Táyyi over which are two troughs of stone and stone figures of
girls with dishevelled hair; and all who camp in this place by night
hear this crying and keening.” So he said jestingly, “O Hatim of Tayy!we are thy guests this night, and we are lank with hunger.” Then sleep
overcame him, but presently he awoke in affright and cried out, saying,
“Help, O Arabs!Look to my beast!” So they came to him, and finding his
she-camel struggling and struck down, they stabbed her in the throat and
roasted her flesh and ate.Then they asked him what had happened and he
said, “When I closed my eyes, I saw in my sleep Hatim of Tayy who came
to me sword in hand and cried:—Thou comest to us and we have nothing by
us.Then he smote my she-camel with his sword, and she had surely died
even though ye had not come to her and slaughtered her.”[131] Now when
morning dawned the King mounted the beast of one of his companions and,
taking the owner up behind him, set out and fared on till midday, when
they saw a man coming towards them, mounted on a camel and leading
another, and said to him, “Who art thou?” He answered, “I am Adi,[132]
son of Hatim of Tayy; where is Zu ‘l-Kura’a, Emir of Himyar?” Replied
they, “This is he;” and he said to the prince, “Take this she-camel in
place of thy beast which my father slaughtered for thee.” Asked Zu
‘l-Kura’a, “Who told thee of this?” and Adi answered, “My father
appeared to me in a dream last night and said to me:—Harkye, Adi; Zu
‘l-Kura’a King of Himyar, sought the guest-rite of me and I, having
naught to give him, slaughtered his she-camel, that he might eat: so do
thou carry him a she-camel to ride, for I have nothing.” And Zu
‘l-Kura’a took her, marvelling at the generosity of Hatim of Tayy alive
and dead.And amongst instances of generosity is the
-----
Footnote 129:
A noble tribe of Badawin that migrated from Al-Yaman and settled in
Al-Najd.Their Chief, who died a few years before Mohammed’s birth,
was Al-Halim (the “black crow”), a model of Arab manliness and
munificence; and although born in the Ignorance he will enter Heaven
with the Moslems.Hatim was buried on the hill called Owárid: I have
already noted this favourite practice of the wilder Arabs and the
affecting idea that the Dead may still look upon his kith and kin.John journeyed to the kitchen.There is not an Arab book nor, indeed, a book upon Arabia which does
not contain the name of Hatim: he is mentioned as unpleasantly often
as Aristides.Footnote 130:
Lord of “Cattle-feet,” this King’s name is unknown; but the Kámús
mentions two Kings called Zu ‘l Kalá’a, the Greater and the Less.Lane’s Shaykh (ii.333) opined that the man who demanded Hatim’s
hospitality was one Abu ‘l-Khaybari.Footnote 131:
The camel’s throat, I repeat, is not cut as in the case of other
animals; the muscles being too strong: it is slaughtered by the
“nahr,” _i.e._ thrusting a knife into the hollow at the commissure of
the chest.Footnote 132:
Adi became a Moslem and was one of the companions of the Prophet.TALE OF MA’AN THE SON OF ZAIDAH.[133]
It is told of Ma’an bin Záidah that, being out one day a-chasing and
a-hunting, he became athirst but his men had no water with them; and
while thus suffering behold, three damsels met him bearing three skins
of water;——And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her
permitted say.Now when it was the Two Hundred and Seventy-first Night,[134]
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that three girls met
him bearing three skins of water; so he begged drink of them, and they
gave him to drink.Then he sought of his men somewhat to give the
damsels but they had no money; so he presented to each girl ten
golden-piled arrows from his quiver.Whereupon quoth one of them to her
friend, “Well-a-day!These fashions pertain to none but Ma’an bin
Zaidah!so let each one of us say somewhat of verse in his praise.” Then
quoth the first:—
He heads his arrows with piles of gold, ✿ And while shooting his foes is
his bounty doled:
Affording the wounded a means of cure, ✿ And a sheet for the bider
beneath the mould |
office | Where is Sandra? | And quoth the second:—
A warrior showing such open hand, ✿ His boons all friends and all foes
enfold:
The piles of his arrows of or are made, ✿ So that battle his bounty may
not withhold!Daniel went to the office.And quoth the third:—
From that liberal hand on his foes he rains ✿ Shafts aureate-headed and
manifold:
Wherewith the hurt shall chirurgeon pay, ✿ And for slain the shrouds
round their corpses roll’d.[135]
And there is also told a tale of
-----
Footnote 133:
A rival in generosity to Hatim: a Persian poet praising his patron’s
generosity says that it buried that of Hatim and dimmed that of Ma’an
(D’Herbelot).John journeyed to the garden.He was a high official under the last Ommiade, Marwán
al-Himár (the “Ass,” or the “Century,” the duration of Ommiade rule)
who was routed and slain in A.H.Ma’an continued to serve
under the Abbasides and was a favourite with Al-Mansúr.“More generous
or bountiful than Ka’ab” is another saying (A. P., i.325); Ka’ab ibn
Mámah was a man who, somewhat like Sir Philip Sidney at Zutphen, gave
his own portion of drink while he was dying of thirst to a man who
looked wistfully at him, whence the saying “Give drink to thy brother
the Námiri” (A. P., i.Ka’ab could not mount, so they put
garments over him to scare away the wild beasts and left him in the
desert to die.“Scatterer of blessings” (Náshir al-Ni’am) was a title
of King Malik of Al-Yaman, son of Sharhabil, eminent for his
liberality.John travelled to the bathroom.He set up the statue in the Western Desert, inscribed
“Nothing behind me,” as a warner to others.352) here introduces, between Nights cclxxi and ccxc, a tale
entitled in the Bresl.“The Sleeper and the Waker,”
_i.e._ the sleeper awakened; and he calls it:—The Story of Abu-l-Hasan
the Wag.Daniel moved to the bedroom.It is interesting and founded upon historical fact; but it
can hardly be introduced here without breaking the sequence of The
Nights.Alexander J. Cotheal of New York
has most obligingly sent me an addition to the Breslau text (iv.But I hope eventually to make use of it.Footnote 135:
The first girl calls gold “Tibr” (pure, unalloyed metal); the second
“Asjad” (gold generally) and the third “Ibríz” (virgin ore, the Greek
ὄβρυζον).This is a law of Arab rhetoric never to repeat the word
except for a purpose and, as the language _can_ produce 1,200,000 (to
100,000 in English) the copiousness is somewhat painful to readers.Mary travelled to the kitchen.MA’AN SON OF ZAIDAH AND THE BADAWI.Now Ma’an bin Záidah went forth one day to the chase with his company,
and they came upon a herd of gazelles; so they separated in pursuit and
Ma’an was left alone to chase one of them.When he had made prize of it
he alighted and slaughtered it; and as he was thus engaged, he espied a
person[136] coming forth out of the desert on an ass.So he remounted
and riding up to the new-comer, saluted him and asked him, “Whence
comest thou?” Quoth he, “I come from the land of Kuzá’ah, where we have
had a two years’ dearth; but this year it was a season of plenty and I
sowed early cucumbers.[137] They came up before their time, so I
gathered what seemed the best of them and set out to carry them to the
Emir Ma’an bin Zaidah, because of his well-known beneficence and
notorious munificence.” Asked Ma’an, “How much dost thou hope to get of
him?”; and the Badawi answered, “A thousand dinars.” Quoth the Emir,
“What if he say this is too much?” Said the Badawi, “Then I will ask
five hundred dinars.” “And if he say, Too much?” “Then three hundred!”
“And if he say yet, Too much?” “Then two hundred!” “And if he say yet,
Too much?” “Then one hundred!” “And if he say yet, Too much?” “Then,
fifty!” “And if he say yet, Too much?” “Then thirty!” “And if he say
still, Too much?” asked Ma’an bin Zaidah.Answered the Badawi, “I will
make my ass set his four feet in his Honour’s home[138] and return to my
people, disappointed and empty-handed.” So Ma’an laughed at him and
urged his steed till he came up with his suite and returned to his
place, when he said to his chamberlain, “An there come to thee a man
with cucumbers and riding on an ass admit him to me.” Presently up came
the Badawi and was admitted to Ma’an’s presence; but knew not the Emir
for the man he had met in the desert, by reason of the gravity and
majesty of his semblance and the multitude of his eunuchs and
attendants, for he was seated on his chair of estate with his officers
ranged in lines before him and on either side.So he saluted him and
Ma’an said to him “What bringeth thee, O brother of the Arabs?” Answered
the Badawi, “I hoped in the Emir, and have brought him curly cucumbers
out of season.” Asked Ma’an, “And how much dost thou expect of us?” “A
thousand dinars,” answered the Badawi.“This is far too much,” quoth
Ma’an.Quoth he, “Five hundred.” “Too much!” “Then three hundred.” “Too
much!” “Two hundred.” “Too much!” “One hundred.” “Too much!” “Fifty.”
“Too much!” At last the Badawi came down to thirty dinars; but Ma’an
still replied, “Too much!” So the Badawi cried, “By Allah, the man who
met me in the desert brought me bad luck!But I will not go lower than
thirty dinars.” The Emir laughed and said nothing; whereupon the wild
Arab knew that it was he whom he had met and said, “O my lord, except
thou bring the thirty dinars, see ye, there is the ass tied ready at the
door and here sits Ma’an, his honour, at home.” So Ma’an laughed, till
he fell on his back; and, calling his steward, said to him, “Give him a
thousand dinars and five hundred and three hundred and two hundred and
one hundred and fifty and thirty; and leave the ass tied up where he
is.” So the Arab to his amazement, received two thousand one hundred and
eighty dinars, and Allah have mercy on them both and on all generous
men!And I have also heard, O auspicious King, a tale of
-----
Footnote 136:
Arab.John journeyed to the kitchen.“Shakhs” before noticed.“Kussá’á” = the curling cucumber: the vegetable is of the
cheapest and the poorer classes eat it as “kitchen” with bread.“Haram-hu,” a double entendre.Here the Badawi means his Harem
the inviolate part of the house; but afterwards he makes it mean the
presence of His Honour.[139]
There was once a royal city in the land of Roum, called the City of
Labtayt wherein stood a tower which was always shut.And whenever a King
died and another King of the Greeks took the Kingship after him, he set
on the tower a new and strong lock, till there were four-and-twenty
locks upon the gate, according to the number of the Kings.After this
time, there came to the throne a man who was not of the old royal house,
and he had a mind to open these locks, that he might see what was within
the tower.The grandees of his kingdom forbade him from this and pressed
him to desist and reproved him and blamed him; but he persisted saying,
“Needs must this place be opened.” Then they offered him all that their
hands possessed of monies and treasures and things of price, if he would
but refrain; still he would not be baulked——And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.Now when it was the Two Hundred and Seventy-second Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the grandees
offered that King all their hands possessed of monies and treasures if
he would but refrain; still he would not be baulked and said, “There is
no help for it but I open this tower.” So he pulled off the locks and
entering, found within the tower figures of Arabs on their horses and
camels, habited in turbands[140] hanging down at the ends, with swords
in baldrick-belts thrown over their shoulders and bearing long lances in
their hands.He found there also a scroll which he greedily took and
read, and these words were written therein:—“Whenas this door is opened
will conquer this country a raid of the Arabs, after the likeness of the
figures here depicted; wherefore beware, and again beware of opening
it.” Now this city was in Andalusia; and that very year Tárik ibn Ziyád
conquered it, during the Caliphate of Al-Walíd son of Abd al-Malik[141]
of the sons of Umayyah; and slew this King after the sorriest fashion
and sacked the city and made prisoners of the women and boys therein and
got great loot.Moreover, he found there immense treasures; amongst the
rest more than an hundred and seventy crowns of pearls and jacinths and
other gems of price; and he found a saloon, wherein horsemen might throw
the spears, full of vessels of gold and silver, such as no description
can comprise.Moreover, he found there the table of food for the Prophet
of Allah, Solomon son of David (peace with both of them!), which is
extant even now in a city of the Greeks; it is told that it was of
grass-green emerald with vessels of gold and platters of jasper.Likewise he found the Psalms written in the old Ionian[142] character on
leaves of gold bezel’d with jewels; together with a book setting forth
the properties of stones and herbs and minerals, as well as the use of
characts and talismans and the canons of the art of alchymy; and he
found a third volume which treated of the art of cutting and setting
rubies and other precious stones and of the preparation of poisons and
theriacks.There found he also a mappa mundi figuring the earth and the
seas and the different cities and countries and villages of the world;
and he found a vast saloon full of hermetic powder, one drachm of which
elixir would turn a thousand drachms of silver into fine gold; likewise
a marvellous mirror, great and round, of mixed metals, which had been
made for Solomon, son of David (on the twain be peace!)wherein whoso
looked might see the counterfeit presentment of the seven climates of
the world; and he beheld a chamber full of Brahmini[143] jacinths for
which no words can suffice.So he despatched all these things to Walid
bin Abd al-Malik, and the Arabs spread all over the cities of Andalusia
which is one of the finest of lands.This is the end of the story of the
City of Labtayt.And a tale is also told of
-----
Footnote 139:
Toledo?John travelled to the office.The “Land
of Roum” here means simply Frank-land, as we are afterwards told that
its name was Andalusia, the old Vandal-land, a term still applied by
Arabs to the whole of the Iberian Peninsula.“Amáim” (plur.of Imámah) the common word for turband which I
prefer to write in the old unclipt fashion.Turbante and the old French Tolliban from the (now obsolete)
Persian term Dolband = a turband or a sash.Footnote 141:
Sixth Ommiade Caliph, A.D.Sandra moved to the office.705-716; from “Tárik” we have “Gibraltar” =
Jabal al-Tárik.“Yunán” = Ionia, applied to ancient Greece as “Roum” is to the
Græco-Roman Empire.“Bahramáni;” prob.alluding to the well-known legend of the
capture of Somanath (Somnauth) from the Hindus by Mahmud of Ghazni.In
the Ajá’ib al-Hind (before quoted) the Brahmins are called Abrahamah.THE CALIPH HISHAM AND THE ARAB YOUTH.The Caliph Hishám bin Abd al-Malik bin Marwan, was hunting one day, when
he sighted an antelope and pursued it with his dogs.As he was following
the quarry, he saw an Arab youth pasturing sheep and said to him, “Ho
boy, up and after yonder antelope, for it escapeth me!” The youth raised
his head to him and replied, “O ignorant of what to the deserving is
due, thou lookest on me with disdain and speakest to me with contempt;
thy speaking is that of a tyrant true and thy doing what an ass would
do.” Quoth Hisham, “Woe to thee, dost thou not know me?” Rejoined the
youth, “Verily thine unmannerliness hath made thee known to me, in that
thou spakest to me, without beginning by the salutation.”[144] Repeated
the Caliph, “Fie upon thee!I am Hisham bin Abd al-Malik.” “May Allah
not favour thy dwelling-place,” replied the Arab, “nor guard thine
abiding place!How many are thy words and how few thy generous deeds!”
Hardly had he ended speaking, when up came the troop from all sides and
surrounded him as the white encircleth the black of the eye, all and
each saying, “Peace be with thee, O Commander of the Faithful!” Quoth
Hisham, “Cut short this talk and seize me yonder boy.” So they laid
hands on him; and when he saw the multitude of Chamberlains and Wazirs
and Lords of State, he was in nowise concerned and questioned not of
them, but let his chin drop on his breast and looked where his feet
fell, till they brought him to the Caliph[145] when he stood before him,
with head bowed groundwards and saluted him not and spoke him not.So
one of the eunuchs said to him, “O dog of the Arabs, what hindereth thy
saluting the Commander of the Faithful?” The youth turned to him |
office | Where is Sandra? | Hast thou not heard the saying of Almighty Allah?:—One day,
every soul shall come to defend itself.”[146] Hereupon Hisham rose, in
great wrath, and said, “O headsman, bring me the head of this lad; for
indeed he exceedeth in talk, such as passeth conception.” So the sworder
took him and, making him kneel on the carpet of blood, drew his sword
above him and said to the Caliph, “O Commander of the Faithful, this thy
slave is misguided and is on the way to his grave; shall I smite off his
head and be quit of his blood?” “Yes,” replied Hisham.He repeated his
question and the Caliph again answered in the affirmative.Daniel went to the office.Then he asked
leave a third time; and the youth, knowing that, if the Caliph assented
yet once more, it would be the signal of his death, laughed till his
wisdom-teeth showed; whereupon Hisham’s wrath redoubled and he said to
him, “O boy, meseems thou art mad; seest thou not that thou art about to
depart the world?John journeyed to the garden.Why then dost thou laugh in mockery of thyself?” He
replied, “O Commander of the Faithful, if a larger life-term befel me,
none can hurt me, great or small; but I have bethought me of some
couplets, which do thou hear, for my death cannot escape thee.” Quoth
Hisham, “Say on and be brief;” so the Arab repeated these couplets:—
It happed one day a hawk pounced on a bird, ✿ A wildling sparrow driven
by destiny;
And held in pounces spake the sparrow thus, ✿ E’en as the hawk rose
ready home to hie:—
“Scant flesh have I to fill the maw of thee ✿ And for thy lordly food
poor morsel I.”
Then smiled the hawk in flattered vanity ✿ And pride, so set the sparrow
free to fly.John travelled to the bathroom.At this Hisham smiled and said, “By the truth of my kinship to the
Apostle of Allah (whom Allah bless and keep!), had he spoken this speech
at first and asked for aught except the Caliphate, verily I would have
given it to him.Stuff his mouth with jewels,[147] O eunuch and entreat
him courteously;” so they did as he bade them and the Arab went his way.And amongst pleasant tales is that of
-----
Footnote 144:
_i.e._ “Peace be with thee!”
Footnote 145:
_i.e._ in the palace when the hunt was over.The bluntness and
plain-speaking of the Badawi, which caused the revelation of the
Koranic chapter “Inner Apartments” (No.have always been
favourite themes with Arab tale-tellers as a contrast with citizen
suavity and servility.Moreover the Badawi, besides saying what he
thinks, always tells the truth (unless corrupted by commerce with
foreigners); and this is a startling contrast with the townsfolk.To
ride out of Damascus and have a chat with the Ruwalá is much like
being suddenly transferred from amongst the trickiest of Mediterranean
people to the bluff society of the Scandinavian North.And the reason
why the Turk will never govern the Arab in peace is that the former is
always trying to finesse and to succeed by falsehood, when the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth is wanted.Footnote 146:
Koran, xvi.Footnote 147:
A common and expressive way of rewarding the tongue which “spoke
poetry.” The jewels are often pearls.IBRAHIM BIN AL-MAHDI AND THE BARBER-SURGEON.They relate that Ibrahím, son of al-Mahdí,[148] brother of Harun
al-Rashid, when the Caliphate devolved to Al-Maamun, the son of his
brother Harun, refused to acknowledge his nephew and betook himself to
Rayy[149]; where he claimed the throne and abode thus a year and eleven
months and twelve days.Meanwhile his nephew, Al-Maamun, awaited his
return to allegiance and his accepting a dependent position till, at
last, despairing of this, he mounted with his horsemen and footmen and
repaired to Rayy in quest of him.Now when the news came to Ibrahim, he
found nothing for it but to flee to Baghdad and hide there, fearing for
his life; and Maamun set a price of an hundred thousand gold pieces upon
his head, to be paid to whoso might betray him.(Quoth Ibrahim) “When I
heard of this price I feared for my head”——And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.Now when it was the Two Hundred and Seventy-third Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Ibrahim
continued:—Now when I heard of this price I feared for my head and knew
not what to do: so I went forth of my house in disguise at midday,
knowing not whither I should go.Presently I entered a broad street
which was no thoroughfare and said in my mind, “Verily, we are Allah’s
and unto Him we are returning!If
I retrace my steps, I shall arouse suspicion.” Then, being still in
disguise I espied, at the upper end of the street, a <DW64>-slave
standing at his door; so I went up to him and said to him, “Hast thou a
place where I may abide for an hour of the day?” “Yes,” answered he, and
opening the door admitted me into a decent house, furnished with carpets
and mats and cushions of leather.Viewing the Work in this manner, therefore, as an instructive and safe
guide to the knowledge of what it concerns all men to know, I cannot
but consider it in itself as a work of great and permanent value to
any Christian community.Whatever indeed tends to awaken and cherish
the power, and to form the habit, of reflection upon the great
constituent principles of our own permanent being and proper humanity,
and upon the abiding laws of truth and duty, as revealed in our reason
and conscience, cannot but promote our highest interests as moral and
rational beings.Even if the particular conclusions, to which the
Author has arrived, should prove erroneous, the evil is comparatively
of little importance, if he have at the same time communicated to our
minds such powers of thought, as will enable us to detect his errors,
and attain by our own efforts to a more perfect knowledge of the
truth.That some of his views may not be erroneous, or that they are
to be received on his authority, the Author, I presume, would be the
last to affirm; and although in the nature of the case it was
impossible for him to aid reflection without anticipating, and in some
measure influencing, the results, yet the primary tendency and design
of the Work is, not to establish this or that system, but to cultivate
in every mind the power and the will to seek earnestly and steadfastly
for the truth in the only direction, in which it can ever be found.The work is no further controversial, than every work must be, "that
is writ with freedom and reason" upon subjects of the same kind; and
if it be found at variance with existing opinions and modes of
philosophizing, it is not necessarily to be considered the fault of
the writer.Daniel moved to the bedroom.In republishing the Work in this country, I could wish that it might
be received by all, for whose instruction it was designed, simply as a
didactic work, on its own merits, and without controversy.Mary travelled to the kitchen.I must not,
however, be supposed ignorant of its bearing upon those questions,
which have so often been, and still are, the prevailing topics of
theological controversy among us.It was indeed incumbent on me,
before inviting the attention of the religious community to the Work,
to consider its relation to existing opinions, and its probable
influence on the progress of truth.This I have done with as severe
thought as I am capable of bestowing upon any subject, and I trust too
with no want of deference and conscientious regard to the feelings and
opinions of others.I have not attempted to disguise from myself, nor
do I wish to disguise from the readers of the Work, the inconsistency
of some of its leading principles with much that is taught and
received in our theological circles.Should it gain much of the public
attention in any way, it will become, as it ought to do, an object of
special and deep interest to all, who would contend for the truth, and
labour to establish it upon a permanent basis.John journeyed to the kitchen.John travelled to the office.I venture to assure
such, even those of them who are most capable of comprehending the
philosophical grounds of truth in our speculative systems of theology,
that in its relation to this whole subject they will find it to be a
Work of great depth and power, and, whether right or wrong, eminently
deserving their attention.It is not to be supposed that all who read,
or even all who comprehend it, will be convinced of the soundness of
its views, or be prepared to abandon those which they have long
considered essential to the truth.To those, whose understandings by
long habit have become limited in their powers of apprehension, and as
it were identified with certain schemes of doctrine, certain modes of
contemplating all that pertains to religious truth, it may appear
novel, strange, and unintelligible, or even dangerous in its tendency,
and be to them an occasion of offence.But I have no fear that any
earnest and single-hearted lover of the truth as it is in Jesus, who
will free his mind from the idols of preconceived opinion, and give
himself time and opportunity to understand the Work by such reflection
as the nature of the subject renders unavoidable, will find in it any
cause of offence, or any source of alarm.If the Work become the
occasion of controversy at all, I should expect it from those, who,
instead of reflecting deeply upon the first principles of truth in
their own reason and conscience and in the word of God, are more
accustomed to speculate--that is, from premises given or assumed, but
considered unquestionable, as the constituted point of observation, to
look abroad upon the whole field of their intellectual vision, and
thence to decide upon the true form and dimensions of all which meets
their view.To such I would say with deference, that the merits of
this Work cannot be determined by the merely relative aspect of its
doctrines, as seen from the high ground of any prevailing metaphysical
or theological system.Sandra moved to the office.Those on the contrary who will seek to
comprehend it by reflection, to learn the true meaning of the whole
and of all its parts, by retiring into their own minds and finding
there the true point of observation for each, will not be in haste to
question the truth or the tendency of its principles.I make these
remarks because I am anxious, as far as may be, to anticipate the
causeless fears of all, who earnestly pray and labour for the
promotion of the truth, and to preclude that unprofitable controversy,
which might arise from hasty or prejudiced views of a Work like this.John moved to the garden.At the same time I should be far from deprecating any discussion which
might tend to unfold more fully the principles which it teaches, or to
exhibit more distinctly its true bearing upon the interests of
theological science and of spiritual religion.It is to promote this
object, indeed, that I am induced in the remarks which follow to offer
some of my own thoughts on these subjects, imperfect I am well aware,
and such as, for that reason, as well as others, worldly prudence
might require me to suppress.If, however, I may induce reflecting
men, and those who are engaged in theological inquiries especially, to
indulge a suspicion that all truth, which it is important for them to
know, is not contained in the systems of doctrine usually taught, and
that this Work may be worthy of their serious and reflecting perusal,
my chief object will be accomplished.I shall of course not need to
anticipate in detail the contents of the Work itself, but shall aim
simply to point out what I consider its distinguishing and essential
character and tendency, and then direct the attention of my readers to
some of those general feelings and views on the subjects of religious
truth, and of those particulars in the prevailing philosophy of the
age, which seem to me to be exerting an injurious influence on the
cause of theological science and of spiritual religion, and not only
to furnish a fit occasion, but to create an imperious demand, for a
Work like that which is here offered to the public.In regard then to the distinguishing character and tendency of the
Work itself, it has already been stated to be didactic, and designed
to aid reflection on the principles and grounds of truth in our own
being; but in another point of view, and with reference to my present
object, it might rather be denominated A PHILOSOPHICAL STATEMENT AND
VINDICATION OF THE DISTINCTIVELY SPIRITUAL AND PECULIAR DOCTRINES OF
THE CHRISTIAN SYSTEM.In order to understand more clearly the import
of this statement, and the relation of the Author's views to those
exhibited in other systems, the reader is requested to examine in the
first place, what he considers the _peculiar doctrines of
Christianity_, and what he means by the terms _spirit_ and
_spiritual_.A synoptical view of what he considers peculiar to
Christianity as a revelation is given in Aphorism VII., on Spiritual
Religion, and, if I mistake not, will be found essentially to
coincide, though not perhaps in the language employed, with what among
us are termed the Evangelical doctrines of religion.Those who are
anxious to examine further into the orthodoxy of the Work in
connection with this statement, may consult the articles on ORIGINAL
SIN and REDEMPTION,[8] though I must forewarn them that it will
require much study in connection with the other parts of the Work,
before one unaccustomed to the Author's language, and unacquainted
with his views, can fully appreciate the merit of what may be peculiar
in his mode of treating those subjects.With regard to the term
_spiritual_, it may be sufficient to remark here, that he regards it
as having a specific import, and maintains that in the sense of the
New Testament, _spiritual_ and _natural_ are contradistinguished, so
that what is spiritual is different in kind from that which is
natural, and is in fact _super_-natural.So, too, while morality is
something more than prudence, religion, the spiritual life, is
something more than morality.In vindicating the peculiar doctrines of the Christian system so
stated, and a faith in the reality of agencies and modes of being
essentially spiritual or supernatural, he aims to show their
consistency with reason and with the true principles of philosophy,
and that indeed, so far from being irrational, CHRISTIAN FAITH IS THE
PERFECTION OF HUMAN REASON.By reflection upon the subjective grounds
of knowledge and faith in the human mind itself, and by an analysis of
its faculties, he developes the distinguishing characteristics and
necessary relations of the natural and the spiritual in our modes of
being and knowing, and the all-important fact, that although the
former does not comprehend the latter, yet neither does it preclude
its existence.He proves, that "the scheme of Christianity, * * *
though not discoverable by human reason, is yet in accordance with it;
that link follows link by necessary consequence; that Religion passes
out of the ken of Reason only where the eye of Reason has reached its
own horizon--and that Faith is then but its continuation.Mary journeyed to the bedroom."[9] Instead
of adopting, like the popular metaphysicians of the day, a system of
philosophy at war with religion, and which tends inevitably to
undermine our belief in the reality of any thing spiritual in the only
proper sense of that word, and then coldly and ambiguously referring
us for the support of our faith to the authority of Revelation, he
boldly asserts the reality of something distinctively spiritual in
man, and the futility of all those modes of philosophizing, in which
this is not recognized, or |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | Sandra journeyed to the hallway.He
considers it the highest and most rational purpose of any system of
philosophy, at least of one professing to be Christian, to investigate
those higher and peculiar attributes, which distinguish us from the
brutes that perish--which are the image of God in us, and constitute
our proper humanity.It is in his view the proper business and the
duty of the Christian philosopher to remove all appearance of
contradiction between the several manifestations of the one Divine
Word, to reconcile reason with revelation, and thus to justify the
ways of God to man.The methods by which he accomplishes this, either
in regard to the terms in which he enunciates the great doctrines of
the Gospel, or the peculiar views of philosophy by which he reconciles
them with the subjective grounds of faith in the universal reason of
man, need not be stated here.Daniel travelled to the hallway.I will merely observe, that the key to
his system will be found in the distinctions, which he makes and
illustrates between _nature_ and _free-will_, and between the
_understanding_ and _reason_.It may meet the prejudices of some to
remark farther, that in philosophizing on the grounds of our faith he
does not profess or aim to solve all mysteries, and to bring all truth
within the comprehension of the understanding.A truth may be
mysterious, and the primary ground of all truth and reality must be
so.But though we may believe what _passeth all understanding_, we
_cannot_ believe what is _absurd_, or contradictory to _reason_.Whether the Work be well executed, according to the idea of it, as now
given, or whether the Author have accomplished his purpose, must be
determined by those who are capable of judging, when they shall have
examined and reflected upon the whole as it deserves.The inquiry
which I have now to propose to my readers is, whether the idea itself
be a rational one, and whether the purpose of the Author be one which
a wise man and a Christian ought to aim at, or which in the present
state of our religious interests, and of our theological science,
specially needs to be accomplished.No one, who has had occasion to observe the general feelings and views
of our religious community for a few years past, can be ignorant, that
a strong prejudice exists against the introduction of philosophy, in
any form, in the discussion of theological subjects.The terms
_philosophy_ and _metaphysics_, even _reason_ and _rational_, seem, in
the minds of those most devoted to the support of religious truth, to
have forfeited their original, and to have acquired a new import,
especially in their relation to matters of faith.By a philosophical
view of religious truth would generally be understood a view, not only
varying from the religion of the Bible in the form and manner of
presenting it, but at war with it; and a rational religion is supposed
to be of course something diverse from revealed religion.A
philosophical and rational system of religious truth would by most
readers among us, if I mistake not, be supposed a system deriving its
doctrines not from revelation, but from the speculative reason of men,
or at least relying on that only for their credibility.That these
terms have been used to designate such systems, and that the prejudice
against reason and philosophy so employed is not, therefore, without
cause, I need not deny; nor would any friend of revealed truth be less
disposed to give credence to such systems, than the Author of the Work
before us.But, on the other hand, a moment's reflection only can be necessary to
convince any man, attentive to the use of language, that we do at the
same time employ these terms in relation to truth generally in a
better and much higher sense._Rational_, as contradistinguished from
_irrational_ and _absurd_, certainly denotes a quality, which every
man would be disposed to claim, not only for himself, but for his
religious opinions.Now, the adjective _reasonable_ having acquired a
different use and signification, the word _rational_ is the adjective
corresponding in sense to the substantive _reason_, and signifies
what is conformed to reason.In one sense, then, all men would appeal
to reason in behalf of their religious faith; they would deny that it
was irrational or absurd.If we do not in this sense adhere to reason,
we forfeit our prerogative as rational beings, and our faith is no
better than the bewildered dream of a man who has lost his reason.Nay, I maintain that when we use the term in this higher sense, it is
impossible for us to believe on any authority what is directly
contradictory to reason and seen to be so.No evidence from another
source, and no authority could convince us, that a proposition in
geometry, for example, is false, which our reason intuitively
discovers to be true.Now if we suppose (and we may at least suppose
this,) that reason has the same power of intuitive insight in relation
to certain moral and spiritual truths, as in relation to the truths of
geometry, then it would be equally impossible to divest us of our
belief of those truths.Furthermore, we are not only unable to believe the same proposition to
be false, which our reason sees to be true, but we cannot believe
another proposition, which by the exercise of the same rational
faculty we see to be incompatible with the former, or to contradict
it.We may, and probably often do, receive with a certain kind and
degree of credence opinions, which reflection would show to be
incompatible.But when we have reflected, and discovered the
inconsistency, we cannot retain both.We cannot believe two
contradictory propositions knowing them to be such.It would be
irrational to do so.Again, we cannot conceive it possible, that what by the same power of
intuition we see to be universally and necessarily true should appear
otherwise to any other rational being.We cannot, for example, but
consider the propositions of geometry as necessarily true for all
rational beings.So, too, a little reflection, I think, will convince
any one, that we attribute the same necessity of reason to the
principles of moral rectitude.What in the clear daylight of our
reason, and after mature reflection, we see to be right, we cannot
believe to be wrong in the view of other rational beings in the
distinct exercise of their reason.Nay, in regard to those truths,
which are clearly submitted to the view of our reason, and which we
behold with distinct and steadfast intuitions, we necessarily
attribute to the Supreme Reason, to the Divine Mind, views the same,
or coincident, with those of our own reason.We cannot, (I say it with
reverence and I trust with some apprehension of the importance of the
assertion,) we _cannot_ believe that to be right in the view of the
Supreme Reason, which is clearly and decidedly wrong in the view of
our own.It would be contradictory to reason, it would be irrational,
to believe it, and therefore we cannot do so, till we lose our reason,
or cease to exercise it.I would ask, now, whether this be not an authorized use of the words
reason and rational, and whether so used they do not mean something.If it be so--and I appeal to the mind of every man capable of
reflection, and of under standing the use of language, if it be
not--then there is meaning in the terms _universal reason_, and _unity
of reason_, as used in this Work.There is, and can be, in this
highest sense of the word but one reason, and whatever contradicts
that reason, being seen to do so, cannot be received as matter either
of knowledge or faith.To reconcile religion with reason used in this
sense, therefore, and to justify the ways of God to man, or in the
view of reason, is so far from being irrational that reason
imperatively demands it of us.We cannot, as rational beings, believe
a proposition on the grounds of reason, and deny it on the authority
of revelation.We cannot believe a proposition in philosophy, and deny
the same proposition in theology; nor can we believe two incompatible
propositions on the different grounds of reason and revelation.So
far as we compare our thoughts, the objects of our knowledge and
faith, and by reflection refer them to their common measure in the
universal laws of reason, so far the instinct of reason impels us to
reject whatever is contradictory and absurd, and to bring unity and
consistency into all our views of truth.Thus, in the language of the
Author of this Work, though "the word _rational_ has been strangely
abused of late times, this must not disincline us to the weighty
consideration, that thoughtfulness, and a desire to rest all our
convictions on grounds of right reason, are inseparable from the
character of a Christian."[10]
But I beg the reader to observe, that in relation to the doctrines of
spiritual religion--to all that he considers the peculiar doctrines of
the Christian revelation, the Author assigns to reason only a negative
validity.It does not teach us what those doctrines are, or what they
are not, except that they are not, and cannot be, such as contradict
the clear convictions of right reason.But his views on this point are
fully stated in the Work.[11]
If then it be our prerogative, as rational beings, and our duty as
Christians, to think, as well as to act, _rationally_,--to see that
our convictions of truth rest on the grounds of right reason; and if
it be one of the clearest dictates of reason, that we should endeavour
to shun, and on discovery should reject, whatever is contradictory to
the universal laws of thought, or to doctrines already established, I
know not by what means we are to avoid the application of philosophy,
at least to some extent, in the study of theology.For to determine
what _are_ the grounds of right reason, what are those ultimate
truths, and those universal laws of thought, which we cannot
rationally contradict, and by reflection to compare with these
whatever is proposed for our belief, is in fact to philosophize; and
whoever does this to a greater or less extent, is so far a philosopher
in the best and highest sense of the word.To this extent we are bound
to philosophize in theology, as well as in every other science.For
what is not rational in theology, is, of course, irrational, and
cannot be of the household of faith; and to determine whether it be
rational in the sense already explained or not, is the province of
philosophy.It is in this sense that the Work before us is to be
considered a philosophical work, namely, that it proves the doctrines
of the Christian Faith to be rational, and exhibits philosophical
grounds for the _possibility_ of a truly spiritual religion.The
_reality_ of those experiences, or states of being, which constitute
experimental or spiritual religion, rests on other grounds.It is
incumbent on the philosopher to free them from the contradictions of
reason, and nothing more; and who will deny, that to do this is a
purpose worthy of the ablest philosopher and the most devoted
Christian?Is it not desirable to convince all men that the doctrines,
which we affirm to be revealed in the Gospel, are not contradictory to
the requirements of reason and conscience?Is it not, on the other
hand, vastly important to the cause of religious truth, and even to
the practical influence of religion on our own minds, and the minds of
the community at large, that we should attain and exhibit views of
philosophy and doctrines in metaphysics, which are at least compatible
with, if they do not specially favour, those views of religion, which,
on other grounds, we find it our duty to believe and maintain?For, I
beg it may be observed, as a point of great moment, that it is not the
method of the genuine philosopher to separate his philosophy and
religion, and adopting his principles independently in each, to leave
them to be reconciled or not, as the case may be.He has, and can
have, rationally but one system, in which his philosophy becomes
religious, and his religion philosophical.Nor am I disposed in
compliance with public opinion to limit the application of this
remark, as is usually done, to the mere external evidences of
revelation.The philosophy which we adopt will and must influence not
only our decision of the question, whether a book be of divine
authority, but our views also of its meaning.But this is a subject, on which, if possible, I would avoid being
misunderstood, and must, therefore, exhibit it more fully, even at the
risk of repeating what was said before, or is elsewhere found in the
Work.It has been already, I believe, distinctly enough stated, that
reason and philosophy ought to prevent our reception of doctrines
claiming the authority of revelation only so far as the very
necessities of our rational being require.However mysterious the
thing affirmed may be, though _it passeth all understanding_, if it
cannot be shown to contradict the unchangeable principles of right
reason, its being incomprehensible to our understandings is not an
obstacle to our faith.If it contradict reason, we cannot believe it,
but must conclude, either that the writing is not of divine authority,
or that the language has been misinterpreted.So far it seems to me,
that our philosophy ought to modify our views of theological
doctrines, and our mode of interpreting the language of an inspired
writer.But then we must be cautious, that we philosophize rightly,
and "do not call _that_ reason which is not so."Otherwise we may be
led by the supposed requirements of reason to interpret
metaphorically, what ought to be received literally, and evacuate the
Scriptures of their most important doctrines.But what I mean to say
here is, that we cannot avoid the application of our philosophy in the
interpretation of the language of Scripture, and in the explanation of
the doctrines of religion generally.We cannot avoid incurring the
danger just alluded to of philosophizing erroneously, even to the
extent of rejecting as irrational that which tends to the perfection
of reason itself.And hence I maintain, that instead of pretending to
exclude philosophy from our religious inquiries, it is very important
that we philosophize in earnest--that we should endeavour by profound
reflection to learn the real requirements of reason, and attain a true
knowledge of ourselves.If any dispute the necessity of thus combining the study of philosophy
with that of religion, I would beg them to point out the age since
that of the Apostles, in which the prevailing metaphysical opinions
have not distinctly manifested themselves in the prevailing views of
religion; and if, as I fully believe will be the case, they fail to
discover a single system of theology, a single volume on the subject
of the Christian religion, in which the author's views are not
modified by the metaphysical opinions of the age or of the individual,
it would be desirable to ascertain, whether this influence be
accidental or necessary.The metaphysician analyzes the faculties and
operations of the human mind, and teaches us to arrange, to classify,
and to name them, according to his views of their various
distinctions.The language of the Scriptures, at least to a great
extent, speaks of subjects that can be understood only by a reference
to those same powers and processes of thought and feeling, which we
have learned to think of, and to name, according to our particular
system of metaphysics.How is it possible then to avoid interpreting
the one by the other?Let us suppose, for example, that a man has
studied and adopted the philosophy of Brown, is it possible for him to
interpret the 8th chapter of Romans, without having his views of its
meaning influenced by his philosophy?Would he not unavoidably
interpret the language and explain the doctrines, which it contains,
differently from one, who should have adopted such views of the human
mind as are taught in this Work?I know it is customary to disclaim
the influence of philosophy in the business of interpretation, and
every writer now-a-days on such subjects will assure us, that he has
nothing to do with metaphysics, but is guided only by common sense and
the laws of interpretation.But I should like to know how a man comes
by any common sense in relation to the movements and laws of his
intellectual and moral being without metaphysics.What is the common
sense of a Hottentot on subjects of this sort?I have no hesitation in
saying, that from the very nature of the case, it is nearly, if not
quite, impossible for any man entirely to separate his philosophical
views of the human mind from his reflections on religious subjects.Probably no man has endeavoured more faithfully to do this, perhaps no
one has succeeded better in giving the truth of Scripture free from
the glosses of metaphysics, than Professor Stuart.Yet, I should risk
little in saying that a reader deeply versed |
hallway | Where is John? | What then, let me ask, is
the possible use to the cause of truth and of religion, from thus
perpetually decrying philosophy in theological inquiries, when we
cannot avoid it if we would?Every man, who has reflected at all, has
his metaphysics; and if he reads on religious subjects, he interprets
and understands the language which he employs, by the help of his
metaphysics.He cannot do otherwise.--And the proper inquiry is, not
whether we admit our philosophy into our theological and religious
investigations, but whether our philosophy be right and true.For
myself, I am fully convinced that we can have no right views of
theology, till we have right views of the human mind; and that these
are to be acquired only by laborious and persevering reflection.My
belief is, that the distinctions unfolded in this Work will place us
in the way to truth, and relieve us from numerous perplexities, in
which we are involved by the philosophy which we have so long taken
for our guide.For we are greatly deceived, if we suppose for a moment
that the systems of theology which have been received among us, or
even the theoretical views which are now most popular, are free from
the entanglements of worldly wisdom.The readers of this Work will be
able to see, I think, more clearly the import of this remark, and the
true bearing of the received views of philosophy on our theological
inquiries.Those who study the Work without prejudice, and adopt its
principles to any considerable extent, will understand too how deeply
an age may be ensnared in the metaphysical webs of its own weaving, or
entangled in the net which the speculations of a former generation
have thrown over it, and yet suppose itself blessed with a perfect
immunity from the dreaded evils of metaphysics.But before I proceed to remark on those particulars, in which our
prevailing philosophy seems to be dangerous in its tendency, and
unfriendly to the cause of spiritual religion, I must beg leave to
guard myself and the Work from misapprehension on another point of
great importance in its relation to the whole subject.While it is
maintained that reason and philosophy, in their true character,
_ought_ to have a certain degree and extent of influence in the
formation of our religious system, and that our metaphysical opinions,
whatever they may be, _will_ almost unavoidably, modify more or less
our theoretical views of religious truth _generally_, it is yet a
special object of the Author of the Work to show that the spiritual
life, or what among us is termed experimental religion, is, in itself,
and in its own proper growth and development, essentially distinct
from the forms and processes of the understanding; and that, although
a true faith cannot contradict any universal principle of speculative
reason, it is yet in a certain sense independent of the discursions
of philosophy, and in its proper nature beyond the reach "of positive
science and theoretical _insight_.""Christianity is not a _theory_ or
a _speculation_; but a _life_.Not a _philosophy_ of life, but a life
and a living process."It is not, therefore, so properly a species of
knowledge, as a form of being.And although the theoretical views of
the understanding, and the motives of prudence which it presents, may
be, to a certain extent, connected with the development of the
spiritual principle of religious life in the Christian, yet a true and
living faith is not incompatible with at least some degree of
speculative error.As the acquisition of merely speculative knowledge
cannot of itself communicate the principle of spiritual life, so
neither does that principle, and the living process of its growth,
depend wholly, at least, upon the degree of speculative knowledge with
which it co-exists.That religion, of which our blessed Saviour is
himself the essential Form and the living Word, and to which he
imparts the actuating Spirit, has a principle of unity and consistency
in itself distinct from the unity and consistency of our theoretical
views.Of this we have evidence in every day's observation of
Christian character; for how often do we see and acknowledge the power
of religion, and the growth of a spiritual life in minds but little
gifted with speculative knowledge, and little versed in the forms of
logic or philosophy!How obviously, too, does the living principle of
religion manifest the same specific character, the same essential
form, amidst all the diversities of condition, of talents, of
education, and natural disposition, with which it is associated; every
where rising above nature, and the powers of the natural man, and
unlimited in its goings on by the forms in which the understanding
seeks to comprehend and confine its spiritual energies.Sandra journeyed to the hallway._There are
diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit_: and it is no less true now
than in the age of the Apostles, that in all lands, and in every
variety of circumstances, the manifestations of spiritual life are
essentially the same; and all who truly believe in heart, however
diverse in natural condition, in the character of their
understandings, and even in their theoretical views of truth, are
_one_ in _Christ Jesus_.The essential faith is not to be found in the
understanding or the speculative theory, but "the _life_, the
_substance_, the _hope_, the _love_--in one word, the _faith_--these
are derivatives from the practical, moral, and spiritual nature and
being of man."Speculative systems of theology indeed have often had
little connection with the essential spirit of religion, and are
usually little more than schemes resulting from the strivings of the
finite understanding to comprehend and exhibit under its own forms and
conditions a mode of being and spiritual truths essentially diverse
from their proper objects, and with which they are incommensurate.This I am aware is an imperfect, and I fear may be an unintelligible,
view of a subject exceedingly difficult of apprehension at the best.If so, I must beg the reader's indulgence, and request him to suspend
his judgment, as to the absolute intelligibility of it, till he
becomes acquainted with the language and sentiments of the Work
itself.It will, however, I hope, be so far understood, at least, as
to answer the purpose for which it was introduced--of precluding the
supposition that, in the remarks which preceded, or in those which
follow, any suspicion was intended to be expressed, with regard to the
religious principles or the essential faith of those who hold the
opinions in question.According to this view of the inherent and
essential nature of Spiritual Religion, as existing in the _practical
reason_ of man, we may not only admit, but can better understand the
possibility of what every charitable Christian will acknowledge to be
a fact, so far as human observation can determine facts of this
sort--that a man may be truly religious, and essentially a believer at
heart, while his understanding is sadly bewildered with the attempt
to comprehend and express philosophically, what yet he feels and knows
spiritually.It is indeed impossible for us to tell, how far the
understanding may impose upon itself by partial views and false
disguises, without perverting the will, or estranging it from the laws
and the authority of reason and the divine word.We cannot say to what
extent a false system of philosophy and metaphysical opinions, which
in their natural and uncounteracted tendency would go to destroy all
religion, may be received in a Christian community, and yet the power
of spiritual religion retain its hold and its efficacy in the hearts
of the people.We may perhaps believe that in opposition to all the
might of false philosophy, so long as the great body of the people
have the Bible in their hands, and are taught to reverence and receive
its heavenly instructions, though the Church may suffer injury from
unwise and unfruitful speculations, it will yet be preserved; and that
the spiritual seed of the divine word, though mingled with many tares
of worldly wisdom and philosophy falsely so called, will yet spring
up, and bear fruit unto everlasting life.But though we may hope and believe this, we cannot avoid believing, at
the same time, that injury must result from an unsuspecting confidence
in metaphysical opinions, which are essentially at variance with the
doctrines of Revelation.Especially must the effect be injurious,
where those opinions lead gradually to alter our views of religion
itself and of all that is peculiar in the Christian system.The great
mass of the community, who know little of metaphysics, and whose faith
in Revelation is not so readily influenced by speculations not
immediately connected with it, may, indeed, for a time, escape the
evil, and continue to _receive with meekness the ingrafted word_.But
in the minds of the better educated, especially those who think and
follow out their conclusions with resolute independence of thought,
the result must be either a loss of confidence in the opinions
themselves, or a rejection of all those parts of the Christian system
which are at variance with them.Under particular circumstances,
indeed, where both the metaphysical errors, and the great doctrines of
the Christian Faith, have a strong hold upon the minds of a community,
a protracted struggle may take place, and earnest and long-continued
efforts may be made to reconcile opinions which we are resolved to
maintain, with a faith which our consciences will not permit us to
abandon.Lord, child, but you are peculiar!----What ideas you have!----I
really can't do that!But why not, Mother?----Why not?----It can't be anything ugly if
everybody is delighted over it!O----O God protect me!----I deserve----Go get dressed, child, go get
dressed!I'll go----And suppose your child went and asked the chimney-sweep?But that would be madness!----Come here, child, come here, I'll tell
you!Daniel travelled to the hallway.I'll tell you everything----O Almighty Goodness!----only not
to-day, Wendla!----To-morrow, the next day, next week----any time you
want, dear heart----
WENDLA.Tell me to-day, Mother; tell me now!Right away!----Now that I have
seen you so frightened I can never be peaceful until you do.Oh, why can't you, Mother dear!----I will kneel here at your feet and
lay my head in your lap.You can cover my head with your apron and
talk and talk, as if you were entirely alone in the room.I won't
move, I won't cry, I will bear all patiently, no matter what may
come.Heaven knows, Wendla, that I am not to blame!Heaven knows
it!----Come here in God's name!I will tell you, child, how you came
into this world.----Listen to me, Wendla.----
WENDLA.(_Under the apron._)
I'm listening.(_Extatically._)
But it's no use, child!----I can't justify it.I deserve to be put
into prison----to have you taken from me.(_Trembling under the apron._)
O God!In order to have a child----do you understand me, Wendla?Quick, Mother, I can't stand it much longer.In order to have a child----one must love--the man--to whom one is
married--love him, I tell you--as one can only love a man!One must
love him so much with one's whole heart, so--so that one can't
describe it!One must love him, Wendla, as you at your age are still
unable to love----Now you know it!(_Getting up._)
Great----God----in heaven!As true as God helps me!----Take your basket now and go to Ina.You
will get chocolate and cakes there.----Come, let's look you over, the
laced shoes, the silk gloves, the sailor blouse, the rose in your
hair--your dress is really becoming much too short for you, Wendla!John travelled to the hallway.The Good God protect and bless you----I will find an opportunity to
add a handbreadth of flounces to the bottom.(_With a light in his hand, fastens the door behind him and opens
the lid._)
aEurooeHave you prayed to-night, Desdemona?aEuro (_He takes a reproduction of
the Venus of Palma Vecchio from his bosom._)----Thou wilt not appear
to me after the Our Father, darling,----as in that moment of
anticipated bliss when I saw thee contemplatively expectant of
someone's coming, lying in Jonathan Schlesinger's shop window----just
as enticing as thou art now, with these supple limbs, these softly
arched hips, these plump, youthful breasts.----Oh how intoxicated
with joy the great master must have been when his glance strayed over
the fourteen-year-old original stretched out upon the divan!Wilt thou not visit me for awhile in my dreams?I will receive thee
with widely open arms and will kiss thee until thou art breathless.Thou drawest me onward as the enchanted princess in her deserted
castle.Portals and doors open themselves as if by an unseen hand,
while the fountain in the park below begins to splash joyously----
aEurooeIt is the cause!----It is the cause!aEuro The frightful beating in my
breast shows thee that I do not murder thee from frivolous emotion.The thought of my lonely nights is strangling me.I swear to thee,
child, on my soul, that it is not satiety which rules me.Who could
ever boast of being satiated of thee!But thou suckest the marrow from my bones, thou bendest my back, thou
robbest my youthful eyes of their last spark of brilliancy.----Thou
art so arrogant toward me in thy inhuman modesty, so galling with thy
immovable limbs!----Thou or I!Suppose I count them----all those who sleep, with whom I have fought
the same battle here----: Psyche by Thumann--another bequest from the
spindle-shanked Mademoiselle Angelique, that rattlesnake in the
paradise of my childhood; Io by Corregio; Galathea by Lossow; then a
Cupid by Bouguereau; Ada by J. van Beers--that Ada whom I had to
abduct from a secret drawer in Papa's secretary in order to
incorporate in my harem; a trembling, modest Leda by Makart, whom I
found by chance among my brother's college books----seven, thou
blooming candidate for death, have preceded thee upon this path to
Tartarus.Let that be a consolation unto thee, and seek not to
increase my torments at this enormity by that fleeting look.Thou diest not for thy sins, thou diest on account of mine!----As
protection against myself I go to my seventh wife-murder with a
bleeding heart.There is something tragic in the rA'le of Bluebeard.I
believe the combined sufferings of his murdered wives did not equal
the torments he underwent each time he strangled one of them.Sandra went to the bedroom.But my thoughts will become more peaceful, my body will strengthen
itself, when thou, thou little devil, residest no longer in the red
satin padding of my jewel case.In place of thee, I will indulge in
wanton joyousness with Bodenhausen's Lurlei or Linger's Forsaken One,
or Defregger's Loni--so I should be all the quicker!But a quarter of
a year more, perhaps thy unveiled charms, sweet soul, would begin to
consume my poor head as the sun does a pat of butter.It is high time
to declare the divorce from bed and board.I feel a Heliogablus within me?Maiden,
maiden, why dost thou press thy knees together?----Why now of all
times?----In face of the inscrutable eternity?----A movement and I
will spare thy life!----A womanly emotion, a sign of passion, of
sympathy, maiden!----I will frame thee in gold, and hang thee over my
bed!Doest thou not guess that only thy chastity begets my
debauchery?----Woe, woe, unto the inhuman ones!----
One always perceives that they received an exemplary education----It
is just so with me.aEurooeHave you prayed to-night, Desdemona?aEuro
My heart contracts,----madness!----St.Agnes also died for her
reserve and was not half as naked as thou!----Another kiss upon thy
blooming body----upon thy childish swelling breast--upon thy sweetly
rounded--thy cruel knees----
aEurooeIt is the cause, it is the cause, |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | It is the cause!aEuro----
(_The picture falls into the depths, he shuts the lid._)
FOURTH SCENE.Melchior lies on his back in the fresh hay.Wendla comes
up the ladder._
WENDLA.Here's where you've hid yourself?----They're all hunting for you.What's the matter with you?----Why are you hiding your face?I'll throw you down on the floor below.Now for certain I'm not going.--(_Kneels down by him._) Why won't you
come out with me into the meadow, Melchior?----Here it is hot and
dark.Suppose we do get wet to the skin, what difference will that
make to us!The hay smells so fine.----The sky outside must be as black as a
pall----I only see the brilliant poppy on your breast----and I hear
your heart beating----
WENDLA.Don't kiss me, Melchior!----Don't kiss me!Your heart----I hear beating----
WENDLA.People love----when they kiss----Don't, don't!Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Oh, believe me, there's no such thing as love!Everything is
selfishness, everything is egotism!----I love you as little as you
love me.Don't----don't, Melchior!----
MELCHIOR.Oh, Melchior!----Don't, don't----
FIFTH SCENE.(_Sits writing._)
_Dear Herr Stiefel_:--After twenty-four hours of consideration and
reconsideration of all you have written me, I take up my pen with a
heavy heart.I cannot furnish you with the necessary amount for the
voyage to America--I give you my word of honor.In the first place, I
have not that much to my credit, and in the second place, if I had,
it would be the greatest sin imaginable for me to put into your hands
the means of accomplishing such an ill-considered measure.You will
be doing me a bitter wrong, Herr Stiefel, if you see a sign of lack
of love in my refusal.On the contrary, it would be the greatest
neglect of my duty as your motherly friend were I to allow myself to
be affected by your temporary lack of determination, so that I also
lost my head and blindly followed my first fleeting impulse.I am
very ready--in case you desire it--to write to your parents.I should
seek to convince your parents that you have done what you could
during this quarter, that you have exhausted your strength, that a
rigorous judgment of your case would not only be inadvisable, but
might be in the greatest degree prejudicial to your mental and bodily
health.That you imply a threat to take your own life in case flight is
impossible for you, to speak plainly, has somewhat surprised me.Daniel travelled to the hallway.No
matter how undeserving is a misfortune, Herr Stiefel, one should
never choose improper means to escape it.John travelled to the hallway.The way in which you, to
whom I have always done only good, want to make me responsible for a
possible frightful action on your part, has something about it which,
in the eyes of an evil-thinking person, might be misconstrued very
easily.I must confess that this outbreak of yours--you who know so
well what one owes to oneself--is the last thing for which I was
prepared.However, I cherish the strong conviction that you are
laboring yet too much under the shock of your first fright to be able
to understand completely your action.And, therefore, I hope with confidence that these words of mine will
find you already in better spirits.In my opinion it is unwise to judge a young man by his school record.We have too many examples of bad students becoming distinguished men,
and, on the other hand, of brilliant students not being at all
remarkable in life.At any rate, I can assure you that your
misfortune, as far as it lies with me, shall make no difference in
your association with Melchior.On the contrary, it will afford me
the greatest pleasure to see my son going with a young man who, let
the world judge him as it will, is able to win my fullest sympathy.And, therefore, hold your head high, Herr Stiefel!----Such a crisis
as this comes to all of us and will soon be surmounted.If all of us
had recourse to dagger or poison in such cases, there would soon be
no men left in the world.Let me hear from you right soon again, and
accept the heartfelt greetings of your unchanged
Motherly friend,
FANNY G.
SCENE SIXTH._Bergmann's garden in the morning sunlight._
WENDLA.Why have you slipped out of the room?----To hunt violets!----Because
Mother seems to laugh at me.----Why can't you bring your lips
together any more?----I don't know.----Indeed I don't know, I can't
find words----The path is like a velvet carpet, no pebbles, no
thorns.----My feet don't touch the ground.----Oh, how I slept last
night!Here they are.----I become as grave as a nun at communion.----Sweet
violets!----Peace, little mother, I will put on my long dress.----Oh
God, if somebody would come upon whose neck I could fall and tell!The path straggles
through low bushes and coarse grass.The flow of the stream is
heard in the distance._
MORITZ.Better and better.----I am not fit.Another may be able to climb to
the top.I pull the door to behind me and step into the open.----I
don't care enough about it to let myself be turned back.How shall I force my way
now!----I have no contract with God.Let them make out of the thing
what they will.I have been forced.----I do not hold my parents
answerable.At the same time, the worst must fall upon them.They
were old enough to know what they were doing.I was a weakling when I
came into the world----or else I would have been wise enough to
become another being.Why should I be forced to pay for the fact that
the others were here already!Sandra went to the bedroom.I must have fallen on my head----If anybody makes me a present of a
mad dog I'll give him back a mad dog.And if he won't take back his
mad dog, then I am human and----
I must have fallen on my head!Man is born by chance and should not, after mature
consideration----It is to shoot oneself dead!The weather at least has shown itself considerate.The whole day it
looked like rain and yet it has held off.----A rare peace rules in
nature.Heaven and earth are
like a transparent fabric.John travelled to the office.The
landscape is as sweet as the melody of a lullaby.----aEurooeSleep, little
prince, sleep on,aEuro as FrA¤ulein Snandulia sang.It's a shame she holds
her elbows so awkwardly!----I danced for the last time at the
CA¤cilienfest.Snandulia only dances with good matches.----Her silk
dress was cut low in front and in the back.In the back, down to her
girdle and in the front down----unconscionably low.----She couldn't
have worn a chemise.------That might be something able to affect me
yet.----More than half curiosity.----It must be a wonderful
sensation----a feeling as if one were being carried through the
rapids----I should never tell anybody that I was experiencing
something untried before----I would act as if I had done it
all.--There is something shameful in growing up to be a man without
having learned the chief function of masculinity.----You come from
Egypt, honorable sir, and have not seen the pyramids?!I will not think of my burial
again.----Melchior will lay a wreath on my coffin.Pastor Kahlbauch
will console my parents.Rector Sonnenstich will cite examples from
history.----It is possible that I shall not have a tombstone.I had wanted a snow-white marble urn on a pedestal of black
syenite.----Thank God, I shall not miss them.Monuments are for the
living, not for the dead.I should need a whole year to say farewell to everything in my
thoughts.I am so happy to be able to look back
without bitterness.How many beautiful evenings I have passed with
Melchior!----under the osiers; at the forester's house; on the
highway where the five lindens stand; on the Schlossberg, among the
restful ruins of the Runenburg.----When the hour comes, I will think
with all my might of whipped cream.It falls and leaves a pleasant after-taste.----I had thought men were
infinitely worse.I haven't found one who didn't want to do his best.Many have suffered with me on my own account.I wander to the altar like the ancient Etrurian youth whose dying
rattle bought his brothers' prosperity for the coming year.----I
experience bit by bit the mysterious awe of liberation.I sob with
sorrow over my lot.----Life has turned its cold shoulder to me.I see
earnest, friendly glances luring me there in the distance, the
headless queen, the headless queen--compassion awaiting me with open
arms----Your commands concern minors; I carry my free ticket in
myself.If the shell sinks, the butterfly flits from it; the delusion
no longer holds.----You should drive no mad bargain with the swindle!The mists close in; life is bitter on the tongue.(_In torn clothing, a bright cloth about her head, grabs him by the
shoulder from behind._)
What have you lost?What are you hunting?----What have you lost?Why did you frighten me so fearfully?I'm coming from town.----I'm going home.Because I have on my dancing slippers----Mother will make
eyes!----Come to our house with me!With Nohl, with Fehrendorf, with Padinsky, with Lenz, Rank,
SpA1/4hler--with all of them possible!Kling, kling----things were
lively!Fehrendorf painted me as a pillar saint.I am standing on a
Corinthian capital.Fehrendorf, I tell you, is a gibbering idiot.The
last time, I trod on one of his tubes.I fetched him a box on the ear.He chased me all about the studio, over divans,
tables and chairs, with his mahlstick.Behind the stove stood a
sketch;----Be good or I'll tear it!He swore amnesty, and--and then
kissed me promptly and frightfully, frightfully, I tell you.Where do you spend the night when you stop in town?Yesterday we were at Nohl's.----The day before with
Bojokewitsch--Sunday with Oikonomopulos.Valabregez had sold his aEurooeWoman Dead of the Pest.aEuro Adolar
drank out of the ash tray.Lenz sang the aEurooeChild's Murderer,aEuro and
Adolar pounded the guitar out of shape.I was so drunk they had to
put me to bed.----Do you go to school yet, Moritz?No, no,----I take my leave of it this quarter.Ah, how time passes when one earns money!----Do you
remember how we used to play robbers?----Wendla Bergmann and you and
I and the others, when you used to come out in the evening and drink
warm goat's milk at our house?----What is Wendla doing?I haven't
seen her since the flood----What is Melchi Gabor doing?----Does he
seem as deep thinking as ever?----We used to stand opposite each
other during singing.Wendla came to see us a while ago and brought Mother some presents.I
sat that day for Isidor Landauer.He needed me for the Holy Mary, the
Mother of God, with the Christ Child.Hu, like a weathercock!----Have you a katzenjammer?From last night!----We soaked like hippopotami.I staggered home at
five o'clock.One need only to look at you.----Were there any girls there?Sandra went to the kitchen.Arabella, the beer nymph, an Andalusian.The landlord let all of us
spend the whole night alone with her.One only need look at you, Moritz!----I don't know what a
katzenjammer's like.During the last carnival I went three days and
three nights without going to bed or taking my clothes off.From the
ball to the cafA(C), noon at Bellavista; evenings, Tingle-Tangle; night,
to the ball.Lena was there, and the fat Viola.----The third night
Heinrich found me.I lay senseless in the snow in the
street.----That's how I went with him.For fourteen days I didn't
leave his lodgings----a dreadful time!In the morning I had to throw
on his Persian nightgown and in the evening go about the room in
the black costume of a page; white lace ruffles at my neck, my
knees and my wrists.Every day he photographed me in some new
arrangement----once on the sofa as Ariadne, once as Leda, once as
Ganymede, once on all fours as a feminine Nebuchadnezzar.Then he
longed for murder, for shooting, suicide and coal gas.Early in the
morning he brought a pistol into bed, loaded it full of shot and put
it against my breast!A twitch and I'll pull!----Oh, he would have
fired, Moritz, he would have fired!----Then he put the thing
in his mouth like a blow-pipe.----That awoke the feeling of
self-preservation.And then----brrr!----the shot might have gone
through my spine.How do I know!----Over the bed was a large mirror set into the
ceiling.The room seemed as high as a tower and as bright as an opera
house.One saw one's self hanging down bodily from heaven.I had
frightful dreams at night----O God, O God, if it were only
day!----Good-night, Ilse, when you are asleep you will be pretty to
murder!Please God, no!----One day, when he went for absinthe, I put on the
mantle and ran out into the street.The carnival was over; the police
arrested me; what was I doing in man's clothes?----They took me to
the Central Station.Nohl, Fehrendorf, Padinsky, SpA1/4hler,
Oikonomopulos, the whole Priapia came there and bailed me out.They
transported me in a cab to Adolar's studio.Since then I've been true
to the herd.Fehrendorf is an ape, Nohl is a pig, Bojokewitsch an
owl, Loison a hyena, Oikonomopulos a camel----therefore I love one
and all of them the same and wouldn't attach myself to anyone else,
even if the world were full of archangels and millionaires!What for?----What for?----
ILSE.I will singe your hair and hang a little
bell around your neck.----Then we have another kid with which you can
play.I have yet the Sassanides, the Sermon on the Mount
and the parallelepipedon on my thoughts.----Good-night, Ilse!Sleep well!----Do you ever go to the wigwam where Melchi Gabor buried
my tomahawk?----Brrr!until you are married I'll lie in the straw.(_Runs out._)
MORITZ.(_Alone._)
It might have cost only a word.----(_He calls_)----Ilse?----Ilse!----
Thank God she doesn't hear me any more.----I am not in the
humor.----One needs a clear head and a happy heart for it.----What a
lost opportunity!----I would have said that I had many crystal
mirrors over my bed----that I had trained an unbroken filly----that
I had her proudly march in front of me on the carpet in long black
silk |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | I would laugh when the talk turned
on passion----I would cry out!----Cry out!----Cry out!It is
you, Ilse!----Priapia!----Loss of memory!----That takes my
strength!----This child of fortune, this sunny child----this joyous
maiden on my dolorous path!----O!----O!------ ---- ---- ---- ----
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
(_In the bushes by the bank._)
Have I found it again unwillingly--the seat of turf.The mulleins
seem to have grown since yesterday.The outlook between the willows
is still the same----The water runs as heavy as melted lead.(_He takes Frau Gabor's letter from his pocket and
burns it._)----How the sparks fly--here and there, downward and
upward----souls!----shooting stars!Before I struck a light one could see the grass and a streak on the
horizon.----Now it is dark._The Board Room--On the walls pictures of Pestalozzi and Jean
Jacques Rousseau._
_Professors Affenschmalz, KnA1/4ppeldick, Hungergurt, Knochenbruch,
Zungenschlag and Fliegentod are seated around a green-covered
table, over which are burning several gas jets.At the upper end,
on a raised seat, is Rector Sonnenstich.Beadle Habebald squats
near the door._
SONNENSTICH.Has any gentleman something further to remark?----Gentlemen!We
cannot help moving the expulsion of our guilty pupil before the
National Board of Education; there are the strongest reasons why we
cannot: We cannot, because we must expiate the misfortune which has
fallen upon us already; we cannot, because of our need to protect
ourselves from similar blows in the future; we cannot, because we
must chastise our guilty pupil for the demoralizing influence he
exerted upon his classmates; we cannot, above all, because we must
hinder him from exerting the same influence upon his remaining
classmates.We cannot ignore the charge--and this, gentlemen, is
possibly the weightiest of all----on any pretext concerning a ruined
career, because it is our duty to protect ourselves from an epidemic
of suicide similar to that which has broken out recently in various
grammar schools, and which until to-day has mocked all attempts of
the teachers to shackle it by any means known to advanced
education----Has any gentleman something further to remark?I can rid myself of the conception no longer that it is time at last
to open a window here.Th- th- there is an a- a- at- atmosphere here li- li- like th- th-
that of the cata- catacombs, like that in the document room of the
former Cha-Cha-Chamber of Justice at Wetzlar.Thank God there's fresh air enough outside.----Has any
other gentleman anything to say?If my associate wants to have a window opened, I haven't the least
objection to it.Only I should like to ask that the window opened is
not the one directly behind my back!Open the other window!----Has any other gentleman anything to remark?Without wishing to increase the controversy, I should like to recall
the important fact that the other window has been walled up since
vacation.Leave the other window shut!----I find it necessary, gentlemen, to
put this matter to a vote.I request those who are in favor of having
the only window which can enter into this discussion opened to rise
from their seats.(_He counts._) One, two, three----one, two,
three----Habebald!I, for my part, am of the opinion
that the air here leaves nothing to be desired!----Has any gentleman
anything further to remark?----Let us suppose that we omitted to move
the expulsion of our guilty pupil before the National Board of
Education, then the National Board of Education would hold us
responsible for the misfortune which has overwhelmed us.Of the
various grammar schools visited by the epidemic of self-murder, those
in which the devastation of self-murder has reached 25 per cent.have
been closed by the National Board of Education.It is our duty, as
the guardians and protectors of our institute, to protect our
institute from this staggering blow.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.It grieves us deeply, gentlemen,
that we are not in a position to consider the other qualifications of
our guilt-laden pupil as mitigating circumstances.An indulgent
treatment, which would allow our guilty pupil to be vindicated, would
not in any conceivable way imaginable vindicate the present imperiled
existence of our institute.We see ourselves under the necessity of
judging the guilt-laden that we may not be judged guilty
ourselves.----Habebald!(_Exit Habebald._)
ZUNGENSCHLAG.If the pre-present atmosphere leaves little or nothing to desire, I
should like to suggest that the other window be walled up during the
summer va- va- va- vacation.If our esteemed colleague, Zungenschlag, does not find our room
ventilated sufficiently, I should like to suggest that our esteemed
colleague, Zungenschlag, have a ventilator set into his forehead.I do- do- don't have to stand that!----I- I- I- I- do- do- don't have
to st- st- st- stand rudeness!----I have my fi- fi- five senses!I must ask our esteemed colleagues, Fliegentod and Zungenschlag, to
preserve decorum.It seems to me that our guilt-laden pupil is
already on the stairs.(_Habebald opens the door, whereupon Melchior, pale but collected,
appears before the meeting._)
SONNENSTICH.Come nearer to the table!----After Herr Stiefel became aware of the
profligate deed of his son, the distracted father searched the
remaining effects of his son Moritz, hoping if possible, to find the
cause of the abominable deed, and discovered among them, in an
unexpected place, a manuscript, which, while it did not make us
understand the abominable deed, threw an unfortunate and sufficient
light upon the moral disorder of the criminal.This manuscript, in
the form of a dialogue entitled aEurooeThe Nuptial Sleep,aEuro illustrated with
life-size pictures full of shameless obscenity, has twenty pages of
long explanations that seek to satisfy every claim a profligate
imagination can make upon a lewd book.----
MELCHIOR.I have----
SONNENSTICH.Daniel travelled to the hallway.You have to keep quiet!----After Herr Stiefel had questioningly
handed us this manuscript and we had promised the distracted father
to discover the author at any price, we compared the handwriting
before us with the collected handwriting of the fellow-students of
the deceased profligate, and concluded, in the unanimous judgment of
the teaching staff, as well as with the full coincidence of a valued
colleague, the master of calligraphy, that the resemblance to
your----
MELCHIOR.I have----
SONNENSTICH.You have to keep quiet!----In spite of this likeness, recognized as
crushing evidence by incontrovertible authority, we believe that we
should allow ourselves to go further and to take the widest latitude
in examining the guilty one at first hand, in order to make him
answerable to this charge of an offense against morals, and to
discover its relationship to the resultant suicide.----
MELCHIOR.I have----
SONNENSTICH.You have to answer the exact questions which I shall put to you, one
after the other, with a plain and modest aEurooeyesaEuro or aEurooeno.aEuro----Habebald!The minutes!----I request our writing master, Herr Fliegentod, from
now on to take down the proceedings as nearly verbatim as
possible.----(_to Melchior._) Do you know this writing?Yes----I request you, sir, to show me anything obscene in it.You have to answer with a modest aEurooeyesaEuro or aEurooenoaEuro the exact questions
which I put to you!I have written neither more nor less than what are well-known facts
to all of you.John travelled to the hallway.I request you to show me an offense against morals in this
manuscript!Are you counting on a desire on my part to be a clown for
you?----Habebald----!I have----
SONNENSTICH.You have as little respect for the dignity of your assembled teachers
as you have a proper appreciation of mankind's innate sense of shame
which belongs to a moral world!----Habebald!It is past the time for the three hours' exercise in agglutive
Volapuk.I have----
SONNENSTICH.I will request our secretary, Herr Fliegentod, to close the minutes.I have----
SONNENSTICH.You have to keep still!!----Habebald!Sandra went to the bedroom._A graveyard in the pouring rain----Pastor Kahlbauch stands beside
an open grave with a raised umbrella in his hand.To his right are
Renter Stiefel, his friend Ziegenmelker and Uncle Probst.To the
left Rector Sonnenstich with Professor Knochenbruch, The grammar
school students complete the circle.Martha and Ilse stand somewhat
apart upon a fallen monument._
PASTOR KAHLBAUCH.For, he who rejects the grace with which the Everlasting Father has
blessed those born in sin, he shall die a spiritual death!----He,
however, who in willful carnal abnegation of God's proper honor,
lives for and serves evil, shall die the death of the body!----Who,
however, wickedly throws away from him the cross which the All
Merciful has laid upon him for his sins, verily, verily, I say unto
you, he shall die the everlasting death!John travelled to the office.(_He throws a shovelful of
earth into the grave._)----Let us, however, praise the All Gracious
Lord and thank Him for His inscrutable grace in order that we may
travel the thorny path more and more surely.For as truly as this one
died a triple death, as truly will the Lord God conduct the righteous
unto happiness and everlasting life.(_His voice stopped with tears, throws a shovelful of earth into
the grave._)
The boy was nothing to me!----The boy was nothing to me!----The boy
was a burden from his birth!(_Throws a shovelful of earth into the grave._)
Suicide being the greatest conceivable fault against the moral order
of the world, is the greatest evidence of the moral order of the
world.Sandra went to the kitchen.The suicide himself spares the world the need of pronouncing
judgment of condemnation against himself, and confirms the existence
of the moral order of the world.PROFESSOR KNOCHENBRUCH.(_Throws a shovelful of earth into the grave._)
Wasted--soiled--debauched--tattered and squandered!(_Throws a shovelful of earth into the grave._)
I would not have believed my own mother had she told me that a child
could act so basely towards its own parents.FRIEND ZIEGENMELKER.(_Throws a shovelful of earth into the grave._)
To treat a father so, who for twenty years, from late to early, had
no other thought than the welfare of his child!PASTOR KAHLBAUCH.(_Shaking Renter Stiefel's hand._)
We know that those who love God serve all things best (1 Corinthians
12:15).----Think of the bereaved mother and strive to console her for
her loss by doubled love.(_Shaking Renter Stiefel's hand._)
Indeed, we could not possibly have promoted him.PROFESSOR KNOCHENBRUCH.(_Shaking Renter Stiefel's hand._)
And if we had promoted him, next spring he would have certainly
failed to pass.(_Shaking Renter Stiefel's hand._)
It is your duty now to think of yourself first of all.You are the
father of a family----
FRIEND ZIEGENMELKER.(_Shaking Renter Stiefel's hand._)
Trust yourself to my guidance!----This devilish weather shakes one's
guts!----The man who doesn't prevent it with a grog will ruin his
heart valves.(_Blowing his nose._)
The boy was nothing to me----the boy was nothing to me!(_Renter Stiefel leaves, accompanied by Pastor Kahlbauch, Rector
Sonnenstich, Professor Knockenbruch, Uncle Probst and Friend
Ziegenmelker.----The rain ceases._)
HANS RILOW.Mary moved to the office.(_Throws a shovelful of earth into the grave._)
Rest in peace, you honest fellow!----Greet my eternal brides for me,
those sacrificed remembrances, and commend me respectfully to the
grace of God----you poor clown----They will put a scarecrow on top of
your grave because of your angelic simplicity.It's a damned infernal swindle!----Who did see him?----Who did?He was hidden!----They threw a covering over him.His eyes----That's why they threw the cloth over him.Do you know for certain that he hanged himself?I have never seen a man who hanged
himself that they haven't thrown a cloth over.He couldn't have taken his leave in a vulgarer way!I, too, must grind away all night.If he had learned the
history of Greek literature he would not have had to hang himself!I don't know at all what to write.Weren't you there when Affenschmalz gave us the theme?'Why do I go in cruel sport to say,
"I love thee, Jane; appoint the happy day?"'Why seek her sweet ingenuous reply,
'Then grasp her hand and proffer--poverty?'Why, if I love her and adore her name,
'Why act like time and sickness on her frame?'Why should my scanty pittance nip her prime,
'And chace away the Rose before its time?'I'm young, 'tis true; the world beholds me free;
'Labour ne'er show'd a frightful face to me;
_Love of Prudence._
'Nature's first wants hard labour _should_ supply;
'But should it fail, 'twill be too late to fly.'Some Summers hence, if nought our loves annoy,
'The image of my Jane may lisp her joy;
'Or, blooming boys with imitative swing
'May mock my arm, and make the Anvil ring;
'Then if in rags.--But, O my heart, forbear,--
'I love the Girl, and why should I despair?'And that I love her all the village knows;
'Oft from my pain the mirth of others flows;
'As when a neighbour's Steed with glancing eye
'Saw his par'd hoof supported on my thigh:
'Jane pass'd that instant; mischief came of course;
'I drove the nail awry and lam'd the Horse;
'The poor beast limp'd: I bore a Master's frown,
'A thousand times I wish'd the wound my own.'When to these tangling thoughts I've been resign'd,
'Fury or languor has possess'd my mind,
_Recollections_.'All eyes have stared, I've blown a blast so strong;
'Forgot to smite at all, or smote too long.Daniel moved to the office.'If at the Ale-house door, with careless glee
'One drinks to Jane, and darts a look on me;
'I feel that blush which her dear name will bring,
'I feel:--but, guilty Love, 'tis not thy sting!the bubbles of an hour;
'Jane knows what Love can do, and feels its pow'r;
'In her mild eye fair Truth her meaning tells;
'T |
office | Where is Daniel? | 'As water shed upon a dusty way
'I've seen midst downward pebbles devious stray;
'If kindred drops an adverse channel keep,
'The crystal friends toward each other creep;
'Near, and still nearer, rolls each little tide,
'Th' expanding mirror swells on either side:
'They touch--'tis done--receding bound'ries fly,
'An instantaneous union strikes the eye:
_The Interview._
'So 'tis with us: for Jane would be my bride;
'Shall coward fears then turn the bliss aside?'While thus he spoke he heard a gentle sound,
That seem'd a jarring footstep on the ground:
Asham'd of grief, he bade his eyes unclose,
And shook with agitation as he rose;
All unprepared the sweet surprise to bear;
His heart beat high, for Jane herself was there.--
Flusht was her cheek; she seem'd the full-blown flower,
For warmth gave loveliness a double power;
Round her fair brow the deep confusion ran,
A waving handkerchief became her fan,
Her lips, where dwelt sweet love and smiling ease,
Puff'd gently back the warm assailing breeze.'I've travell'd all these weary miles with pain,
'To see my native village once again;
'And show my true regard for neighbour _Hind_;
'Not like you, Walter, _she_ was always kind.''Twas thus, each soft actuation laid aside,
She buoy'd her spirits up with maiden pride;
Disclaimed her love, e'en while she felt the sting;
'What, come for Walter's sake!'But when astonishment his tongue releas'd,
Pride's usurpation in an instant ceas'd:
By force he caught her hand as passing by,
And gaz'd upon her half averted eye;
His heart's distraction, and his boding fears
She heard, and answer'd with a flood of tears;
Precious relief; sure friends that forward press
To tell the mind's unspeakable distress.Ye Youths, whom crimson'd health and genuine fire
Bear joyous on the wings of young desire,
Ye, who still bow to Love's almighty sway,
What could true passion, what could Walter say?Age, tell me true, nor shake your locks in vain,
Tread back your paths, and be in love again;
_Visit to a Friend_.In your young days did such a favouring hour
Show you the littleness of wealth and pow'r?Advent'rous climbers of the Mountain's brow;
While Love, their master, spreads his couch below--
'My dearest Jane,' the untaught Walter cried,
As half repell'd he pleaded by her side;
'My dearest Jane, think of me as you may--'
Thus--still unutter'd what he strove to say,
They breath'd in sighs the anguish of their minds,
And took the path that led to neighbour _Hind's_.A secret joy the well-known roof inspir'd,
Small was its store, and little they desir'd;
Jane dried her tears; while Walter forward flew
To aid the Dame; who to the brink updrew
The pond'rous Bucket as they reach'd the well,
And scarcely with exhausted breath could tell
How welcome to her Cot the blooming Pair,
O'er whom she watch'd with a maternal care.the wary Matron cried;
With heaving breast the modest Maid reply'd,
Now gently moving back her wooden Chair
To shun the current of the cooling air;
'Not much, good Dame; I'm weary by the way;
'Perhaps, anon, I've something else to say.'Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Now, while the Seed-cake crumbled on her knee,
And Snowy Jasmine peeped in to see;
And the transparent Lilac at the door,
Full to the Sun its purple honors bore,
The clam'rous Hen her fearless brood display'd,
And march'd around; while thus the Matron said:
'Jane has been weeping, Walter;--prithee why?'I've seen her laugh, and dance, but never cry.'But I can guess; with _her_ you should have been,
'When late I saw you loit'ring on the green;
'I'm an old Woman, and the truth may tell:
I say then, Boy, you have not us'd her well.'_Pleadings of Experience for Love with extreme Prudence._
JANE felt for WALTER; felt his cruel pain,
While Pity's voice brought forth her tears again.'Don't scold him, Neighbour, he has much to say,
'Indeed he came and met me by the way.'The Dame resum'd--'Why then, my Children, why
'Do such young bosoms heave the piteous sigh?'The ills of Life to you are yet unknown;
'Death's sev'ring shaft, and Poverty's cold frown:
'I've felt them both, by turns:--but as they pass'd,
'Strong was my trust, and here I am at last.'When I dwelt young and cheerful down the _Lane_.Daniel travelled to the hallway.'(And, though I say it, I was much like JANE,)
'O'er flow'ry fields with _Hind_, I lov'd to stray,
'And talk, and laugh, and fool the time away:
'And Care defied; who not one pain could give,
'Till the thought came of how we were to live;
'And then Love plied his arrows thicker still:
'And prov'd victorious;--as he always will.'We brav'd Life's storm together; while that Drone,
'Your poor old Uncle, WALTER, liv'd alone.'He died the other day: when round his bed
'No tender soothing tear Affection shed--
'Affection!'twas a plant he never knew;--
'Why should he feast on fruits he never grew?'John travelled to the hallway.WALTER caught fire: nor was _he_ charm'd alone
With conscious Truth's firm elevated tone;
JANE from her seat sprang forward, half afraid,
Attesting with a blush what Goody said.Her Lover took a more decided part:--
(O!'twas the very Chord that touch'd his heart,)--
Alive to the best feelings man can prize,
A Bridegroom's transport sparkled in his eyes;
Love, conquering power, with unrestricted range
Silenc'd the arguments of Time and Change;
And led his vot'ry on, and bade him view,
And prize the light-wing'd moments as they flew:
_The Confession._
All doubts gave way, all retrospective lore,
Whence cooler Reason tortur'd him before;
Comparison of times, the Lab'rer's hire,
And many a truth Reflection might inspire,
Sunk powerless.'Dame, I am a fool,' he cried;
'Alone I might have reason'd till I died.'I caus'd those tears of Jane's:--but as they fell
'How much I felt none but ourselves can tell.'While dastard fears withheld me from her sight;
'Sighs reign'd by day and hideous dreams by night;
''Twas then the Soldier's plume and rolling Drum
'Seem'd for a while to strike my sorrows dumb;
'To fly from Care then half resolv'd I stood,
'And without horror mus'd on fields of blood,
'But Hope prevail'd.--Be then the sword resign'd;
'And I'll make _Shares_ for those that stay behind,
'And you, sweet Girl,'------
He would have added more,
Had not a glancing shadow at the door
_Unexpected Visit._
Announc'd a guest, who bore with winning grace
His well-tim'd errand pictur'd in his face.Around with silent reverence they stood;
A blameless reverence--the man was good.Wealth he had some, a match for his desires,
First on the list of active Country 'Squires.Seeing the youthful pair with downcast eyes,
Unmov'd by Summer-flowers and cloudless skies,
Pass slowly by his Gate; his book resign'd,
He watch'd their steps and follow'd far behind,
Bearing with inward joy, and honest pride,
A trust of WALTER'S kinsman ere he died,
A hard-earn'd mite, deposited with care,
And with a miser's spirit worshipt there.Sandra went to the bedroom.He found what oft the generous bosom seeks,
In the Dame's court'seys and JANE'S blushing cheeks,
That consciousness of Worth, that freeborn Grace,
Which waits on Virtue in the meanest place._The Difficulty remov'd_
'Young Mon, I'll not apologize to you,
'Nor name intrusion, for my news is true;
'Tis duty brings me here: your wants I've heard,
'And can relieve: yet be the dead rever'd.John travelled to the office.'Here, in this Purse, (what should have cheer'd a Wife,)
'Lies, half the savings of your Uncle's life!'I know your history, and your wishes know;
'And love to see the seeds of Virtue grow.'I've a spare Shed that fronts the public road:
'Make that your Shop; I'll make it your abode.'Thus much from me,--the rest is but your due.'Goody, her dim eyes wiping, rais'd her brow,
And saw the young pair look they knew not how;
Perils and Power while humble minds forego,
Who gives them half a Kingdom gives them woe;
Comforts may be procur'd and want defied,
Heav'ns!with how small a Sum, when right applied!_How little of outward Good suffices for Happiness._
Give Love and honest Industry their way,
Clear but the Sun-rise of Life's little day,
Those we term poor shall oft that wealth obtain,
For which th' ambitious sigh, but sigh in vain:
Wealth that still brightens, as its stores increase;
The calm of Conscience, and the reign of Peace.Walter's enamour'd Soul, from news like this,
Now felt the dawnings of his future bliss;
E'en as the Red-breast shelt'ring in a bower,
Mourns the short darkness of a passing Shower,
Then, while the azure sky extends around,
Darts on a worm that breaks the moisten'd ground,
And mounts the dripping fence, with joy elate,
And shares the prize triumphant with his mate;
So did the Youth;--the treasure straight became
An humble servant to Love's sacred flame;
Glorious subjection!--Thus his silence broke:
Joy gave him words; still quick'ning as he spoke.Sandra went to the kitchen.'Want was my dread, my wishes were but few;
Others might doubt, but JANE those wishes knew:
This Gold may rid my heart of pains and sighs;
But her true love is still my greatest prize,
Long as I live, when this bright day comes round,
Beneath my Roof your noble deeds shall sound;
But, first, to make my gratitude appear,
I'll shoe your Honour's Horses for a Year;
If clouds should threaten when your Corn is down,
I'll lend a hand, and summon half the town;
If good betide, I'll sound it in my songs,
And be the first avenger of your wrongs:
Though rude in manners, free I hope to live:
This Ale's not mine, no Ale have I to give;
Yet, Sir, though Fortune frown'd when I was born,
Let's drink eternal friendship from this Horn.How much our present joy to you we owe,
Soon our three Bells shall let the Neighbours know;
_Grateful frankness_.Mary moved to the office.'The sound shall raise e'en stooping Age awhile,
'And every Maid shall meet you with a smile;
'Long may you _live_'--the wish like lightning flew;
By each repeated as the 'Squire withdrew.Daniel moved to the office.'Long may _you_ live,' his feeling heart rejoin'd;
Leaving well-pleas'd such happy Souls behind.Hope promis'd fair to cheer them to the end;
With Love their guide, and Goody for their friend.[Illustration]
THE MILLER'S MAID.Near the high road upon a winding stream
An honest Miller rose to Wealth and Fame:
The noblest Virtues cheer'd his lengthen'd days,
And all the Country echo'd with his praise:
His Wife, the Doctress of the neighb'ring Poor,
[Footnote: This village and the poor of this neighbourhood know what it is
to have possest such a blessing, and feel at this moment what it is to
lose it by death._Troston_, 13th of September, 1801.]Drew constant pray'rs and blessings round his door.One Summer's night, (the hour of rest was come)
Darkness unusual overspread their home;
A chilling blast was felt; the foremost cloud
Sprinkl'd the bubbling Pool; and thunder loud,
Though distant yet, menac'd the country round,
And fill'd the Heavens with its solemn sound.Who can retire to rest when tempests lour?Meekly resign'd she sat, in anxious pain;
He fill'd his pipe, and listen'd to the rain
That batter'd furiously their strong abode,
Roar'd in the Damm, and lash'd the pebbled road:
When, mingling with the storm, confus'd and wild,
They heard, or thought they heard, a screaming _Child_:
The voice approach'd; and midst the thunder's roar,
Now loudly begg'd for Mercy at the door.MERCY was _there_: the Miller heard the call;
His door he open'd; when a sudden squall
_The Young Stranger_.Drove in a wretched Girl; who weeping stood,
Whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood.With kind officiousness the tender Dame
Rous'd up the dying embers to a flame;
Dry cloaths procur'd, and cheer'd her shiv'ring guest,
And sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast.But as she stript her shoulders, lily-white,
What marks of cruel usage shock'd their sight!Weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold
Upon a Child yet scarcely Ten years old.The _Miller_ felt his indignation rise,
Yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes,
And seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years,
'Sleep, Child,' he said, 'and wipe away your tears.'They watch'd her slumbers till the storm was done;
When thus the generous Man again begun:
'See, fluttering sighs that rise against her will,
And agitating dreams disturb her still!'Dame, we should know before we go to rest,
'Whence comes this Girl, and how she came distrest.'Wake her, and ask; for she is sorely bruis'd:
'I long to know by whom she's thus misus'd.'Have you no home to keep you dry and warm?'Who gave you all those wounds your shoulders show?The Stranger bursting into tears, look'd pale,
And this the purport of her artless tale.'I have no Parents; and no friends beside:
'I well remember when my Mother died:
'My Brother cried; and so did I that day:
'We had no Father;--he was gone away;
'That night we left our home new cloaths to wear:
'The _Work-house_ found them; we were carried there.'We lov'd each other dearly; when we met
'We always shar'd what trifles we could get.Daniel went back to the bathroom._Rustic Hospitality and Protection of the friendless_.But _George_ was older by a year than me:--
He parted from me and was sent to Sea."Good-bye, dear Phoebe," the poor fellow said!Perhaps he'll come again; perhaps he's dead.When I grew strong enough I went to place,
My Mistress had a sour ill-natured face;
And though I've been so often beat and chid,
I strove to please her, Sir: indeed, I did.Daniel travelled to the office.Weary and spiritless to bed I crept,
And always cried at night before I slept.This Morning I offended; and I bore
A cruel beating, worse than all before.Unknown to all the House I ran away;
And thus far travell'd through the sultry day;
And, O don't send me back!Th' appeals of Wretchedness had weight with |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun,
'Well done, my little Wench; 'twas nobly done!'Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire,
And feelings such as Pity can inspire,
'My house has childless been this many a year;
While you deserve it you shall tarry here.'The Orphan mark'd the ardor of his eye,
Blest his kind words, and thank'd him with a sigh.Thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd;
Thus were her spirits rais'd, her bruises heal'd:
Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid,
Thus little PHOEBE was the Miller's Maid.Grateful they found her; patient of controul:
A most bewitching gentleness of soul
Made pleasure of what work she had to do:
She grew in stature, and in beauty too.Five years she pass'd in this delightful home;
Five happy years: but, when the sixth was come,
_The New Comer_.The _Miller_ from a Market Town hard by,
Brought home a sturdy Youth his strength to try,
To raise the sluice-gates early every morn,
To heave his powder'd sacks and grind his corn:
And meeting _Phoebe_, whom he lov'd so dear,
'I've brought you home a Husband, Girl?--D'ye hear?He begg'd for work; his money seem'd but scant:
Those that will work 'tis pity they should want.So use him well, and we shall shortly see
Whether he merits what I've done, like thee.'Now throbb'd her heart,--a new sensation
Whene'er the comely Stranger was in right:
For he at once assiduously strove.To please so sweet a Maid, and win her love.At every corner stopp'd her in her way;
And saw fresh beauties opening ev'ry day;
He took delight in tracing in her face
The mantling blush, and every nameless grace,
[Footnote: A Maxim which all ought to remember.That Sensibility would bring to view,
When Love he mention'd;---Love, and Honour true,
But _Phoebe_ still was shy; and wish'd to know
More of the honest Youth, whose manly brow
She verily believ'd was Truth's own throne,
And all his words as artless as her own;
Most true she judg'd; yet, long the Youth forbore
Divulging where, and how, he liv'd before;
And seem'd to strive his History to hide,
Till fair Esteem enlisted on his side.The _Miller_ saw, and mention'd, in his prajse,
The prompt fidelity of all his ways;
Till in a vacant hour, the Dinner done,
One day he jokjng cried, 'Come here, my Son!'Tis pity that so good a Lad as you
Beneath my roof should bring disorders new!But here's my _Phoebe_,--once so light and airy,
She'd trip along the passage like a Fairy,--
_Enquiry.Has lost her swiftness quite, since here you came:--
And yet;... I can't perceive the Girl is lame!The obstacles she meets with still fall thicker:
Old as I am I'd turn a corner quicker.'--
The _Youth_ blush'd deep; and _Phoebe_ hung her head:
The _good Man_ smil'd, and thus again he said:
'Not that I deem it matter of surprise,
That you should love to gaze at _Phoebe's_ eyes;
But be explicit, Boy; and deal with honour:
I feel my happiness depend upon her.When here you came you'd sorrow on your brow;
And I've forborne to question you till now.He instant bow'd,
And thus, in _Phoebe's_ hearing, spoke aloud:
'Thus far experienc'd, Sir, in you I find
All that is generous, fatherly, and kind;
And while you look for proofs of real worth,
You'll not regard the meanness of my birth.When, pennyless and sad, you met with me,
I'd just escap'd the dangers of the Sea;
Resolv'd to try my fortune on the shore:
To get my bread; and trust the waves no more.Having no Home, nor Parents, left behind,
I'd all my fortune, all my Friends, to find.Keen disappointment wounded me that morn:
For, trav'ling near the spot where I was born,
I at the well-known door where I was bred,
Inquir'd who still was living, who was dead:
But first, and most, I sought with anxious fear
Tidings to gain of her who once was dear;
A Girl, with all the meekness of the dove,
The constant sharer of my childhood's love;
She call'd me _Brother_:--which I heard with pride,
Though now suspect we are not so allied.Thus much I learnt; (no more the churls would say;)
She went to service, and she ran away.the _Miller_ cried,
And, in an instant, stood at _Phoebe's_ side;
For he observed, while list'ning to the tale,
Her spirits faulter'd, and her cheeks turn'd pale;
Whilst her clasp'd hands descended to her knee
She sinking whisper'd forth, 'O _God_, 'tis _he_!The good Man, though he guess'd the pleasing truth,
Was far too busy to inform the Youth;
But stirr'd himself amain to aid his Wife,
Who soon restor'd the trembler back to life.Awhile insensible she still appear'd;
But, '_O my Brother!_' was distinctly heard:
The astonisht Youth now held her to his breast;
And tears and kisses soon explain'd the rest.Past deeds now from each tongue alternate fell;
For news of dearest import both could tell.Fondly, from childhood's tears to youth's full prime,
They match'd the incidents of jogging time;
_ Mutual Recollections_.And prov'd, that when with Tyranny opprest,
Poor _Phoebe_ groan'd with wounds and broken rest,
_George_ felt no less: was harassed and forlorn;
A rope's-end follow'd him both night and morn.Andin that very storm when _Phoebe_ fled,
When the rain drench'd her yet unshelter'd head;
That very Storm he on the Ocean brav'd,
The Vessel founder'd, and the Boy was say'd!Mysterious Heaven!--and O with what delight--
She told the happy issue of her flight:
To his charm'd heart a living picture drew;
And gave to hospitality its due!The list'ning Host observ'd the gentle Pair;
And ponder'd on the means that brought them there:
Convinc'd, while unimpeach'd their Virtue stood,
Twas _Heav'n's_ high Will that he should do them good.But now the anxious Dame, impatient grown,
Demanded what the Youth had heard, or known,
_The Investigation_.Whereon to ground those doubts but just exprest;--
Doubts, which must interest the feeling breast:
'Her Brother wert thou, George?--how; prithee say:
Canst thou forego, or cast that name away?''No living proofs have I,' the Youth reply'd,
That we by closest ties are not allied;
But in my memory live, and ever will,
A mother's dying words......I hear them still:
She said, to one who watch'd her parting breath,
"Don't separate the Children at my death;
They're not both mine: but--" Here the scene was clos'd;
She died, and left us helpless and expos'd;
Nor Time hath thrown, nor Reason's opening power,
One friendly ray on that benighted hour.'Ne'er did the Chieftains of a Warring State
Hear from the _Oracle_ their half-told fate
With more religious fear, or more suspense,
Than _Phoebe_ now endur'd:--for every sense
_The Perplexity_.Became absorb'd in this unwelcome theme;
Nay every meditation, every dream,
Th'inexplicable sentence held to view,
'They're not both mine,' was every morning new:
For, till this hour, the Maid had never prov'd
How far she was enthrall'd, how much she lov'd:
In that fond character he first appear'd;
His kindness charm'd her, and his smiles endear'd:
This dubious mystery the passion crost;
Her peace was wounded, and her Lover lost.Mary went to the bathroom.For _George_, with all his resolution strove
To check the progress of his growing love;
Or, if he e'er indulg'd a tender kiss,
Th'unravell'd secret robb'd him of his bliss.Health's foe, Suspense, so irksome to be borne,
An ever-piercing and retreating thorn,
Hung on their Hearts, when Nature bade them rise,
And stole Content's bright ensign from their eyes.The good folks saw the change, and griev'd to find
These troubles labouring in _Phoebe's_ mind;
They lov'd them both; and with one voice propos'd
The only means whence _Truth_ might be disclos'd;
That, when the Summer Months should shrink the rill,
And scarce its languid stream would turn the Mill,
When the Spring broods, and Pigs, and Lambs were rear'd,
(A time when _George_ and _Phoebe_ might be spar'd,)
Their birth-place they should visit once again,
To try with joint endeavours to obtain
From Record, or Tradition, what might be
To chain, or set their chain'd affections free:
Affinity beyond all doubts to prove;
Or clear the road for Nature and for Love.Never, till now, did PHOEBE count the hours,
Or think _May_ long, or wish away its flowers;
With mutual sighs both fann'd the wings of Time;
As we climb Hills and gladden as we climb,
_Eager Expectation_.And reach at last the distant promis'd seat,
Casting the glowing landscape at our feet
Oft had the Morning Rose with dew been wet,
And oft the journeying Sun in glory set,
Beyond the willow'd meads of vigorous grass,
The steep green hill, and woods they were to pass;
When now: the day arriv'd: Impatience reign'd;
And GEORGE,--by trifling obstacles detain'd--
His bending Blackthorn on the threshold prest,
Survey'd the windward clouds, and hop'd the best.PHOEBE, attir'd with every modest grace,
While Health and Beauty revell'd in her face,
Came forth; but soon evinc'd an absent mind,
For, back she turn'd for something left behind;
Again the same, till George grew tir'd of home,
And peevishly exclaim'd, _'Come, Phoebe, come.'_
Another hindrance yet he had to feel:
As from the door they tripp'd with nimble heel,
_The Old Soldier_.A poor old Man, foot-founder'd and alone,
Thus urgent spoke, in Trouble's genuine tone:
'My pretty Maid, if happiness you seek,
May disappointment never fade your cheek!--
Your's be the joy;--yet, feel another's woe;
O leave some little, gift before you go.'His words struck home; and back she turn'd again,
(The ready friend of indigence and pain,)
To banish hunger from his shatter'd frame;
And close behind her, lo, the _Miller_, came,
With Jug in hand, and cried, 'GEORGE, why such haste?Here, take a draught; and let that _Soldier_ taste.''Thanks for your bounty, Sir,' the _Veteran_ said;
Threw down his Wallet, and made bare his head;
And straight began, though mix'd with doubts and fears,
Th' unprefac'd History of his latter years,
'I cross'd th' _Atlantic_ with our Regiment, brave,
Where Sickness sweeps whole Regiments to the grave;
_The Surprise_.Yet I've escap'd; and bear my arms no more;
My age discharg'd me when I came on shore.John travelled to the hallway.My Wife, I've heard,'--and here he wip'd his eyes,---
'In the cold corner of the Church-yard lies.By her consent it was I left my home:
Employment fail'd, and poverty waa come;
The Bounty tempted me;--she had it all:
We parted; and I've seen my betters fall.Yet, as I'm spar'd, though in this piteous case,
I'm tray'ling homeward to my native place;
Though should I reach that dear remember'd spot,
Perhaps OLD GRAINGER will be quite forgot.'All eyes beheld young _George_ with wonder start:
Strong were the secret bodings of his heart;
Yet not indulg'd: for he with doubts survey'd
By turns the Stranger, and the lovely Maid.--'Yes, young Man; I'd two:
A _Boy_, if still he lives, as old as you:
_The Discovery_.Yet not my own; but likely so to prove;
Though but the pledge of an unlawful Love:
I cherish'd him, to hide a _Sister's_ shame:
He shar'd my best affections, and my name.But why, young folks, should I detain you here?Go; and may blessings wait upon your cheer:
I too will travel on;--perhaps to find
The only treasure that I left behind.Such kindly thoughts my fainting hopes revive!--
_Phoebe_, my Cherub, ART _thou_ still alive?'Could Nature hold!--Could youthful Love forbear!_George_ clasp'd the wond'ring _Maid_, and whisper'd, '_There_!_You're mine for, ever_!--O, sustain the rest;
And hush the tumult of your throbbing breast.'Then to the _Soldier_ turn'd, with manly pride,
And fondly led his long-intended _Bride_:
'Here see your _Child_; nor wish a sweeter flow'r.'Tis _George_ that speaks; thou'lt bless the happy hour!--
_The Bliss of disinterested Benevolence_.Nay, be compos'd; for all will yet be well,
Though here our history's too long to tell'--
A long-lost Father found, the mystery clear'd,
What mingled transports in _her_ face appear'd!The gazing _Veteran_ stood with hands uprais'd--
'Art thou _indeed_ my Child!O'er his rough cheeks the tears profusely spread:
Such as fools say become not Men to shed;
Past hours of bliss, regenerated charms,
Rose, when he felt his Daughter in his arms:
So tender was the scene, the generous Dame
Wept, as she told of _Phoebe's_ virtuous fame,
And the good Host, with gestures passing strange,
Abstracted seem'd through fields of joy to range:
Rejoicing that his favour'd Roof should prove
Virtue's asylum, and the nurse of Love;
Rejoicing that to him the task was given,
his full Soul was mounting up to Heav'n.But now, as from a dream, his Reason sprung,
And heartiest greetings dwelt upon his tongue;
The sounding Kitchen floor at once receiv'd
The happy group, with all their fears reliev'd:
'Soldier,' he cried, 'you've found your Girl; 'tis true:
But suffer _me_ to be a Father too;
For, never Child that blest a Parent's knee,
Could show more duty than she has to met
Strangely she came; Affliction chas'd her hard:
I pitied her;--and this is my reward!Here sit you down; recount your perils o'er:
Henceforth be this your home; and grieve no more:
Plenty hath shower'd her dewdrops on my head;
Care visits not my Table, nor my Bed.My heart's warm wishes thus then I fulfill:--
My Dame and I can live without the Mill:
_George_, take the whole; I'll near you still remain
To guide your judgment in the choice of Grain:
_Perfect Content: hopes and prospects of Goodness_.In Virtue's path commence your prosperous life;
And from my hand receive your worthy Wife.Rise, _Phoebe_; |
kitchen | Where is John? | Integrity hath mark'd your favourite Youth;
Fair budding Honour, Constancy, and Truth:
Go to his arms;--and may unsullied joys
Bring smiling round me, rosy Girls and Boys!And may your days
Glide on, as glides the Stream that never stays;
Bright as whose shingled bed, till life's decline,
May all your Worth, and all your Virtues shine!'[Illustration]
THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS.Come, friend, I'll turn thee up again:
Companion of the lonely hour!Spring thirty times hath fed with rain
And cloath'd with leaves my humble bower,
Since thou hast stood
In frame of wood,
On Chest or Window by my side:
At every Birth still thou wert near,
Still spoke thine admonitions clear.--
And, when my Husband died,
I've often watch'd thy streaming sand
And seen the growing Mountain rise,
And often found Life's hopes to stand
On props as weak in Wisdom's eyes:
Its conic crown
Still sliding down,
Again heap'd up, then down again;
The sand above more hollow grew,
Like days and years still filt'ring through,
And mingling joy and pain.While thus I spin and sometimes sing,
(For now and then my heart will glow)
Thou measur'st Time's expanding wing
By thee the noontide hour I know:
Though silent thou,
Still shalt thou flow,
And jog along thy destin'd way:
But when I glean the sultry fields,
When Earth her yellow Harvest yields,
Thou get'st a Holiday.Steady as Truth, on either end
Thy daily task performing well,
Thou'rt Meditation's constant friend,
And strik'st the Heart without a Bell:
Come, lovely May!Thy lengthen'd day
Shall gild once more thy native plain;
Curl inward here, sweet Woodbine flow'r;--
'Companion of the lonely hour,
'I'll turn thee up again.[Illustration]
MARKET-NIGHT.'O Winds, howl not so long and loud;
Nor with your vengeance arm the snow:
Bear hence each heavy-loaded cloud;
And let the twinkling Star-beams glow.'Now sweeping floods rush down the <DW72>,
Wide scattering ruin.--Stars, shine soon!No other light my Love can hope;
Midnight will want the joyous _Moon_.'O guardian Spirits!--Ye that dwell
Where woods, and pits, and hollow ways,
The lone night-trav'ler's fancy swell
With fearful tales, of older days,--
'Press round him:--guide his willing steed
Through darkness, dangers, currents, snows;
Wait where, from shelt'ring thickets freed,
The dreary Heath's rude whirlwind blows.'From darkness rushing o'er his way,
The Thorn's white load it bears on high!Where the short furze all shrouded lay,
Mounts the dried grass;--Earth's bosom dry.'Then o'er the Hill with furious sweep
It rends the elevated tree--
Sure-footed beast, thy road thou'lt keep;
Nor storm nor darkness startles thee!'O blest assurance, (trusty steed,)
To thee the buried road is known;
_Home_, all the spur thy footsteps need,
When loose the frozen rein is thrown,
'Between the roaring blasts that shake
The naked Elder at the door,
Though not one prattler to me speak,
Their sleeping sighs delight me more.'Sound is their rest:--they little know
What pain, what cold, their Father feels;
But dream, perhaps, they see him now,
While each the promis'd Orange peels.Would it were so!--the fire burns bright,
And on the warming trencher gleams;
In Expectation's raptur'd sight
How precious his arrival seems!'I'll look abroad!--'tis piercing cold!--
How the bleak wind assails his breast!Yet some faint light mine eyes, behold:
The storm is verging o'er the West.'There shines a _Star!_--O welcome sight!--
Through the thin vapours brightening still!Yet, 'twas beneath the fairest night
The murd'rer stained yon lonely Hill.'Mercy, kind Heav'n!No voice, no footstep can I hear!(Where Night and Silence brooding dwell,
Spreads thy cold reign, heart-chilling Fear.)O Mercy, Mercy, guide him home!--
Hark!--then I heard the distant gate;--
Repeat it, Echo; quickly, come!Mary went to the bathroom.'One minute now will ease my fears--
Or, still more wretched must I be?No: surely Heaven has spar'd our tears:
I see him, cloath'd in snow;--'_tis_ he.--
'Where have you stay'd?How have you borne the storm, the cold?What horrors did I not forebode--
That Beast is worth his weight in gold.'Thus spoke the joyful Wife;--then ran
And hid in grateful steams her head:
Dapple was hous'd, the hungry Man
With joy glanc'd o'er the Children's bed.'What, all asleep!--so best;' he cried:
O what a night I've travell'd through!Unseen, unheard, I might have died;
But Heaven has brought me safe to you.'Dear Partner of my nights and days,
That smile becomes thee!--Let us then
Learn, though mishap may cross our ways,
It is not ours to reckon when.'The Lawns were dry in Euston Park;
(Here Truth [1] inspires my Tale)
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over Hill and Dale.[Footnote 1: This Ballad is founded on a fact.The circumstance occurred
perhaps long before I was born: but is still related by my Mother, and
some of the oldest inhabitants in that part of the country.Benighted was an ancient Dame,
And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham,
And hail its Willow shade.Her footsteps knew no idle stops,
But follow'd faster still;
And echo'd to the darksome Copse
That whisper'd on the Hill;
Where clam'rous Rooks, yet scarcely hush'd,
Bespoke a peopled shade;
And many a wing the foliage brush'd,
And hov'ring circuits made.The dappled herd of grazing Deer
That sought the Shades by day,
Now started from her path with fear,
And gave the Stranger way.Darker it grew; and darker fears
Came o'er her troubled mind;
When now, a short quick step she hears
Come patting close behind.She turn'd; it stopt;--nought could she see
Upon the gloomy plain!But, as she strove the Sprite to flee,
She heard the same again.Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame;
For, where the path was bare,
The trotting Ghost kept on the same!She mutter'd many a pray'r.John travelled to the hallway.Yet once again, amidst her fright
She tried what sight could do;
When through the cheating glooms of night,
A MONSTER stood in view.Regardless of whate'er she felt,
It follow'd down the plain!She own'd her sins, and down she knelt,
And said her pray'rs again.Then on she sped: and Hope grew strong,
The white park gate in view;
Which pushing hard, so long it swung
That _Ghost_ and all pass'd through.Her heart-strings like to crack:
For, much she fear'd the grisly Ghost
Would leap upon her back.Still on, pat, pat, the Goblin went,
As it had done before:--
Her strength and resolution spent,
She fainted at the door.Out came her Husband much surpris'd:
Out came her Daughter dear:
Good-natur'd Souls!all unadvis'd
Of what they had to fear.The Candle's gleam pierc'd through the night,
Some short space o'er the green;
And there the little trotting Sprite
Distinctly might be seen.An _Ass's Foal_ had lost its Dam
Within the spacious Park;
And simple as the playful Lamb
Had follow'd in the dark.No Goblin he; no imp of sin:
No crimes had ever known.They took the shaggy stranger in,
And rear'd him as their own.His little hoofs would rattle round
Upon the Cottage floor:
The Matron learn'd to love the sound
That frighten'd her before.A favorite the Ghost became;
And, 'twas his fate to thrive:
And long he liv'd and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.The development of the factory system of the
eighteenth century, upon the introduction of improved machinery for
manufacture, completely removed industry from the home and created the
modern factory town.It is not our purpose to do more than suggest the influence which the
guilds exerted in bringing woman into the larger stream of English
life by the definition of her legal status which her industrial
consequence and activities made necessary.It has been already
remarked that the statutes of the times made her personally
responsible before the law as an industrial factor.In this way, woman
became increasingly regarded as a social integer rather than as simply
a domestic incident.This was a distinct gain in the end, however
crude the conception at first.The complex questions of woman's social
status are still largely centred about the question of her industrial
place.The insistent claim of the sex that they shall be regarded as
worthy of a part in the world's work projects into the discussion
of the place that she shall occupy many other questions concerning
matters which are immediately involved.It is not too much to say that
all of the issues which arose during the modern period, and together
form the specifications of the platform of "woman's rights," find
their beginning in this first responsible relation of woman to the
industry of the nation.John moved to the kitchen.Society is established upon an economic basis,
and so the problem of the duties and responsibilities of woman in a
public way must be centred about industry.It will not do to criticise
the crudeness of the early legislation regarding woman when she first
stepped into the arena of associated industry, and to remain oblivious
to the fact that the question of her industrial status is no more
satisfactorily determined after the lapse of centuries.It is true
that the question during these centuries became greatly involved
at times, as, for instance, at the period of the great industrial
revolution; but, with all the aspects which the question assumes
to-day and the problems which are related to it, the crux of the
matter is the same as it was at the time of the rise of the guilds.The guild ordinances took the view of woman as an industrial unit,
without regard to her personal relations.If she became a merchant
and associated herself with the guild, she was under the same laws
regarding financial responsibility as was any other member.The fact
that she was a woman, or that she was married and had children, did
not constitute a plea in her behalf for different treatment from that
accorded a guild brother.If a woman-merchant became a debtor, she had
to answer in court as any other merchant, and "an accyon of dette be
mayntend agenst her, to be conceyved aft' the custom of the seid lite,
w[^t] out nemyng her husband in the seid accyon."The legislation of the period generally recognized the equality of the
sexes in the matter of labor.An ordinance of Edward IV., made in the
borough of Wells, provided that both male and female apprentices to
burgesses should themselves become burgesses at the expiration of
their term of service.Similar statutes relating to apprentices
in London likewise made no distinction between boys and girls.The
problems centring about woman's relation to industry not having
arisen, the fact of her employment presented no serious difficulties.When the proclamation of 1271, relating to the woollen industry, was
issued, it permitted "all workers of woolen cloths, male and female,
as well of Flanders as of other lands, to come to England to follow
their craft."Indeed, the women were less fettered than the men in
their industrial avocations, for, while by the statute of 1363 the men
were limited to the pursuit of one craft, women were left free in the
matter.In this connection, it is interesting to refer to the development of
the silk industry as a typical occupation of woman.It is impossible
to determine the time when "the arts of spinning, throwing, and
weaving of silk" were first brought into England.We do know, however,
that, when first established, they were pursued by a company of women
called "silk women."The fabrics of their skill were in the many forms
of laces, ribbons, girdles, and other narrow goods.Toward the middle
of the fifteenth century, these women were greatly distressed by the
Lombards and other Italians, who imported into the country the same
sort of goods, and in such quantities that their sale was hindered and
the workers placed in danger of starvation.This led to a reference
of their complaint to Parliament, with a statement of the grievances
for which they desired redress.This document bore the title:
_The petition of the silk women and throwesters of the craftes and
occupation of silk-work within the city of London, which be, and
have been, craftes of women within the same city of time that no
man remembereth the contrary_.The petition then goes on to set
forth "that by this business many reputable families have been well
supported; and young women kept from idleness by learning the same
business, and put into a way of living with credit, and many have
thereby grown to great worship; and never any thing of silk brought
into this land, concerning the same craftes and occupations in any
wise wrought but in the raw silk alone, unwrought, until now of late
that divers Lombards and others, aliens and strangers, with a view
of destroying the silk-working in this kingdom, and transferring the
manufactories to foreign countries, do daily bring into this land,"
etc.Then follows a statement of the inferior grades of fabrics thus
introduced, which the complaint said was "to the great detriment and
utter destruction of the said craftes; which is like to cause great
idleness among the young gentlewomen and other apprentices to the same
craftes."The petition that the importation of these goods should be
prohibited was granted, and we hear no more of these estimable ladies
and little of their infant industry.It was then thought no disgrace
for a lady of quality to conduct such household manufactories.The town-dwelling woman looked down upon her rural sister, a fact that
is not at all surprising when the difference in the condition of the
two classes of women is considered.The town-dwelling woman had the
privileges of guild association and the liberties which it gave her,
while the woman in the agricultural districts was but a drudge.The former were identified with manufactures and commerce, while
the latter were tied to the soil.Even after the rise of copyhold
tenure of land, the grievances of the agricultural population were
considerable, and of many sorts.While the villains flocked to London
to demand legal exemption from the old labor obligations which went
along with such servile condition, the cottars claimed freedom from
labor rents for their homes, and the copyholders of all kinds demanded
that they should not be compelled to grind at the lord's mill the
corn which they raised for their household needs.The rising tide of
industrial revolution represented a climax of centuries of grievance;
and when the revolt did come, it was as a demand for the manumission
of property held in villanage.Mary went back to the hallway.There was at the time hardly any
personal servitude demanding such strenuous measures for betterment.The popular agitation seemed to be enlisted against class impositions,
and so the following lines:
"When Adam delved and Eve span,
Who was then the gentleman?"It is not possible to ascertain how particular grievances in Kent and
Essex became identified with the general movements of the peasantry
south of the Thames and in many parts of the midland.The vast
movement, however, extended throughout the agricultural districts, and
included burgesses of towns, rural priests, yeomen and farm laborers.It is unlikely that a personal grievance should have caused it, but it
was precipitated by such.The immediate occasion was the indignation
which was aroused at |
kitchen | Where is John? | As the indignation which centred
in the sentiment against this act served to cement the feeling of
injustice which was prevalent among the peasantry, so it is probable
that the act itself was not a solitary instance, but only one of many
indignities which were suffered by the peasantry at the hands of the
representatives of those above them.Although the insurrection soon
came to an end, and those who were responsible for it suffered the
severest penalties, nevertheless the various "statutes of laborers"
which from this date appear on the statute book show that the day had
gone by when the lords of manors could require the personal services
of tenants in return for the lands they held; so that the one thousand
five hundred persons who were executed for this social uprising died
as a protest against grievances of the poor tenantry, which were
corrected by legislation.By the close of the fourteenth century the manorial courts had lost
much of their former vigor; and there were frequent instances of
villain tenants sending their daughters to service beyond the bounds
of the manors, in spite of the requirement of a license so to
do.Daughters were also married without reference to the lord, or
obtaining his permission, or paying the fee.As a result of their
extended liberties, women as well as men deserted the country in
large numbers and resorted to the towns.The population thus became
much more mobile, and among the people there was a wider degree of
intelligence because of this fact and of their more varied experience.As women are the progenitors of the race, it is always important for
the intelligence of a people that the mothers shall not be stupid
and inane creatures such as were for the most part the women of the
agricultural classes in England during the greater part of the Middle
Ages.They were limited to the narrow confines of homes, humble
indeed, and yet homes which they could not feel were their own, and
they could not leave these habitations excepting under conditions
which were practically prohibitive.Their days were spent in an
unvarying monotony of domestic duties and farm labor, which afforded
no stimulus to the mind or food for the soul.It is not strange that
morals were as depraved as manners were uncouth.Mary went to the bathroom.In the imagination,
superstition took the place that was unoccupied by intelligence; and
the world of the peasant woman, who went about her round of daily
hardship, was peopled by a throng of supernatural creatures, and her
life spent in fear of violation of some of those strange rules of
conduct which now form interesting matter for the student of folklore.John travelled to the hallway.It is difficult to exaggerate the hardship of the agriculturist of
the Middle Ages; and as she was an active participant in such labors,
besides having upon her the burdens which commonly belong to the
mother of a household, the woman of the times had to bear duties much
beyond those of a woman in a similar grade of life in England to-day.The great pestilences of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
swept away so many lives that, for two centuries and a half before the
accession of Henry VII., the growth of population was so slight as
to be scarcely calculable.The unsanitary condition of the homes in
general was greatly injurious to health; but this was especially
so of the homes of the humble, the women of which had no ideas of
cleanliness, either in person or surroundings.The weekly shilling
or ninepence of the agricultural laborer must have been distressingly
inadequate for the needs of the household.These included wheat or
rye, which formed the staple of living, the rent of the cottage, the
usual manor dues, the national tax, something for clothing, medicine
for the children, and occasional items which would enter into a
complete enumeration.Even if the wife, as was frequently the case,
had to bear the burden of her own support by engaging in some form of
industrial activity in connection with her other duties, the wage of
the husband was barely enough to meet the needs of the remainder of
the family, and he had not a farthing left for "rainy days," which
were of frequent occurrence, or for those common and extraordinary
exactions which could not be evaded.So rigidly were the taxes levied,
even upon the poorest, that every form of possession came under
tribute; thus, the pet lamb of a poor man, which may have been the one
source of joy to his children and pleasure to his wife, appears in
an inventory of Colchester as amerced for sixpence.In the fifteenth
century, to which this entry refers, the master of a tenant was
forbidden by the Statutes of Laborers to assist him by relieving his
poverty; and even in case of illness of his wife or children, the
master could not legally furnish him aid.So onerous was the income
tax, levied to meet the expenses of foreign wars, that it was not
uncommon for bequests of money to be made for the relief of the poor
in paying it.The laborer had attached to his cottage a small piece
of ground, which his wife and himself tilled; he might also feed his
goose or his sheep upon the manor waste, but only on the sufferance of
his master.By the end of the fifteenth century the lot of this class of England's
population became almost unendurable.The women, who bore more than
their share of the burden of work in an attempt to provide the bare
necessities of existence, were bowed under a weight of misery which
made that existence endurable only because they knew of none better,
or none which could possibly come within the range of their narrow
hopes.The wretched condition of life among those whose possessions
were so limited is well summed up in the following quotation from an
article by Dr.Augustus Jessup in the _Nineteenth Century_, February,
1884; he says: such people "were more wretched in their poverty,
incomparably less prosperous in their prosperity, worse clad, worse
fed, worse housed, worse taught, worse tended, worse governed," than
the peasants of the present day; "they were sufferers from loathsome
diseases their descendants know nothing of; the very beasts of the
field were dwarfed and stunted in their growth; the death rate among
children was tremendous; the disregard of human life was so callous
that we can hardly conceive it; there was everything to harden,
nothing to soften; everywhere oppression, greed, and fierceness."Although wages were higher by the end of the century, reaching
fourpence a day, meat, cheese, and butter were much dearer than at its
beginning, so that it is doubtful if the last of the century found the
condition of the laborer at all improved in this respect.As labor was
suspended on the holidays of the Church and for a half-day on the eves
of those holidays, and as the laborer was forbidden to receive more
than a half-day's wage every Saturday, the men and women most anxious
to work, even if they could obtain constant employment, could not
average more than four and one-half profitable days per week.It is
not surprising that, for want of nutrition, there was throughout the
Middle Ages a wide prevalence of fever, the large death rate of women
and children from this cause affording evidence of their physical
weakness.The wage of women employed in agricultural labor in the first half
of the fourteenth century was at the rate of a penny a day, although
this was not uniform; and in some parts of the kingdom they received
considerably more.John moved to the kitchen.Their duties on the farm consisted, in part, in
"dibbling beans, in weeding corn, in making hay, in assisting the
sheep shearers and washing the sheep, in filling the muck carts with
manure and in spreading it upon the lands, in shearing corn, but
especially in reaping stubble after the ears of corn had been cut off
by the shearers, in binding and stacking sheaves, in thatching ricks
and houses, in watching in the fields to prevent cattle straying into
the corn, or, armed with a sling, in scaring birds from the seed or
ripening corn, and similar occupations.That they might not fail of
employment to fill up the measure of the hours, there was the winding
and spinning of wool to stop a gap."But these were not the sole
employments of the wives and daughters of the mediaeval farmer, for
they took their part in all farmwork together with their husbands and
fathers.After the "black death" had made such terrible inroads upon
the rural population of England, a woman received a wage that seldom
went below twopence for a day's work; but this amount was diminished
by the effect of one of the Statutes of Laborers, which required
that every woman not having a craft--that is, not a town dweller, nor
possessed of property of her own--should work on a farm equally with a
man, and, like the man, she should not leave the manor or the district
in which she customarily lived, to seek work elsewhere.It was
difficult for a woman of the agricultural classes to pass out of the
dreary sphere in which she lived, for it was enjoined that if a girl
before the age of twelve years--significant of the time when she was
supposed to be a woman--put her hands to works of industry, she must
remain for the rest of her life an agricultural laborer, and was not
permitted to be apprenticed to learn a trade.Mary went back to the hallway.These regulations were,
of course, very often honored in the breach, but nevertheless they
were frequently enforced.The poverty of the peasantry made it necessary for them to make for
themselves almost everything that entered into the needs of their
life,--their houses, their clothing, their agricultural implements,
and most of their household articles.Flax was raised, and from it
the women manufactured the linen for the ladies of the hall; from hemp
they made the coarse sackcloth for their underclothing, and they spun
and wove the wool shorn from the backs of their few sheep for their
outer clothing.Daniel went back to the bedroom.The women of this class frequently could not afford an
oven of their own, and so the flour which was made from the grain that
was required to be ground at the lord's mill was also baked in his
oven.The simple medicines were brewed by the housewife from the herbs
which grew by the copse side or on the commons or in the ditches.When
the manufacture of wool and flax was withdrawn to the towns, the labor
of the women was to that extent lightened, although their income was
correspondingly lessened.The condition of the very poor was pitiful in the extreme; as there
had been no opportunity for the laying up of provision for old age,
the only recourse for the women and men alike, when indigency and age
overtook them, was to seek shelter in the almshouses which had been
founded for the decrepit and the destitute.Many yielded to their
"miserable cares and troubles," and died from starvation.By the
fifteenth century the monasteries had ceased to be important centres
for the dispensing of charity, so that relief from destitution could
not be looked for from that source.The conventual orders, in common
with the rest of the nation, had become burdened with debt through the
wars at home and abroad.The numerous regulations for the control of
beggars, and the licenses which were issued to regulate the practice,
show the great prevalence of real poverty and want during the whole of
the fifteenth century, although throughout the Middle Ages mendicancy
was familiar enough.Such was the condition of the women of the industrial classes during
the Middle Ages.The period that witnessed the transition from the
Middle Ages into modern times, the breakup of feudalism, and the
construction of society upon a different basis, was, as transitional
periods are apt to be, one of peculiar stress.And as this period in
England was marked by severe wars, with all the blight and desolation
which they bring to a land, it was one of especial severity upon those
who had to bear the burden of such undertakings.Not only was the
standard of living brought low, and the comforts of life reduced to
the bare necessities, but manners were as disastrously affected as
was the economy of the realm.Crime and violence stalked through the
country, seemingly under no restraint; and from the prevalence of
deeds of violence, it is very clear that law was not only ineffectual,
but that public sentiment was not strong enough to create a better
state of affairs.The condition was not unlike that which prevailed
in Ireland at the beginning of the nineteenth century.Mary journeyed to the garden.Women were
the chief sufferers from the prevalent lawlessness.They were seized
at night, and, after being dishonored, were compelled to go to the
church, where the priest, under threats and despite the protests
of the victims, performed the ceremony which linked them to their
captors.It mattered little if the woman happened to be already
married, as such proceedings were supposed by many to constitute
a sufficient divorce.Rent riots were of everyday occurrence, and
murders were not unusual.It was not altogether the poor who were
involved in such deeds of violence, as there were among them agitators
from the upper classes, who not only urged them on, but themselves
took part in all such outrages.Often murders and other forms of
violence grew out of the practice of men of quality having about them
bands of retainers who were frequently the roughest of characters,
including men under indictment for capital offences.No class was
quite secure from the disorderly elements of the population, but the
women of the country districts were more frequently the sufferers than
were their sisters of the towns.The great increase of sensuality, the low esteem in which women were
held, and the little regard they manifested for their own characters,
showed the decadence into which the spirit of chivalry had fallen.Being a child of feudalism, with the decay of that system it went
into eclipse.Nevertheless, chivalry contributed to English life
real benefits, apart from the elevation of women, and these remained
permanent factors in the character of the nation.CHAPTER IX
THE WOMEN OF THE TRANSITION PERIOD
The authorities upon whom we depend for information as to
the condition of the industrial classes--particularly the
agricultural--during the fifteenth century are in such hopeless
conflict that it is impossible to do more than follow the views
of some one of them, with such modifications and checks as may be
reasonably introduced from the others.The picture already drawn of
the utterly miserable condition of the peasantry during that century
is not ratified by all the writers, and yet the interpretation of
the data, conflicting as it is, must lead to the conclusion that the
condition of that class of English society was far from being roseate,
and that, in the main, it would be difficult to overdraw the misery
which existed; but this condition was ameliorated to some extent
by the introduction into rural districts of domestic manufactures,
after the decay of agriculture.The compensation that accrued to the
peasantry by a growth in the clothing trade counterbalanced, in a
measure, their other losses, while it also brought the rural districts
into industrial relation with the towns and aided in bridging the
chasm between the two.The industry was of a nature to enlist the
activities of the women of the households and to bring them into
contact with the commercial life of the nation, in a lesser degree
than their sisters of the craft guilds, it is true, but still in a
way that had an important bearing upon the industrial history of the
country.The Wars of the Roses, which had been so destructive to the nobility,
and the tendency of the crown to depend upon the gentry as a balance
to the power of the feudal barons, aided in making more certain and
rapid the advance of the middle class.The style of living is a sure
index of the degree of prosperity; there was a great increase in the
number as well as in the size of the houses which ranked in importance
between the castle of the baron and the cottage of the peasant.Also,
we meet with a change for the better in the equipment of such houses.Instead of a few pieces of furniture, rude and primitive, it is not
unusual in the inventories of this time to find complete suits of
furniture for the various rooms of the house.All of the country
gentlemen and more prosperous burghers possessed quantities of plate.The custom of having but one bedroom, or two at most, and obliging
guests and servants to sleep in the great hall or in rude shacks
temporarily erected for their accommodation, was no longer common in
this class of society.With the increase of the number of rooms in the
houses, the importance of the hall diminished.Town and country houses
alike were now generally built around an interior court, into which
the rooms looked |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | This was not simply an architectural
change, but was due to the necessity of studying security on account
of the disturbed state of society.Men were beginning to appreciate
good houses, and the women had greater resources in the way of
household utensils and furnishings, particularly in those pertaining
to the kitchen.The glittering rows of pewter and plate were a source
of great satisfaction to housewives, and were largely depended upon to
establish their claim to social distinction.The art of making bricks,
which had been lost since the departure of the Romans from Britain,
was revived, and the establishment of brickkilns stimulated building.By the end of the fifteenth century, the domestic house was entirely
differentiated from the castle.The materials for dwellings were of
the sort readiest to hand.In the eastern counties, where clay was
more abundant than stone, bricks were commonly used, while elsewhere
the houses were built of stone or wood.The dwellings of the fifteenth century were commodious and convenient.A typical country house may be described as follows: a door on the
ground floor led into the hall, while a staircase on the outside led
to the first floor proper.Mary went to the bathroom.Inside the door at the head of the stairs
was to be found a shorter staircase, which led to the floor on which
were situated the chambers.John travelled to the hallway.Passing into the hall, the visitor would
find himself in the most spacious apartment of the house.John moved to the kitchen.It remained
as it had been throughout the Middle Ages, the public room, open to
all who were admitted within the precincts of the establishment.The
permanent furniture consisted chiefly of benches, and a seat with a
back to it, which was used by the superior members of the family.In
the hall there was usually at least one table which was a fixture, but
the other tables continued to be made up from planks and trestles when
needed.Cushions and ornamental cloths to place over the seats and
backs of benches were in general use, and on special occasions the
tapestries, some of which had been in the families for generations,
were brought out, though apparently they were not used on ordinary
occasions.The sideboard was one of the most familiar articles of
furniture, and upon it was arranged the plate, which was in charge of
the butler, and was intended as much for display as for use.In the
large mansions, as in the castles, the hall was not complete without
the minstrels' gallery and a dais; though inconveniently large, it
was well warmed and lighted, and the walls were often decorated with
stags' antlers on which to hang the men's hats and caps, hunting horns
and such accessories of the chase, beside which were suspended arms
and armor and fishing nets; while on the sideboard might be found
writing materials and a book or two.The fresh rushes with which the
floor was strewn gave forth, when first placed, a refreshing smell
when crushed by the foot.The setting of the table was much the same as it had been.Knives
were not ordinarily placed upon it, because of the custom of the
times for each person to carry his own knife.Salt was regarded with
superstition, and it was thought desirable that it should be placed
upon the table before other comestibles.There was little attempt to
keep the tiled floor clean except by strewing it with rushes, and for
guests or members of the household to throw bones or other debris of
the table upon the floor was not looked upon as an offence against
manners; indeed, dogs were almost invariably present, and awaited,
as customary, their meals at the hands of the guests.However, the
directions for behavior at table instructed the person not to spit
upon the table, by which intimation it was delicately hinted that the
proper place upon which to expectorate was the floor.Mary went back to the hallway.Again, the guest
is told that when he makes sops in the wine, he must either drink all
the wine in the glass or else throw it on the floor.The uncleanliness
of the seats is also suggested by the instruction given the learner
in etiquette that he should always first look at the seat before
occupying it, to be sure there was nothing dirty upon it.Table
manners had lost some of their ceremony, but had retained all of their
rudeness.Forks were not used to convey food to the mouth, fingers
answering every purpose, but it was considered bad manners to eat with
a knife.Other rules for the table are curious enough, but are also
important as illustrating the manners of the century.Some of them
are too disgusting to mention; others, not open to this objection,
may be instanced.The guest was directed not to dip his meat in the
saltcellar to salt it, but to take a little salt with his knife and
put it on his meat, not to drink with a dirty mouth, not to offer
another person the remains of his pottage, not to eat too much cheese,
and to take only two or three nuts when they were placed before him.Still other rules are not without point, such as not to roll one's
napkin into a cord or tie it into knots, and not to get intoxicated
during dinner time!Let us now take a glance at the table service of a noble dame of the
period, where the extreme of etiquette may be expected to prevail.The
hunting horn having announced that the meal awaits the guests, squires
or pages bear to them scented water for the customary ablutions.This
is served in delicately wrought ewers, placed in silver basins.A
further touch of delicacy to the repast is often provided by perfumed
herbs scattered over the rich damask tablecloth.The guests are not
inconvenienced by the crowding of decorative vessels on the board.The
numerous courses are well served, for a superior domestic is charged
with this duty, and he is assisted by two varlets.At the sideboard
is a squire or page whose sole duty is to serve the wines and drinking
vessels; he too is assisted by a varlet, who places them before the
several guests.None of these attendants are required to leave the
hall, to which the officers of the kitchen and the cellar bring the
dishes and the wines.Daniel went back to the bedroom.During the meal the gallery is occupied by
the musicians, who, it is to be presumed, will serve to enliven the
formalities attendant on the scene.The parlor was a more pretentious
room than the hall, and was ornamented with more care.While it was a
usual feature of town houses of the period, it had been introduced so
comparatively late that its final position in the plan of the house
had not become fixed; sometimes it was upon the ground floor, and
sometimes upon the floor above, while the larger houses had several
such apartments.It had open recesses with fixed seats on each side
of the window, and the fireplace was smaller and more comforting than
those of the hall.When carpets came into use, the parlor was the
first room to be treated to the luxury, and it had the additional
distinction of being the only room that contained a cupboard.An
inventory of the furniture of the parlor of a fifteenth-century
house includes the following: a hanging of worsted, red and green; a
cupboard of ash boards; a table and a pair of trestles; a branch of
latten, with four lights; a pair of andirons; a pair of tongs; a form
to sit upon, and a chair.It will be seen from this list that the
furnishings for a parlor were not numerous, but they are suggestive
of a degree of comfort greatly in advance of that of prior centuries.This paucity of household furniture did not arise so much from the
inability to procure it as from the insecurity of the times.Margaret
Paston, in a letter to her husband, written in the reign of Edward
IV., says: "Also, if ye be at home this Christmas, it were well done
ye should do purvey a garnish or twain or pewter vessel, two basins
and two ewers, and twelve candlesticks, for ye have too few of any of
these to serve this place; I am afraid to purvey much stuff in this
place, till we be sure thereof."Wall paintings had come into use in the houses of the better sort,
and the hardwood finishings of the parlor and other important rooms
displayed elaborate carvings and a massiveness and dignity of scheme.Among the newer styles of chairs was one of the folding sort, which
exactly resembled our camp stools.Griffins, centaurs, and the like
were patterns for candle and torch holders, which were often of
wrought iron of an elaborate design.The branch of latten with four
lights, mentioned in the inventory quoted, referred to a sort of
chandelier, holding four candles, which was suspended from the centre
of the ceiling and was raised and lowered by means of a cord and
pulley.As the people began to lose taste for the hall, on account of its
publicity, they gradually withdrew from it to the parlors for many of
the purposes to which the hall had been originally devoted.The recess
seat at the windows was the favorite place for the female members
of the household when employed in needlework and other sedentary
occupations, and the apartment was commonly used for the family meals.In a little treatise dating at the close of the fifteenth century,
one of the speakers is made to say: "So down we came again into the
parlor, and there found divers gentlemen, all strangers to me; and
what should I say more, but to dinner we went."The table, we are
told, "was fair spread with diaper cloths, the cupboard garnished with
goodly plate."Also, the parlors relieved the bedchambers of many
of the uses to which they had been put, and secured to them greater
privacy.Largely because of the lack of any other place, ladies had
been accustomed to receive their friends in their bedchambers, but now
the parlor was used for a reception room, and there was spent much of
the time which the female part of the family had previously passed in
the bower or the chamber.Young ladies of even the great families were brought up very strictly
by their mothers, who kept them constantly at work and exacted from
them an almost slavish respect.It appears from the correspondence of
the Paston family, to which reference has been made, that the wife of
Sir William Paston, the judge, was a very harsh mother.Jane Claire,
a kinswoman, sent to John Paston, the lady's eldest son, an account
of the severe treatment of his sister Elizabeth at Mrs.The young lady was of marriageable age, and a man by the name
of Scroope had been suggested as her husband.Jane Claire writes:
"Meseemeth he were good for my cousin, your sister, without that ye
might get her a better; and if ye can get a better, I would advise you
to labour it in as short time as ye may goodly, for she was never in
so great a sorrow as she is now-a-days, for she may not speak with no
man, whosoever come, nor even may see nor speak with my man, nor with
servants of her mother's, but that she beareth her on hand otherwise
than she meaneth; and she hath since Easter the most part been beaten
once in a week, or twice, and sometimes twice in a day, and her head
broken in two or three places.Wherefore, cousin, she hath sent to me
by friar Newton in great council, and prayeth me that I would send to
you a letter of her heaviness, and pray you to be her good brother, as
her trust is in you."Elizabeth Paston's matrimonial desires were not
realized at this time, as she was transferred from the household of
her parents to that of the Lady Pole; this was in accordance with the
custom which we have already noticed of sending away young ladies to
great houses, where they received their education and served to fill
up the measure of pride of the great lady to whose train they were
attached.The larger the number of such maidens a lady could boast of,
the greater was her importance; nor did she hesitate to accept payment
for the board of those of whom she thus took charge, and from whom
she derived further profit by employing them at lace making or other
suitable work.Young ladies were taught to be very demure and formal in their
behavior in company, where they sat bolt upright, with their hands
crossed, or in other constrained attitudes.In a poem, written about
1430, entitled _How the Good Wife Taughte Hir Dougtir_, we have the
rules which were enforced upon girls for their conduct in society, and
particularly the advice which was tendered the girl with regard to her
marriage and her subsequent conduct.The love of God and attendance
upon church were enjoined, and in the performance of the latter duty
she was not to be deterred by bad weather.She was to give liberally
to alms, and while in attendance upon divine service was to pray and
not to chatter.All been sold ere it came to pass
This first old master with his last breath
Had freed the _parents_.--(He went to death
Agonized and in dire despair
That the poor slave _children_ might not share
Their parents' freedom.And wildly then
He moaned for pardon and died.Thus, with their freedom, and little sum
Of money left them, these two had come
North, full twenty long years ago;
And, settling there, they had hopefully
Gone to work, in their simple way,
Hauling--gardening--raising sweet
Corn, and popcorn.--Bird and bee
In the garden-blooms and the apple-tree
Singing with them throughout the slow
Summer's day, with its dust and heat--
The crops that thirst and the rains that fail;
Or in Autumn chill, when the clouds hung low,
And hand-made hominy might find sale
In the near town-market; or baking pies
And cakes, to range in alluring show
At the little window, where the eyes
Of the Movers' children, driving past,
Grew fixed, till the big white wagons drew
Into a halt that would sometimes last
Even the space of an hour or two--
As the dusty, thirsty travelers made
Their noonings there in the beeches' shade
By the old black Aunty's spring-house, where,
Along with its cooling draughts, were found
Jugs of her famous sweet spruce-beer,
Served with her gingerbread-horses there,
While Aunty's snow-white cap bobbed 'round
Till the children's rapture knew no bound,
As she sang and danced for them, quavering clear
And high the chant of her old slave-days--
"Oh, Lo'd, Jinny!my toes is so',
Dancin' on yo' sandy flo'!"Even so had they wrought all ways
To earn the pennies, and hoard them, too,--
And with what ultimate end in view?--
They were saving up money enough to be
Able, in time, to buy their own
Five children back.Mary journeyed to the garden.And the long delays and the heartaches, too,
And self-denials that they had known!But the pride and glory that was theirs
When they first hitched up their shackly cart
For the long, long journey South.--The start
In the first drear light of the chilly dawn,
With no friends gathered in grieving throng,--
With no farewells and favoring prayers;
But, as they creaked and jolted on,
Their chiming voices broke in song--
"'Hail, all hail!don't you see the stars a-fallin'?Mary went back to the office.Gideon[1] am
A healin' ba'm--
I belong to the blood-washed army.Gideon am
A healin' ba'm--
On my way!'"Daniel went back to the bathroom.And their _return!_--with their oldest boy
Along with them!Why, their happiness
Spread abroad till it grew a joy
_Universal_--It even reached
And thrilled the town till the _Church_ was stirred
Into suspecting that wrong was wrong!--
And it stayed awake as the preacher preached
A _Real_ "Love"-text that he had not long
To ransack for in |
office | Where is Mary? | And the son, restored, and welcomed so,
Found service readily in the town;
And, with the parents, sure and slow,
_He_ went "saltin' de cole cash down."So with the _next_ boy--and each one
In turn, till _four_ of the five at last
Had been bought back; and, in each case,
With steady work and good homes not
Far from the parents, _they_ chipped in
To the family fund, with an equal grace.Thus they managed and planned and wrought,
And the old folks throve--Till the night before
They were to start for the lone last son
In the rainy dawn--their money fast
Hid away in the house,--two mean,
Murderous robbers burst the door....Then, in the dark, was a scuffle--a fall--
An old man's gasping cry--and then
A woman's fife-like shriek....Three men
Splashing by on horseback heard
The summons: And in an instant all
Sprung to their duty, with scarce a word.Mary went to the bathroom.And they were _in time_--not only to save
The lives of the old folks, but to bag
Both the robbers, and buck-and-gag
And land them safe in the county-jail--
Or, as Aunty said, with a blended awe
And subtlety,--"Safe in de calaboose whah
De dawgs caint bite 'em!"--So prevail
The faithful!--So had the Lord upheld
His servants of both deed and prayer,--
HIS the glory unparalleled--
_Theirs_ the reward,--their every son
Free, at last, as the parents were!And, as the driver ended there
In front of the little house, I said,
All fervently, "Well done!At which he smiled, and turned his head
And pulled on the leaders' lines and--"See!"He said,--"'you can read old Aunty's sign?"And, peering down through these specs of mine
On a little, square board-sign, I read:
"Stop, traveler, if you think it fit,
And quench your thirst for a-fip-and-a-bit.The rocky spring is very clear,
And soon converted into beer."And, though I read aloud, I could
Scarce hear myself for laugh and shout
Of children--a glad multitude
Of little people, swarming out
Of the picnic-grounds I spoke about.--
And in their rapturous midst, I see
Again--through mists of memory--
A black old Negress laughing up
At the driver, with her broad lips rolled
Back from her teeth, chalk-white, and gums
Redder than reddest red-ripe plums.He took from her hand the lifted cup
Of clear spring-water, pure and cold,
And passed it to me: And I raised my hat
And drank to her with a reverence that
My conscience knew was justly due
The old black face, and the old eyes, too--
The old black head, with its mossy mat
Of hair, set under its cap and frills
White as the snows on Alpine hills;
Drank to the old _black_ smile, but yet
Bright as the sun on the violet,--
Drank to the gnarled and knuckled old
Black hands whose palms had ached and bled
And pitilessly been worn pale
And white almost as the palms that hold
Slavery's lash while the victim's wail
Fails as a crippled prayer might fail.--
Aye, with a reverence infinite,
I drank to the old black face and head--
The old black breast with its life of light--
The old black hide with its heart of gold.HEAT-LIGHTNING
There was a curious quiet for a space
Directly following: and in the face
Of one rapt listener pulsed the flush and glow
Of the heat-lightning that pent passions throw
Long ere the crash of speech.--He broke the spell--
The host:--The Traveler's story, told so well,
He said, had wakened there within his breast
A yearning, as it were, to know _the rest_--
That all unwritten sequence that the Lord
Of Righteousness must write with flame and sword,
Some awful session of His patient thought--
Just then it was, his good old mother caught
His blazing eye--so that its fire became
But as an ember--though it burned the same.It seemed to her, she said, that she had heard
It was the _Heavenly_ Parent never erred,
And not the _earthly_ one that had such grace:
"Therefore, my son," she said, with lifted face
And eyes, "let no one dare anticipate
The Lord's intent.While _He_ waits, _we_ will wait"
And with a gust of reverence genuine
Then Uncle Mart was aptly ringing in--
"'_If the darkened heavens lower,
Wrap thy cloak around thy form;
Though the tempest rise in power,
God is mightier than the storm!_'"
Which utterance reached the restive children all
As something humorous.And then a call
For _him_ to tell a story, or to "say
A funny piece."John travelled to the hallway.His face fell right away:
He knew no story worthy.Then he must
_Declaim_ for them: In that, he could not trust
His memory.And then a happy thought
Struck some one, who reached in his vest and brought
Some scrappy clippings into light and said
There was a poem of Uncle Mart's he read
Last April in "_The Sentinel_."He had
It there in print, and knew all would be glad
To hear it rendered by the author.And,
All reasons for declining at command
Exhausted, the now helpless poet rose
And said: "I am discovered, I suppose.Though I have taken all precautions not
To sign my name to any verses wrought
By my transcendent genius, yet, you see,
Fame wrests my secret from me bodily;
So I must needs confess I did this deed
Of poetry red-handed, nor can plead
One whit of unintention in my crime--
My guilt of rhythm and my glut of rhyme.--
"Maenides rehearsed a tale of arms,
And Naso told of curious metat_mur_phoses;
Unnumbered pens have pictured woman's charms,
While crazy _I_'ve made poetry _on purposes!_"
In other words, I stand convicted--need
I say--by my own doing, as I read.John moved to the kitchen.Mary went back to the hallway.UNCLE MART'S POEM
THE OLD SNOW-MAN
Ho!Daniel went back to the bedroom.the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!He looked as fierce and sassy
As a soldier on parade!--
'Cause Noey, when he made him,
While we all wuz gone, you see,
He made him, jist a-purpose,
Jist as fierce as he could be!--
But when we all got _ust_ to him,
Nobody wuz afraid
Of the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!'Cause Noey told us 'bout him
And what he made him fer:--
He'd come to feed, that morning
He found we wuzn't here;
And so the notion struck him,
When we all come taggin' home
'Tud _s'prise_ us ef a' old Snow-Man
'Ud meet us when we come!So, when he'd fed the stock, and milked,
And ben back home, and chopped
His wood, and et his breakfast, he
Jist grabbed his mitts and hopped
Right in on that-air old Snow-Man
That he laid out he'd make
Er bust a trace _a-tryin_'--jist
Fer old-acquaintance sake!--
But work like that wuz lots more fun.the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!He started with a big snow-ball,
And rolled it all around;
And as he rolled, more snow 'ud stick
And pull up off the ground.--
He rolled and rolled all round the yard--
'Cause we could see the _track_,
All wher' the snow come off, you know,
And left it wet and black.He got the Snow-Man's _legs-part_ rolled--
In front the kitchen-door,--
And then he hat to turn in then
And roll and roll some more!--
He rolled the yard all round agin,
And round the house, at that--
Clean round the house and back to wher'
The blame legs-half wuz at!He said he missed his dinner, too--
Jist clean fergot and stayed
There workin'.the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!And Noey said he hat to _hump_
To git the _top-half_ on
The _legs-half!_--When he _did_, he said,
His wind wuz purt'-nigh gone.--
He said, I jucks!he jist drapped down
There on the old porch-floor
And panted like a dog!--And then
He up!Mary journeyed to the garden.Mary went back to the office.and rolled some more!--
The _last_ batch--that wuz fer his head,--
And--time he'd got it right
And clumb and fixed it on, he said--
He hat to quit fer night!--
And _then_, he said, he'd kep' right on
Ef they'd ben any _moon_
To work by!So he crawled in bed--
And _could_ a-slep' tel _noon_,
He wuz so plum wore out!Daniel went back to the bathroom.he said,--
But it wuz washin'-day,
And hat to cut a cord o' wood
'Fore he could git away!But, last, he got to work agin,--
With spade, and gouge, and hoe,
And trowel, too--(All tools 'ud do
What _Noey_ said, you know!)He cut his eyebrows out like cliffs--
And his cheekbones and chin
Stuck _furder_ out--and his old _nose_
Stuck out as fur-agin!He made his eyes o' walnuts,
And his whiskers out o' this
Here buggy-cushion stuffin'--_moss_,
The teacher says it is.And then he made a' old wood'-gun,
Set keerless-like, you know,
Acrost one shoulder--kindo' like
Big Foot, er Adam Poe--
Er, mayby, Simon Girty,
The dinged old Renegade!_Wooh!_ the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!And there he stood, all fierce and grim,
A stern, heroic form:
What was the winter blast to him,
And what the driving storm?--
What wonder that the children pressed
Their faces at the pane
And scratched away the frost, in pride
To look on him again?--
What wonder that, with yearning bold,
Their all of love and care
Went warmest through the keenest cold
To that Snow-Man out there!But the old Snow-Man--
What a dubious delight
He grew at last when Spring came on
And days waxed warm and bright.--
Alone he stood--all kith and kin
Of snow and ice were gone;--
Alone, with constant teardrops in
His eyes and glittering on
His thin, pathetic beard of black--
Grief in a hopeless cause!--
Hope--hope is for the man that _dies_--
What for the man that _thaws!_
O Hero of a hero's make!--
Let _marble_ melt and fade,
But never _you_--you old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!"LITTLE JACK JANITOR"
And there, in that ripe Summer-night, once more
A wintry coolness through the open door
And window seemed to touch each glowing face
Refreshingly; and, for a fleeting space,
The quickened fancy, through the fragrant air,
Saw snowflakes whirling where the roseleaves were,
And sounds of veriest jingling bells again
Were heard in tinkling spoons and glasses then.Sandra moved to the hallway.Thus Uncle Mart's old poem sounded young
And crisp and fresh and clear as when first sung,
Away back in the wakening of Spring
When his rhyme and the robin, chorusing,
Rumored, in duo-fanfare, of the soon
Invading johnny-jump-ups, with platoon
On platoon of sweet-williams, marshaled fine
To bloomed blarings of the trumpet-vine.The poet turned to whisperingly confer
A moment with "The Noted Traveler."Then left the room, tripped up the stairs, and then
An instant later reappeared again,
Bearing a little, lacquered box, or chest,
Which, as all marked with curious interest,
He gave to the old Traveler, who in
One hand upheld it, pulling back his thin
Black lustre coat-sleeves, saying he had sent
Up for his "Magic Box," and that he meant
To test it there--especially to show
_The Children_."It is _empty now_, you know."--
He humped it with his knuckles, so they heard
The hollow sound--"But lest it be inferred
It is not _really_ empty, I will ask
_Little Jack Janitor_, whose pleasant task
It is to keep it ship-shape."Then he tried
And rapped the little drawer in the side,
And called out sharply "Are you in there, Jack?"And then a little, squeaky voice came back,--
"_Of course I'm in here--ain't you got the key
Turned on me!_"
Then the Traveler leisurely
Felt through his pockets, and at last took out
The smallest key they ever heard about!--
It,wasn't any longer than a pin:
And this at last he managed to fit in
The little keyhole, turned it, and then cried,
"Is everything swept out clean there inside?""_Open the drawer and see!--Don't talk to much;
Or else_," the little voice squeaked, "_talk in Dutch--
You age me, asking questions!_"
Then the man
Looked hurt, so that the little folks began
To feel so sorry for him, he put down
His face against the box and had to frown.--
"Come, sir!"he called,--"no impudence to _me!_--
You've swept out clean?""_Open the drawer and see!_"
And so he drew the drawer out: Nothing there,
But just the empty drawer, stark and bare.He shoved it back again, with a shark click.--
"_Ouch!_" yelled the little voice--"_un-snap it--quick!--
You've got my nose pinched in the crack!_"
And then
The frightened man drew out the drawer again,
The little voice exclaiming, "_Jeemi-nee!--
Say what you want, but please don't murder me!_"
"Well, then," the man said, as he closed the drawer
With care, "I want some cotton-batting for
My supper!John went back to the bedroom.And inside,
All muffled like, the little voice replied,
"_Open the drawer and |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | He then asked for a candle to be brought
And held for him: and tuft by tuft he caught
And lit the cotton, and, while blazing, took
It in his mouth and ate it, with a look
Of purest satisfaction."Now," said he,
"I've eaten the drawer empty, let me see
What this is in my mouth:" And with both hands
He began drawing from his lips long strands
Of narrow silken ribbons, every hue
And tint;--and crisp they were and bright and new
As if just purchased at some Fancy-Store."And now, Bub, bring your cap," he said, "before
Something might happen!"And he stuffed the cap
Full of the ribbons."_There_, my little chap,
Hold _tight_ to them," he said, "and take them to
The ladies there, for they know what to do
With all such rainbow finery!"He smiled
Half sadly, as it seemed, to see the child
Open his cap first to his mother..... There
Was not a ribbon in it anywhere!"_Jack Janitor!_" the man said sternly through
The Magic Box--"Jack Janitor, did _you_
Conceal those ribbons anywhere?""_Well, yes,_"
The little voice piped--"_but you'd never guess
The place I hid 'em if you'd guess a year!_"
"Well, won't you _tell_ me?""_Not until you clear
Your mean old conscience_" said the voice, "_and make
Me first do something for the Children's sake._"
"Well, then, fill up the drawer," the Traveler said,
"With whitest white on earth and reddest red!--
Your terms accepted--Are you satisfied?""_Open the drawer and see!_" the voice replied.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom."_Why, bless my soul!_"--the man said, as he drew
The contents of the drawer into view--
"It's level-full of _candy!_--Pass it 'round--
Jack Janitor shan't steal _that_, I'll be bound!"--
He raised and crunched a stick of it and smacked
His lips.--"Yes, that _is_ candy, for a fact!--
And it's all _yours!_"
And how the children there
Lit into it!--O never anywhere
Was such a feast of sweetness!"And now, then,"
The man said, as the empty drawer again
Slid to its place, he bending over it,--
"Now, then, Jack Janitor, before we quit
Our entertainment for the evening, tell
Us where you hid the ribbons--can't you?""_Well,_"
The squeaky little voice drawled sleepily--
"_Under your old hat, maybe.--Look and see!_"
All carefully the man took off his hat:
But there was not a ribbon under that.--
He shook his heavy hair, and all in vain
The old white hat--then put it on again:
"Now, tell me, _honest_, Jack, where _did_ you hide
The ribbons?""_Under your hat_" the voice replied.--
"_Mind!I said 'under' and not 'in' it.--Won't
You ever take the hint on earth?--or don't
You want to show folks where the ribbons at?--
Law!but I'm sleepy!--Under--unner your hat!_"
Again the old man carefully took off
The empty hat, with an embarrassed cough,
Saying, all gravely to the children: "You
Must promise not to _laugh_--you'll all _want_ to--
When you see where Jack Janitor has dared
To hide those ribbons--when he might have spared
My feelings.--But no matter!--Know the worst--
Here are the ribbons, as I feared at first."--
And, quick as snap of thumb and finger, there
The old man's head had not a sign of hair,
And in his lap a wig of iron-gray
Lay, stuffed with all that glittering array
Of ribbons... "Take 'em to the ladies--Yes.Good-night to everybody, and God bless
The Children."In a whisper no one missed
The Hired Man yawned: "He's a vantrilloquist"
* * * * *
So gloried all the night Each trundle-bed
And pallet was enchanted--each child-head
Was packed with happy dreams.And long before
The dawn's first far-off rooster crowed, the snore
Of Uncle Mart was stilled, as round him pressed
The bare arms of the wakeful little guest
That he had carried home with him....
"I think,"
An awed voice said--"(No: I don't want a _dwink_.--
Lay still.)--I think 'The Noted Traveler' he
'S the inscrutibul-est man I ever see!"[Footnote 1: _Gilead_--evidently.--[Editor.]I say
it because I know it from my own experience.And for the rest,
again I say, is not God your Father?Therefore, if any man be in
want of wisdom, or courage, or any other heavenly gift, let him ask
of God, who giveth liberally and upbraideth not, and he shall
receive it.For after all, when you ask God to teach you, and
strengthen you to do your duty, you do but ask Him for a part of
that very inheritance which He has already given you; a part of your
inheritance in that kingdom of heaven which is a kingdom of
spiritual gifts and graces, into which you were baptized as well as
your godchildren.Try then, each of you, what you can do to bring your own godchildren
to confirmation, and what you can do to make them fit for
confirmation; for you are members one of another, and if you will
act as such, you will find strength to do your duty, and a blessing
in your day from that heavenly Father from whom every fatherhood in
heaven and earth, and yours among the rest, is named.John went to the kitchen.JUSTIFICATION BY FAITH
Ephesians ii.We all hold that we are justified by faith, that is, by believing;
and that unless we are justified we cannot be saved.And of all men
who ever believed this, perhaps those who gave us the Church
Catechism believed it most strongly.Nay, some of them suffered for
it; endured persecution, banishment, and a cruel death, because they
would persist in holding, contrary to the Romanists, that men were
justified by faith only, and not by the works of the law; and that
this was one of the root-doctrines of Christianity, which if a man
did not believe, he would believe nothing else rightly.Does it not
seem, then, something strange that they should never in this
Catechism of theirs mention one word about justifying or
justification?They do not ask the child, 'How is a man justified?'that he may answer, 'By faith alone;' they do not even teach him to
say, 'I am justified already.I am in a state of justification;'
but not saying one word about that, they teach him to say much more--
they teach him to say that he is in a state of salvation, and to
thank God boldly because he is so; and then go on at once to ask him
the articles of his belief.And even more strange still, they teach
him to answer that question, not by repeating any doctrines, but by
repeating the simple old Apostles' Creed.They do not teach him to
say, as some would now-a-days, 'I believe in original sin, I believe
in redemption through Christ's death, I believe in justification by
faith, I believe in sanctification by the Holy Spirit,'--true as
these doctrines are; still less do they bid the child say, 'I
believe in predestination, and election, and effectual calling, and
irresistible grace, and vicarious satisfaction, and forensic
justification, and vital faith, and the three assurances.'Whether these things be true or false, it seemed to the ancient
worthies who gave us our Catechism that children had no business
with them.They had their own opinions on these matters, and spoke
their opinions moderately and wisely, and the sum of their opinions
we have in the Thirty-nine Articles, which are not meant for
children, not even for grown persons, excepting scholars and
clergymen.Of course every grown person is at liberty to study
them; but no one in the Church of England is required to agree to
them, and to swear that they are true, except scholars at our old
Universities, and clergymen, who are bound to have studied such
questions.But for the rest of Englishmen all the necessary
articles of belief (so the old divines considered) were contained in
the simple old Apostles' Creed.Because, it seems to me, they were what Englishmen ought
to be--what too many Englishmen are too apt to boast of being in
these days, while they are not so, or anything like it--and that is,
honest men and practical men.They had taught the children to say
that they were members of Christ, children of God, and inheritors of
the kingdom of heaven; and they had taught the children, when they
said that, to mean what they said; for they had no notion that 'I
am,' meant 'I may possibly be;' or that 'I was made,' meant 'There
is a chance of my being made some time or other.'They would not
have dared to teach children to say things which were most probably
not true.So believing really what they taught, they believed also
that the children were justified.For if a child is not justified
in being a member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the
kingdom of heaven, what is he justified in being?Is not that
exactly the just, right, and proper state for him, and for every
man?--the very state in which all men were meant originally to be,
in which all men ought to have been?So they looked on these
children as being in the just, right, and proper way, on which God
looks with satisfaction and pleasure, and in which alone a man can
do just, right, and proper things, by the Spirit of Christ, which He
gives daily and hourly to those who belong to Him and trust in Him
and in His Father.But they knew that the children could only keep in this just, and
right, and proper state by trusting in God, and looking up to Him
daily in faith, and love, and obedience.They knew that if the
children, whether for one hour or for their whole lives, lost trust
in God, and began trusting in themselves, they would that very
moment, then and there, become not justified at all, because they
would be doing a thing which no man is justified in doing, and fall
into a state into which no man is justified in remaining for one
hour--that is, into an unjustifiable state of self-will, and
lawlessness, and forgetfulness of who and of what they were, and of
what God was to them; in one word, into a sinful state, which is not
a righteous, or just, or good, or proper state for any man, but an
utterly unrighteous, unjust, wrong, improper, mistaken, diseased
state, which is certain to breed unrighteous, unjust, improper
actions in a man, as a limb is certain to corrupt if it be cut off
from the body, as a little child is certain to come to harm if it
runs away from its parents, and does just what it likes, and eats
whatsoever pleases its fancy.So these old divines, being practical
men, said to themselves, 'These children are justified and right in
being what they are, therefore our business is to keep them what
they are, and we can only do that as long as they have faith in God
and in His Christ.'Now, if they had been mere men of books, they would have said to
themselves, 'Then we must teach the children very exactly what faith
is, that they may know how to tell true faith from false, and may be
able to judge every day and hour whether they have the right sort of
faith which will justify them, or some wrong sort which will not.'And many wise and good men in those times did say so, and tormented
their own minds, and the minds of weak brethren, with long arguments
and dry doctrines about faith, till, in their eagerness to make out
what sort of thing faith ought to be, they seemed quite to forget
that it must be faith in God, and so seemed to forget too who God
was, and what He was like.Therefore, they ended by making people
believe (as too many, I fear, do now-a-days) not that they were
justified freely by the grace of God, shown forth in the life, and
death, and resurrection of his Son Jesus Christ; no: but that they
were justified by believing in justification by faith, and that
their salvation depended not on being faithful to God and trusting
in Him, but in standing up fiercely for the doctrine of
justification by faith.And so they destroyed the doctrine of free
grace, while they thought they were fighting for it; for they taught
men not to look to God for salvation, so much as to their own faith,
their own frames, and feelings, and experiences; and these, as
common sense will show you, are just as much something in a man, as
acts of his own, and part of him, as his good works would be; and so
by making people fancy that it was having the right sort of feelings
which justified them, they fell back into the very same mistake as
the <DW7>s against whom they were so bitter, namely, that it is
something in a man's self which justifies him, and not simply
Christ's merits and God's free grace.But our old Reformers were of a different mind; and everlasting
thanks be to Almighty God that they were so.For by being so they
have made the Church of England (as I always have said, and always
will say) almost the only Church in Europe, Protestant or other,
which thoroughly and fully stands up for free grace, and
justification by faith alone.For these old Reformers were
practical men, and took the practical way.They knew, perhaps, the
old proverb, 'A man need not be a builder to live in a house.'At
least they acted on it, and instead of trying to make the children
understand what faith was made up of, they tried to make them live
in faith itself.Instead of saying, 'How shall we make the children
have faith in God by telling them what faith is?'they said, 'How
shall we make them have faith in God by telling them what God is?'And therefore, instead of puzzling and fretting the children's minds
with any of the controversies which were then going on between
<DW7>s and Protestants, or afterwards between Calvinists and
Arminians, they taught the children simply about God; who He was,
and what He had done for them and all mankind; that so they might
learn to love Him, and look up to Him in faith, and trust utterly to
Him, and so remain justified and right, saved and safe for ever.By doing which, my friends, they showed that they knew more about
faith and about God than if they had written books on books of
doctrinal arguments (though they wrote those too, and wrote them
nobly and well); they showed that they had true faith in God, such
trust in Him, and in the beauty and goodness, justice and love,
which He had shown, that they only needed to tell the children of
it, and they would trust Him too, and at once have faith in so good
a God.They showed that they had such trust in the excellencies,
and reasonableness, and fitness of His Gospel, that they were sure
that it would come home at once to the children's hearts.They
showed that they had such trust in the power of His grace, in His
love for the children, in the working of His Spirit in the children,
that He would bring His Gospel home to their hearts, and stir them
up by the spirit of adoption to feel that they were indeed the
children of God, to whom they might freely cry, 'My Father!'I say that experience has
shown that they were |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Church schools fail, ere now, in
training good children; but as far as I have seen, they have failed
either because the Catechism was neglected for the sake of cramming
the children's brains with scholarship, or because the Catechism was
not honestly taught: because the words were taught by rote, but the
explanations which were given of it were no explanations at all, but
another doctrine, which our forefathers knew not: either Dissenting
or Popish; either a religion of fancies, and feelings, and
experiences, or one of superstitious notions and superstitious
ceremonies which have been borrowed from the Church of Rome, and
which, I trust in God, will be soon returned to their proper owner,
if the free, truthful, God-trusting English spirit is to remain in
our children.I know that there are good men among Dissenters, my
friends; good men among Romanists.I have met with them, and I
thank God for them; and what may not be good for English children
may be good for foreign ones.I judge not; to his own master each
man stands or falls.But I warn you frankly, from experience (not
of my own merely--Heaven forbid!--but from the experience of
centuries past), that if you expect to make the average of English
children good children on any other ground than the Church Catechism
takes, you will fail.Of course there will be some chosen ones here
and there, whose hearts God will touch; but you will find that the
greater part of the children will not be made better at all; you
will find that the cleverer, and more tender-hearted will be made
conceited, Pharisaical, self-deceiving (for children are as ready to
deceive themselves, and play the hypocrite to their own consciences,
as grown people are); they will catch up cant words and phrases, or
little outward forms of reverence, and make a religion for
themselves out of them to drug their own consciences withal; while,
when they go out into the world, and meet temptation, they will have
no real safeguard against it, because whatsoever they have been
taught, they have not been taught that God is really and practically
their Father, and they His children.Perhaps those who have eyes
to see may have seen one or two in this very parish.Be that as it
may, I tell you, my friends, that your children shall be taught the
Church Catechism, with the plain, honest meaning of the words as
they stand.No less: but as God shall give me grace, no more.If
it be not enough for them to know that God, He who made heaven and
earth, is their Father; that His Son Jesus Christ redeemed them and
all mankind by being born of the Virgin Mary, suffering under
Pontius Pilate, being crucified, dead, and buried, descending into
hell, rising again the third day from the dead, ascending into
Heaven, and sitting on the right hand of God the Father Almighty, in
the intent of coming from thence to judge the living and the dead;
to believe in the Holy Spirit, in the holy universal Church in which
He keeps us, in the fellowship of all Saints in which He knits us
together; in the forgiveness of our sins which He proclaims to us,
in the resurrection of our body which He will quicken at the last
day, in the life everlasting which is His life,--if, I say, this be
not enough for them to believe, and on the strength thereof to trust
God utterly, and so be justified and saved from this evil world, and
from the doom and punishment thereof, then they must go elsewhere;
for I have nothing more to offer them, and trust in God that I never
shall have.DUTY AND SUPERSTITION
Micah vi.Wherewith shall I come before the Lord and bow
myself before the most High God?Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.Shall I come before him with burnt
offerings?Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams?Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression; the fruit of my
body for the sin of my soul?He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord
require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk
humbly with thy God?There are many now-a-days who complain of that part of the Church
Catechism which speaks of our duty to God and to our neighbour; and
many more, I fear, who shrink from complaining of the Church
Catechism, because it is part of the Prayer-book, yet wish in their
secret hearts that it had said something different about Duty.Some wonder why it does not say more about what are called
'religious duties,' and 'acts of worship,''mortification,'
'penitence,' and 'good works.'Others wonder no less why it says
nothing about what are called 'Christian frames and feelings,' and
'inward experiences.'For there is a notion abroad in the world, as there is in all evil
times, that a man's chief duty is to save his own soul after he is
dead; that his business in this world is merely to see how he can
get out of it again, without suffering endless torture after his
body dies.This is called superstition: anxiety about what will
happen to us after we die.Now if you look at the greater number of religious books, whether
Popish or Protestant, you will find that in practice the main thing,
almost the one thing, which they are meant to do, is to show the
reader how he may escape Hell-torments, and reach Heaven's pleasures
after he dies: not how he may do his Duty to God and his neighbour.They speak of that latter, of course: they could not be Christian
books at all, thank God, without doing so; but they seem to me to
tell men to do their Duty, not simply because it is right, and a
blessing in itself, and worth doing for its own sake, but because a
man may gain something by it after he dies.Therefore, to help
their readers to gain as much as possible after they die, they are
not content with the plain Duty laid down in the Bible and in the
Catechism, but require of men new duties over and above; which may
be all very good if they help men to do their real Duty, but are
simply worth nothing if they do not.I said just now that superstition means
anxiety about what will happen to us after we die.But people
commonly understand by superstition, religious ceremonies, like the
Popish ones, which God has not commanded.And that is not a wrong
meaning either; for people take to these ceremonies from over-
anxiety about the next life.The one springs out of the other; the
outward conduct out of the inward fear; and both spring alike out of
a false notion of God, which the Devil (whose great aim is to hinder
us from knowing our Father in Heaven) puts into men's minds.Man
feels that he is sinful and unrighteous; the light of Christ in his
heart shows him that, and it shows him at the same time that God is
sinless and righteous.'Then,' he says, 'God must hate sin;' and
there he says true.Then steps in the slanderer, Satan, and
whispers, 'But you are sinful; therefore God hates you, and wills
you harm, and torture, and ruin.'And the poor man believes that
lying voice, and will believe it to the end, whether he be Christian
or heathen, until he believes the Bible and the Sacraments, which
tell him, 'God does not hate you: He hates your sins, and loves
you; He wills not your misery but your happiness; and therefore
God's will, yea, God's earnest endeavour, is to raise you out of
those sins of yours, which make you miserable now, and which, if you
go on in them, must bring of themselves everlasting misery to you.'Of themselves; not by any arbitrary decree of God (whereof the Bible
says not one single word from beginning to end), that He will
inflict on you so much pain for so much sin: but by the very nature
of sin; for to sin is to be parted from God, in whose presence alone
is life, and therefore sin is, to be in death.Sin is, to be at war
with God, who is love and peace; and therefore to be in
lovelessness, hatred, war, and misery.John went to the kitchen.Sin is, to act contrary to
the constitution which God gave man, when He said, 'Let us make man
in our image, after our likeness;' and therefore sin is a disease in
human nature, and like all other diseases, must, unless it is
checked, go on everlastingly and perpetually breeding weakness, pain
and torment.And out of that God is so desirous to raise you, that
He spared not His only begotten Son, but freely gave Him for you, if
by any means He might raise you out of that death of sin to the life
of righteousness--to a righteous life; to a life of Duty--to a
dutiful life, like His Son Jesus Christ's life; for that must go on,
if you go on in it, producing in you everlastingly and perpetually
all health and strength, usefulness and happiness in this world and
all worlds to come.The fact is, that simply to do
right is too difficult for them, and too humbling also.They are
too proud to like being righteous only with Christ's righteousness,
and too slothful also; and so they go about like the old Pharisees,
to establish a righteousness of their own; one which will pamper
their self-conceit by seeming very strange, and farfetched, and
difficult, so as to enable them to thank God every day that they are
not as other men are; and yet one which shall really not be as
difficult as the plain homely work of being good sons, good fathers,
good husbands, good masters, good servants, good subjects, good
rulers.And so they go about to establish a righteousness of their
own (which can be no righteousness at all, for God's righteousness
is the only righteousness, and Christ's righteousness is the only
pattern of it), and teach men that God does not merely require of
men to do justly, and love mercy, and walk humbly with their God,
but requires of them something more.But by this they deny the
righteousness of God; for they make out that he has not behaved
righteously and justly to men, nor showed them what is good, but has
left them to find it out or invent it for themselves.For is it not
establishing a righteousness of one's own, to tell people that God
only requires these Ten Commandments of Christians in general, but
that if any one chooses to go further, and do certain things which
are not contained in the Ten Commandments, 'counsels of perfection,'
as they are called, and 'good works' (as if there were no other good
works in the world), and so do more than it is one's duty to do, and
lead a sort of life which is called (I know not why)'saintly' and
'angelic,' then one will obtain a 'peculiar crown,' and a higher
place in Heaven than poor commonplace Christian people, who only do
justly, and love mercy, and walk humbly with their God?And is it not, on the other hand, establishing a righteousness of
one's own, to say that God requires of us belief in certain
doctrines about election, and 'forensic justification,' and
'sensible conversion,' and certain 'frames and feelings and
experiences;' and that without all these a man has no right to
expect anything but endless torture; and all the while to say little
or nothing about God's requiring of men the Ten Commandments?For
my part, I am equally shocked and astonished at the doctrine which I
have heard round us here--openly from some few, and in practice from
more than a few--that because the Ten Commandments are part of the
Law, they are done away with, because we are not now under the Law
but under Grace.Is it not written, that not
one jot or tittle of the Law shall fail; and that Christ came, not
to destroy the Law, but to fulfil it?That it
was harm to break the Ten Commandments before Christ came, but no
harm to break them now?Do they mean that Jews were forbid to
murder, steal, and commit adultery, but that Christians are not
forbidden?One thing I am afraid they do mean, for I see them act
up to it steadily enough.That Jews were forbidden to covet, but
that Christians are not; that Jews might not commit fornication, but
Christians may; that Jews might not lie, but Christians may; that
Jews might not use false weights and measures, or adulterate goods
for sale, but that Christians may.My friends, if I am asked the
reason of the hypocrisy which seems the besetting sin of England, in
this day;--if I am asked why rich men, even high religious
professors, dare speak untruths at public meetings, bribe at
elections, and go into parliament each man with a lie in his right
hand, to serve neither God nor his country, but his political party
and his religious sect, by conduct which he would be ashamed to
employ in private life;--if I am asked why the middle classes (and
the high religious professors among them, just as much as any) are
given over to cheating, coveting, puffing their own goods by
shameless and unmanly boasting, undermining each other by the
dirtiest means, while the sons of religious professors, both among
the higher and the middle classes, seem just as liable as any other
young men to fall into unmanly profligacy;--if I am asked why the
poor profess God's gospel and practise the Devil's works; and why,
in this very parish now, there are women who, while they are
drunkards, swearers, and adulteresses, will run anywhere to hear a
sermon, and like nothing better, saving sin, than high-flown
religious books;--if I am asked, I say, why the old English honesty
which used to be our glory and our strength, has decayed so much of
late years, and a hideous and shameful hypocrisy has taken the place
of it, I can only answer by pointing to the good old Church
Catechism, and what it says about our duty to God and to our
neighbour, and declaring boldly, 'It is because you have forgotten
that.Mary moved to the office.Because you have fancied
that it was beneath you to keep God's plain human commandments.You
have been wanting to "save your souls," while you did not care
whether your souls were saved alive, or whether they were dead, and
rotten, and damned within you; you have dreamed that you could be
what you called "spiritual," while you were the slaves of sin; you
have dreamed that you could become what you call "saints," while you
were not yet even decent men and women.'And so all this superstition has had the same effect as the false
preaching in Ezekiel's time had.It has strengthened the hands of
the wicked, that he should not turn from his wicked way, by
promising him life; and it has made the heart of the righteous sad,
whom God has not made sad.Plain, respectable, God-fearing men and
women, who have wished simply to do their duty where God has put
them, have been told that they are still unconverted, still carnal--
that they have no share in Christ--that God's Spirit is not with
them--that they are in the way to endless torture: till they have
been ready one minute to say, 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow
we die'--'Surely I have cleansed my hands in vain, and washed my
heart in innocency;' and the next minute to say, with Job, angrily,
'Though I die, thou shalt not take my righteousness from me!You
preachers may call me what names you will; but I know that I love
what is right, and wish to do my duty;' and so they have been made
perplexed and unhappy, one day fancying themselves worse than they
really were, and the next fancying themselves better than they
really were; and by both tempers of mind tempted to disbelieve God's
Gospel, and throw away the thought of vital religion in disgust.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.And now people are raising the cry that Popery is about to overrun
England.If it is so, I cannot wonder at
it; if it is so, Englishmen have no one to blame but themselves.And whether Popery conquers us or not, some other |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | For I tell you plainly they
are God's everlasting law, the very law of liberty, wherewith Christ
has made us free; and only by fulfilling them, as Christ did, can we
be free--free from sin, the world, the flesh, and the Devil.For to
break them is to sin: and whosoever commits sin is the slave of
sin; and whosoever despises these commandments will never enjoy that
freedom, but be entangled again in the yoke of bondage, and become a
slave, if not to open and profligate sins, still surely to an evil
and tormenting conscience, to superstitious anxieties as to whether
he shall be saved or damned, which make him at last ask,
'Wherewithal shall I come before the Lord?Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.Will the Lord be pleased
with this, that and the other fantastical action, or great sacrifice
of mine?'or at last, perhaps, the old question, 'Shall I give my
firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of
my soul?Shall I cheat my own family, leave my property away from
my children, desert them to shut myself up in a convent, or to
attempt some great religious enterprise?'--Things which have
happened a thousand times already, and worse, far worse, than them;
things which will happen again, and worse, far worse than them, as
soon as a hypocritical generation is seized with that dread and
terror of God which is sure to arise in the hearts of men who try to
invent a righteousness of their own, and who forget what God's
righteousness is like, and who therefore forget what God is like,
and who therefore forget what God's name is, and who therefore
forget that Jesus Christ is God's likeness, and that the name of God
is 'Love.'Now, I say that the Church Catechism, from beginning to end, is the
cure for this poison, and in no part more than where it tells us our
duty to God and our neighbour; and that it does carry out the
meaning of the text as no other writing does, which I know of, save
the Bible only.'He hath showed thee, O man, what is good.'Who but this very God, from whom thou art
shrinking; to whom thou art looking up in terror, as at a hard
taskmaster, reaping where He has not sown, who willeth the death of
a sinner, and his endless and unspeakable torment?The very God
whom thou dreadest has stooped to save and teach thee.He hath sent
His only begotten Son to thee, to show thee, in the person of a man,
Jesus Christ, what a perfect man is, and what He requires of thee to
be.This Lord Jesus is with thee, to teach thee to live by faith in
thy heavenly Father, even as He lived, and to be justified thereby,
even as He was justified by being declared to be God's well-beloved
Son, and by being raised from the dead.He will show thee what is
good; He has shown thee what is good, when He showed thee His own
blessed self, His story and character written in the four Gospels.This is thy God, and this is thy Lord and Master; not a silent God,
not a careless God, but a revealer of secrets, a teacher, a guide, a
'most merciful God, who showeth to man the thing which he knew not;'
that same Word of God who talked with Adam in the garden, and
brought his wife to him; who called Abraham, and gave him a child;
who sent Moses to make a nation of the Jews; who is the King of all
the nations upon earth, and has appointed them their times and the
bounds of their habitation, if haply they may feel after Him and
find Him; who meanwhile is not far from any one of them, seeing that
in Him they live, and move, and have their being, and are His
offspring; who has not left Himself without witness, that they may
know that He is one who loves, not one who hates, one who gives, not
one who takes, one who has pity, not one who destroys, in that He
gives them rain and fruitful seasons, filling their hearts with food
and gladness.from whose face thou desirest
to flee away.Next, 'He hath showed thee, O _man_.'Not merely, 'He hath showed
thee, O deep philosopher, or brilliant genius;'--not merely, 'He
hath showed thee, O eminent saint, or believer who hast been through
many deep experiences:' but, 'He hath showed thee, O _man_.'Whosoever thou art, if thou be a man, subsisting like Jesus Christ
the Son of Man, of a reasonable soul and human flesh; thou labourer
at the plough, tradesman in thy shop, soldier in the battle-field,
poor woman working in thy cottage, God hath showed thee, and thee,
and thee, what is good, as surely and fully as He has shown it to
scholars and divines, to kings and rulers, and the wise and prudent
of the earth.And He hath showed _thee_; not you.Not merely to the whole of you
together; not merely to some of you so that one will have to tell
the other, and the greater part know only at second-hand and by
hearsay: but He hath showed to thee, to each of you; to each man,
woman, and child, in this Church, alone, privately, in the depths of
thy own heart, He hath showed what is good.He hath sent into thine
heart a ray of The Light who lighteth every man who comes into the
world.John went to the kitchen.He has given to thy soul an eye by which to see that Light,
a conscience which can receive what is good, and shrink from what is
evil; a spiritual sense, whereby thou canst discern good and evil.That conscience, that soul's eye of thine, God has regenerated, as
He declares to thee in baptism, and He will day by day make it
clearer and tenderer by the quickening power of His Holy Spirit; and
that Spirit will renew Himself in thee day by day, if thou askest
Him, and will quicken and soften thy soul more and more to love what
is good, and strengthen it more and more to hate and fly from what
is evil.Mary moved to the office.Next, 'He hath showed thee, O man, what is GOOD.'Not merely what
will turn away God's punishments, and buy God's rewards; not merely
what will be good for thee after thou diest: but what is good, good
in itself, good for thee now, and good for thee for ever; good for
thee in health and sickness, joy and sorrow, life and death; good
for thee through all worlds, present and to come; yea, what would be
good for thee in hell, if thou couldst be in hell and yet be good.Not what is good enough for thy neighbours and not good enough for
thee, good enough for sinners and not good enough for saints, good
enough for stupid persons and not good enough for clever ones; but
what is good in itself and of itself.The one very eternal and
absolute Good which was with God, and in God, and from God, before
all worlds, and will be for ever, without changing or growing less
or greater, eternally The Same Good.The Good which would be just
as good, and just, and right, and lovely, and glorious, if there
were no world, no men, no angels, no heaven, no hell, and God were
alone in his own abyss.That very good which is the exact pattern
of His Son Jesus Christ, in whose likeness man was made at the
beginning, God hath showed thee, O man; and hath told thee that it
is neither more nor less than thy Duty, thy Duty as a man; that thy
duty is thy good, the good out of which, if thou doest it, all good
things such as thou canst not now conceive to thyself, must
necessarily spring up for thee for ever; but which if thou
neglectest, thou wilt be in danger of getting no good things
whatsoever, and of having all evil things, mishap, shame, and misery
such as thou canst not now conceive of, spring up for thee
necessarily for ever.This seems to me the plain meaning of the text, interpreted by the
plain teaching of the rest of Scripture.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.Now see how the Catechism
agrees with this.It takes for granted that God has showed the child what is good:
that God's Spirit is sanctifying and making good, not only all the
elect people of God, but him, that one particular child; and it
makes the child say so.Therefore, when it asks him, 'What is thy
duty to God and to thy neighbour?'it asks him, 'My child, thou
sayest that God's Spirit is with thee, sanctifying thee and showing
thee what is good, tell me, therefore, what good the Holy Spirit has
showed thee?--tell me what He has showed thee to be good, and
therefore thy duty?'But some may answer, 'How can you say that the Holy Spirit teaches
the children their Duty, when it is their schoolmaster, or their
father, who teaches them the Ten Commandments and the Catechism?'My friends, we may teach our children the Ten Commandments, or
anything else we like, but we cannot teach them that that is their
_duty_.They must first know what Duty means at all, before they
can learn that any particular things are parts of their Duty.And,
believe me, neither you nor I, nor all the men in the world put
together, no, nor angel, nor archangel, nor any created being, nor
the whole universe, can teach one child, no, nor our own selves, the
meaning of that plain word DUTY, nor the meaning of those two plain
words, I OUGHT.No; that simple thought, that thought which every
one of us, even the most stupid, even the most sinful has more or
less, comes straight to him from God the Father of Lights, by the
inspiration of the Holy Spirit of God, the Spirit of Duty, Faith,
and Obedience.For mind--when you teach a child, 'If you do this wrong thing--
stealing, for instance--God will punish you: but if you are honest,
God will reward you,' you are not teaching the child that it is his
Duty to be honest, and his Duty not to steal.You are teaching him
what is quite right and true; namely, that it is profitable for him
to be honest, and hurtful to him to steal: but you are not teaching
him as high a spiritual lesson as any soldier knows when he rushes
upon certain death, knowing that he shall gain nothing, and may lose
everything thereby, but simply because it is his Duty.You are only
enticing your child to do right, and frightening him from doing
wrong; quite necessary and good to be done: but if he is to be
spiritually honest, honest at heart, honest from a sense of honour,
and not of fear; in one word, if he is to be really honest at all,
or even to try to be really honest, something must be done to that
child's heart which nothing but the Spirit of God can do; he must be
taught that it is his DUTY to be honest; that honesty is RIGHT, the
perfectly right, and proper, and beautiful thing for him and for all
beings, yea, for God Himself; he must be taught to love honesty, and
whatsoever else is right, for its own sake, and therefore to feel it
his Duty.And I say that God does that by your children.Mary went to the kitchen.4:24, shows how this new man is created: “And that ye put on the
new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.”
Nothing is said about immortality even in connection with the new man.Again: The word here translated image (ἐικων) is defined by Greenfield,
as meaning by metonymy, “an exemplar, model, pattern, standard, Col.3:10.” No such definition as this is given by Gesenius to the word in
Genesis.So, though this Greek word may here have this sense, it affords
no evidence that the Hebrew word in Gen.1:26, 27, can refer to anything
else but the outward form.15:49, where the “image of the
heavenly,” which is promised to the righteous, is something which is not
in possession of the natural man, but will be attained through the
resurrection: “we _shall_ bear the image of the heavenly.” It cannot
therefore refer to the image stamped upon man at his creation, unless it
be admitted that that image, with all its included privileges, has been
lost by the human race--an admission fatal to the hypothesis of the
believers in the natural immortality of man.11:7, we read that man, as contrasted with the woman, is “the
image and glory of God.” To make the expression “image of God” here mean
immortality, is to confine it to man, and rob the better part of the
human race of this high prerogative.9:6, we read: “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his
blood be shed; for in the image of God made he man.” Substituting what
the image is here claimed to mean, we should have this very singular
reading: “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed;
for he made him immortal, and his life cannot be taken.” Evidently the
reference in all such passages is, not only to “the human face divine,”
but to the whole physical frame, which, in comparison with all other
forms of animated existence, is upright and godlike.But here the mystical interpretation of our current theology has thrown
up what is considered an insuperable objection to this view; for how can
man be physically in the image of God, when God is not a person, is
without form, and has neither body nor parts?In reply, we ask, Where
does the Bible say that God is a formless, impersonal being, having
neither body nor parts?Does it not say that he is a spirit?Yes; and we inquire again, Does it not say that the angels are spirits?And are not the angels, saying nothing of those instances
in which they have appeared to men in bodily form, and always in human
shape (Gen.18:1-8, 16-22; 32:24; Hos.22:31; Judges 13:6,
13; Luke 1:11, 13, 28, 29; Acts 12:7-9; &c., &c.), always spoken of as
beings having bodily form?A spirit, or spiritual being, as God is, in
the highest sense, so far from not having a bodily form, must possess
it, as the instrumentality for the manifestation of his powers.Again, it is urged that God is omnipresent; and how can this be, if he
is a person?Answer: He has a representative, his Holy Spirit, by which
he is ever present and ever felt in all his universe.“Whither shall I
go,” asks David, “from thy Spirit?or whither shall I flee from thy
presence?” Ps.And John saw standing before the throne of God
seven Spirits, which are declared to be “the seven Spirits of God,” and
which are “sent forth into all the earth.” Rev.We now invite the attention of the reader to a little of the evidence
that may be presented to show that God is a person, and so that man,
though of course in an imperfect and finite degree, may be an image, or
likeness of him, as to his bodily form.God has made visible to mortal eyes parts of his person.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.An immaterial being, if such a thing
can be conceived of, without body or parts, cannot be seen with mortal
eyes.To say that God assumed a body and shape for this occasion, places
the common view in a worse light still; for it is virtually charging
upon God a double deception: first, giving Moses to understand that he
was a being with body and parts, and, secondly, under the promise of
showing himself, showing him something that was _not_ himself.And he
told Moses that he would put his hand over him as he passed by, and then
take it away, that he might see his back parts, but not his face.If not, why try to convey ideas
by means of language?Again, Moses, Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and seventy of |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | “And there was under his feet as it were a
paved work of a sapphire stone.” Has he feet?Or is the record that
these persons saw them, a fabrication?No man, to be sure, has seen his
face, nor could he do it and live, as God has declared.33:20; John
1:18.Christ, as manifested among men, is declared to be the image of God,
and in his form.Christ showed, after his resurrection, that his
immortal, though not then glorified, body, had flesh and bones.Bodily he ascended into Heaven where none can presume to deny him
a local habitation.Acts 1:9-11; Eph.But Paul, speaking
of this same Jesus, says, “Who is the image of the invisible God, the
firstborn of every creature.” Col.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.Here the antithesis expressed
is between God who is invisible, and his image in the person of Christ
which was visible.It follows, therefore, that what of Christ the
disciples could see, which was his bodily form, was the image, to give
them an idea of God, whom they could not see.Again: “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who,
being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God.”
Phil.It remains to be told how Christ could be in the form of
God, and yet God have no form.Once more: “God who at sundry times, and in divers manners, spake in
time past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days
spoken unto us by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by
whom also he made the worlds; who being the brightness of his glory, and
the _express image of his person_,” &c. Heb.John went to the kitchen.It is an inspired declaration that God has a personal form;
and to give an idea of what that form is, it declares that Christ, just
as we conceive of him as ascended up bodily on high, is the express
image thereof.The evidence already presented shows that there is no necessity for
making the image of God in which man was created to consist of anything
else but bodily form.But to whatever else persons may be inclined to
apply it, Paul in his testimony to the Romans, forever destroys the
possibility of making it apply to immortality.1:22, 23:
“Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and changed the
glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible
man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things.” The word
here rendered uncorruptible is the same word that is translated immortal
and applied to God in 1 Tim.Now if God by making man in his image
stamped him with immortality, man is just as incorruptible as God
himself.But Paul says that he is not so; that while God is
uncorruptible or immortal, man is corruptible or mortal.The image of
God does not therefore, confer immortality.Mary moved to the office.1:27, states, in general terms, the form in which man was created,
as contrasted with other orders of animal life.2:7, the process
is described by which this creation was accomplished.Finding no proof
in the former passage that man was put in possession of immortality (see
preceding chapter) we turn to the latter text to examine the claims
based upon that.The verse reads: “And the Lord God formed man of the
dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life:
and man became a living soul.”
Here the advocates of man’s natural immortality endeavor to make a
strong stand, as it is very proper they should do; for certainly if in
that inspired record which describes the building up of man, the putting
together of the different parts or constituent elements of which he is
composed, there is no testimony that he was clothed with immortality,
and no hook furnished upon which an argument for such an attribute can
be hung, their whole system is shaken to its very foundation.The claim based upon this passage is that man is composed of two parts:
the body formed of the dust of the ground, and an immortal soul placed
therein by God’s breathing into the nostrils of that dust-formed body
the breath of life.We will let two representative men speak on this
point, and state the popular view.Thomas Scott, D. D., on Gen.2:7,
says:--
“The Lord not only gave man life in common with the other animals which
had bodies formed of the same materials; but immediately communicated
from himself the _rational soul_, here denoted by the _expression of
breathing into his nostrils the breath of life_.”
Adam Clarke, LL.2:7, says:--
“In the most distinct manner God shows us that man is a compound being,
having a body and soul distinctly and separately created, the body out
of the dust of the earth, _the soul immediately breathed from God
himself_.”
Critics speak of this expression in a different manner from theologians;
for whereas the latter make it confer immortality, and raise man in this
respect to the same plane with his Maker, the former speak of it as
suggestive of man’s frail nature, and his precarious tenure of life
itself.Conant says:--
“In whose nostrils is breath.Only breath, so frail a principle of life,
and so easily extinguished.”
And in a note on Isa.2:22, where the prophet says, “Cease ye from man
whose breath is in his nostrils; for wherein is he to be accounted of?”
he adds:--
“Not as in the common English version, ‘whose breath is in his
nostrils;’ for where else should it be?Sandra travelled to the bathroom.The objection is not to its
place in the body, which is the proper one for it, but to its _frail and
perishable nature_.”
To the same intent the psalmist speaks, Ps.146:3, 4: “Put not your
trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help._His
breath goeth forth_, he returneth to his earth; in that very day his
thoughts perish.”
But let us examine the claim that the “breath of life” which God
breathed into man conferred upon him the attribute of immortality.There
was nothing naturally immortal, certainly, in the dust of which Adam was
composed.Whatever of immortality he had, therefore, after receiving the
breath of life, must have existed in that breath in itself considered.Hence, it must follow that the “breath of life” confers immortality upon
any creature to which it is given.If not, they abandon the argument; for certainly it can confer no more
upon man than upon any other being.And if they do accept it, we will
introduce to them a class of immortal associates not very flattering to
their vanity nor to their argument; for Moses applies the very same
expression to all the lower orders of the animal creation.7:15, we read: “And they went in unto Noah into the ark, two and
two of all flesh, wherein is the breath of life.” It must be evident to
every one, at a glance, that the whole animal creation, including man,
is comprehended in the phrase “all flesh.” But verses 21 and 22 contain
stronger expressions still: “And all flesh died that moved upon the
earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping
thing that creepeth upon the face of the earth, and every man._All in
whose nostrils was the breath of life_, of all that was in the dry land,
died.”
Here the different orders of animals are named, and man is expressly
mentioned with them; and all alike are said to have had in their
nostrils the breath of life.It matters not that we are not told in the
case of the lower animals how this breath was conferred, as in the case
of man; for the immortality, if there is any in this matter, must
reside, as we have seen, in the breath itself, not in the manner of its
bestowal; and here it is affirmed that all creatures possess it; and of
the animals, it is declared, as well as of man, that it resides in their
nostrils.2:7, the “breath of life” as applied to man
is plural, “breath of lives” (see Clarke), meaning both animal life, and
that immortality which is the subject of our investigation.Mary went to the kitchen.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.But, we
reply, it is the same form in Gen.7:22, where it is applied to all
animals; and if the reader will look at the margin of this latter text
he will see that the expression is stronger still, “the breath of the
spirit of life” or of lives.The language which Solomon uses respecting both men and beasts strongly
expresses their common mortality: “For that which befalleth the sons of
men, befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth,
so dieth the other; yea, _they have all one breath_; so that a man [in
this respect] hath no pre-eminence above a beast; for all is vanity.All
go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.”
Eccl.Thus the advocates of natural immortality by appealing to Moses’ record
respecting the breath of life, are crushed beneath the weight of their
own arguments; for if “the breath of life” proves immortality for man,
it must prove the same for every creature to which it is given.The
Bible affirms that all orders of the animal creation that live upon the
land, possess it.Hence our opponents are bound to concede the
immortality of birds, beasts, bugs, beetles, and every creeping thing.We are sometimes accused of bringing man down by our argument to a level
with the beast.Sandra journeyed to the office.What better is this argument of our friends which brings
beasts and reptiles up to a level with man?Daniel went back to the bathroom.We deny the charge that we
are doing the one, and shall be pardoned for declining to do the other.CHAPTER V.
THE LIVING SOUL.Finding no immortality for man in the breath of life which God breathed
into man’s nostrils at the commencement of his mysterious existence, it
remains to inquire if it resides in the “living soul,” which man, as the
result of that action, immediately became.“And the Lord God formed man
of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of
life, and man became a living soul.” Gen.On this point also it is proper to let the representatives of the
popular view define their position.H. Mattison, on the verse just
quoted, says:--
“That this act was the infusion of a spiritual nature into the body of
Adam, is evident from the following considerations: The phrase,
‘breath of life,’ is rendered breath of lives by all Hebrew scholars.Not only did animal life then begin, but another and higher life which
constituted him not only a mere animal, but a ‘living soul.’ He was a
body before,--he is now more than a body, a soul and body united.If
he was a ‘soul’ before, then how could he become such by the last act
of creation?And if he was not a soul before, but now became one, then
the soul must have been superadded to his former material
nature.”--_Discussion with Storrs_, p.2:7, says:--
“In the most distinct manner God shows us that man is a _compound_
being, having a body and soul distinctly and separately created; the
body out of the dust of the earth, the soul immediately breathed from
God himself.”
To the same end see the reasonings of Landis, Clark (D.Aware of the importance to their system of maintaining this
interpretation, they very consistently rally to its support the flower
of their strength.It is the redan of their works, and they cannot be
blamed for being unwilling to surrender it without a decisive struggle.For if there is nothing in the inspired record of the formation of man,
that record which undertakes to give us a correct view of his nature, to
show that he is endowed with immortality, their system is not only
shaken to its foundation, but even the foundation itself is swept
entirely away.The vital point, to which they bend all their energies, is somehow to
show that a distinct entity, an intelligent part, an immortal soul, was
brought near to that body as it lay there perfect in its organization,
and thrust therein, which immediately began through the eyes of that
body to see, through its ears to hear, through its lips to speak, and
through its nerves to feel.Query: Was this soul capable of performing
all these functions before it entered the body?If it was, why thrust it
within this prison house?If it was not, will it be capable of
performing them after it leaves the body?Heavy drafts are made on rhetoric in favor of this superadded soul.Figures of beauty are summoned to lend to the argument their aid.An
avalanche of flowers is thrown upon it, to adorn its strength, or
perchance to hide its weakness.But when we search for the logic, we
find it a chain of sand.Right at the critical point, the argument fails
to connect; and so after all their expenditure of effort, after all
their lofty flights, and sweating toil, their conclusion comes
out--blank assumption.Because they are endeavoring to reach a
result which they are dependent upon the text to establish, but which
the text directly contradicts.The record does not say that God formed a
body, and put therein a superadded soul, to use that body as an
instrument; but he formed _man_ of the dust.That which was formed of
the dust was the man himself, not simply an instrument for the man to
use when he should be put therein.Adam was just as essentially a man
before the breath of life was imparted, as after that event.This was
the difference: before, he was a dead man; afterward, a living one.The
organs were all there ready for their proper action.It only needed the
vitalizing principle of the breath of life to set them in motion.That
came, and the lungs began to expand, the heart to beat, the blood to
flow, and the limbs to move; then was exhibited all the phenomena of
physical action; then, too, the brain began to act, and there was
exhibited all the phenomena of mental action, perception, thought,
memory, will, &c.
The engine is an engine before the motive power is applied.The bolts,
bars, pistons, cranks, shafts, and wheels, are all there.The parts
designed to move are ready for action.Apply the steam, and it springs, as it were, into a thing of life, and
gives forth all its marvelous exhibitions of celerity and power.When the breath of life was imparted, which, as we have
seen was given in common to all the animal creation, that simply was
applied which set the machine in motion.No separate and independent
organization was added, but a change took place in the man himself.The
man _became_ something, or reached a condition which before he had not
attained.The verb “became” is defined by Webster, “to pass from one
state to another; to enter into some state or condition, by a change
from another state or condition, or by assuming or receiving new
properties or qualities, additional matter or a new character.” And Gen.2:7, is then cited as an illustration of this definition.But it will be
seen that none of these will fit the popular idea of the superadded
soul; for that is not held to be simply a change in Adam’s condition, or
a new property or quality of his being, or an addition of matter, or a
new character; but a separate and independent entity, capable, without
the body, of a higher existence than with it.The boy becomes a man; the
acorn, an oak; the egg, an eagle; the chrysalis, a butterfly; but the
capabilities of the change all |
office | Where is Sandra? | A superadded, independent soul could not have been put into man, and
be said to have _become_ that soul.Yet it is said of Adam, that he, on
receiving the breath of life, _became_ a living soul.An engine is put
into a ship, and by its power propels it over the face of the deep; but
the ship, by receiving the engine, does not become the engine, nor the
engine the ship.No sophistry, even from the darkest depths of its
alchemy, can bring up and attach to the word “become” a definition which
will make it mean, as applied to any body, the addition of a distinct
and separate organization to that body.Mattison, “If he was ‘a soul’ before, then how
could he become such by the last act of creation,” it may be replied,
The antithesis is not based upon the word soul, but upon the word
living.This will become evident by trying to read the passage without
this word: “And the Lord God breathed into his nostrils the breath of
life, and man became a soul.” That is not it.He was a soul before, but not a living soul.To thus speak of a dead
soul, may provoke from some a sneer; nevertheless, the Hebrews so used
the terms.6:6: “He shall come at no dead body,” on which
Cruden says, “in Hebrew, dead soul.”
Kitto, in his Relig.Encyclopedia, under the term Adam, says:--
“And Jehovah God formed the man (Heb., the Adam) dust from the ground,
and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a _living
animal_.Some of our readers may be surprised at our having translated
_nephesh chaiyah_ by living animal.There are good interpreters and
preachers who, confiding in the common translation, living soul, have
maintained that here is intimated a distinctive pre-eminence above the
inferior animals, as possessed of an immaterial and immortal spirit.But, however true that distinction is, and supported by abundant
argument from both philosophy and the Scriptures, we should be acting
unfaithfully if we were to assume its being _contained_ or _implied_ in
this passage.”
The “abundant argument from both philosophy and the Scriptures” for
man’s immortal spirit, may be more difficult to find than many suppose.But this admission that nothing of the kind is implied in this passage,
is a gratifying triumph of fair and candid criticism over what has been
almost universally believed and taught.But we are not left to our own reasoning on this point; for inspiration
itself has given us a comment upon the passage in question; and
certainly it is safe to let one inspired writer explain the words of
another.15:44, and onward, is contrasting the first Adam with
the second, and our present state with the future.He says: “There is a
natural body and there is a spiritual body.And so it is written, The
first man Adam was made a living soul, the last Adam was made a
quickening spirit.” Here Paul refers directly to the facts recorded in
Gen.In verse 47, he tells us the nature of this man that was made
a living soul: “The first man is of the earth, earthy; the second man is
the Lord from Heaven.” In verse 49, he says, “And as we have borne the
image of the earthy,” have been, like Adam, living souls, “we shall also
bear the image of the heavenly,” when our bodies are fashioned like unto
his glorious body.In verses 50 and 53, he tells us why it
is necessary that this should be done, and how it will be accomplished:
“Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the
kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption.For this
corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on
immortality.”
Putting these declarations all together, what do we have?Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.We have a very
explicit statement that this first man, this living soul which Adam was
made, was of the earth, earthy, did not bear the image of the heavenly
in its freedom from a decaying nature, did not possess that incorruption
without which we cannot inherit the kingdom of God, but was wholly
mortal and corruptible.Would people allow these plain and weighty words
of the apostle their true meaning upon this question, it would not only
summarily arrest all controversy over the particular text under
consideration, but leave small ground, at least from the teachings of
the Scriptures, to argue for the natural immortality of man.But the terms “living soul” like the breath of life, are applied to all
orders of the animate creation, to beasts and reptiles, as well as to
man.The Hebrew words are _nephesh chaiyah_; and these words are in the
very first chapter of Genesis four times applied to the lower orders of
animals: Gen.1:20, 21, 24, 30.A. Clarke offers this
comment:--
“_Nephesh chaiyah_; a general term to express all creatures endued with
animal life, in any of its infinitely varied gradations, from the
half-reasoning elephant down to the stupid potto, or lower still, to the
polype, which seems equally to share the vegetable and animal life.”
This is a valuable comment on the meaning of these words.John went to the kitchen.He would have
greatly enhanced the utility of that information, if he had told us that
the same words are applied to man in Gen.Bush, in his notes on this latter text, says:--
“The phrase living soul is in the foregoing narrative repeatedly applied
to the inferior orders of animals which are not considered to be
possessed of a ‘soul’ in the sense in which that term is applied to man.It would seem to mean the same, therefore, when spoken of man, that it
does when spoken of beasts, viz.: an animated being, a creature
possessed of life and sensation, and capable of performing all the
physical functions by which animals are distinguished, as eating,
drinking, walking, &c.... Indeed it may be remarked that the Scriptures
generally afford much less _explicit_ evidence of the existence of a
sentient immaterial principle in man, capable of living and acting
separate from the body, than is usually supposed.”
And there is nothing in the term “living” to imply that the life with
which Adam was then endowed would continue forever; for these living
souls are said to die.16:3: “And every living soul died in the
sea.” Whether this means men navigating its surface or the animals
living in its waters, it is equally to the point as showing that that
which is designated by the terms “living soul,” whatever it is, is
subject to death.Staggered by the fact (and unable to conceal it) that the terms “living
soul” are applied to all animals, the advocates of man’s immortality
then undertake to make the word “became” the pivot of their argument.Man “became” a living soul, but it is not said of the beasts that they
became such; hence this must denote the addition of something to man
which the animals did not receive.And in their anxiety to make this
appear, they surreptitiously insert the idea that the animal life of man
is derived from the dust of the ground, and that something of a higher
nature was imparted to man by the breath of life which was breathed into
him, and the living soul which he became.Landis, in his work,
“The Immortality of the Soul,”[A] p.141, says: “Hence something was to
be added to the mere animal life derived from the dust of the ground.”
Now Mr.L. ought to know, and knowing, ought to have the candor to
admit, that no life at all is derived from the dust of the ground.All
the life that Adam had was imparted by the breath of life which God
breathed into his nostrils, which breath all breathing animals, no
matter how they obtained it, possessed as well as he.Footnote A:
“The Immortality of the Soul and the Final Condition of the Wicked
Carefully Considered.New York: Published by
Carlton and Porter.” This is a work of 518 pages, and being issued
under the patronage of the great Methodist Book Concern, we take it to
be a representative work, and shall occasionally refer to its
positions.No emphasis can be attached to the word “became:” for everything that is
called a living soul must by some process have become such.“Whatever
was or is first _became_ what it was or is.”
Take the case of Eve.She was formed of a rib of Adam, made of
pre-existent matter.It is not said of her that God breathed into her
nostrils the breath of life, or that she became a living soul; yet no
one claims that her nature was essentially different from that of Adam
with whom she was associated, as a fitting companion.And it will be further seen that this word “became” can have no value in
the argument, unless the absurd principle be first set up as truth, that
whatever becomes anything must forever remain what it has become.Defenders of the popular view, by such reasoning reduce their argument
to its last degree of attenuation; but here its assumption becomes so
transparent that it has no longer power to mislead, and needs no further
reply.2:7 (as in the preceding chapter), brings
directly before us for solution the question, What is meant by the terms
soul and spirit, as applied to man?Mary moved to the office.Some believers in unconditional
immortality point triumphantly to the fact that the terms soul and
spirit are used in reference to the human race, as though that settled
the question, and placed an insuperable embargo upon all further
discussion.This arises simply from their not looking into this matter
with sufficient thoroughness to see that all we question in the case is
the popular definition that is given to these terms.We do not deny that
man has a soul and spirit; we only say that if our friends will show
that the Bible anywhere attaches to them the meaning with which modern
theology has invested them, they will supply what has thus far been a
perpetual lack, and forever settle this controversy.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.Mary went to the kitchen.What do theologians tell us these terms signify?Buck, in his
Theological Dictionary, says: “Soul, that vital, immaterial, active
substance or principle in man whereby he perceives, remembers, reasons,
and wills.” On spirit, he says: “An incorporeal being or intelligence;
in which sense God is said to be a spirit, as are the angels and the
human soul.” On man, he says: “The constituent and essential parts of
man created by God are two: body and soul.The one was made out of dust;
the other was breathed into him.” This soul, he further says, “is a
spiritual substance;” and then, apparently feeling not exactly safe in
calling that a _substance_ which he claims to be _immaterial_, he
bewilders it by saying “subsistence,” and then adds, “immaterial,
immortal.”
This position strikes us as considerably open to criticism.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.On this
definition of “soul,” how can we deny it to the lower animals?for they
“perceive, remember, reason, and will.” And, if spirit means the “human
soul,” the question arises, Has man two immortal elements in his nature?for the Bible applies both terms to him at the same time.Sandra journeyed to the office.Daniel went back to the bathroom.Paul, to the
Thessalonians, says: “And I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body
be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Does
Paul here use tautology, by applying to man two terms meaning the same
thing?That would be a serious charge against his inspiration.Then has
man two immortal parts, soul and spirit both?This would evidently be
overdoing the matter; for, where one is enough, two are a burden.Mary went back to the office.And
further, on this hypothesis, would these two immortal parts exist
hereafter as two independent and separate beings?This idea being preposterous, one question more remains: Which of these
two is the immortal part?It cannot be
both; and it matters not to us which is the one chosen.But we want to
know what the decision is between the two.If they say that what we call
the soul is the immortal part, then they give up such texts as Eccl.12:7: “The spirit shall return to God who gave it;” and Luke 23:46,
“Into thy hands I commend my spirit,” &c. On the other hand, if they
claim that it is the spirit which is the immortal part, then they give
up such texts as Gen.35:18: “And it came to pass as her soul was in
departing (for she died);” and 1 Kings 17:21, “Let this child’s soul
come into him again.”
And, further, if the body and soul are both _essential_ parts of man, as
Mr.B. affirms, how can either exist as a distinct, conscious, and
perfect being without the other?John went back to the office.Foreseeing these difficulties, Smith, in his Bible Dictionary,
distinguishes between soul and spirit thus: “Soul (Heb.One of three parts of which man was anciently believed to
consist.The term ψυχὴ, is sometimes used to denote the vital principle,
sometimes the sentient principle, or seat of the senses, desires,
affections, appetites, passions.In the latter sense, it is
distinguished from πνευμα [_pneuma_], the higher rational nature.This
distinction appears in the Septuagint, and sometimes in the New
Testament.5:23.” Then he quotes Olshausen on 1 Thess.5:23, as
saying: “For whilst the ψυχὴ [soul] denotes the lower region of the
spiritual man,--comprises, therefore, the powers to which analogous ones
are found in _animal_ life also, as understanding, appetitive faculty,
memory, fancy,--the πνευμα [_pneuma_] includes those capacities which
constitute the true human life.”
So it seems that, according to these expositors, while the Hebrew
_nephesh_, and Greek _psuche_, usually translated soul, denote powers
common to all animal life, the Hebrew _ruach_, and the corresponding
Greek _pneuma_, signify the higher powers, and consequently that part
which is supposed to be immortal.Now let us inquire what meaning the sacred writers attach to these
terms.As already stated, the original words from which soul and spirit
are translated, are, for soul, _nephesh_ in the Hebrew, and _psuche_ in
the Greek, and for spirit, _ruach_ in the Hebrew, and _pneuma_ in the
Greek.To these no one is at liberty to attach any arbitrary meaning.We
must determine their signification by the sense in which they are used
in the sacred record; and whoever goes beyond that, does violence to the
word of God.The word _nephesh_ occurs 745 times in the Old Testament, and is
translated by the term soul about 473 times.In every instance in the
Old Testament where the word soul occurs, it is from _nephesh_, with the
exception of Job 30:15, where it comes from _n’dee-vah_, and Isa.57:16,
where it is from _n’shah-mah_.But the mere use of the word soul
determines nothing; for it cannot be claimed to signify an immortal
part, until we somewhere find immortality affirmed of it.Besides the word soul, _nephesh_, is translated life and lives, as in
Gen.1:20, 30, in all 118 times.23:8, |
bedroom | Where is John? | It is
translated body, or dead body, as in Num.It is
translated will, as in Ps.It is translated
appetite, as in Prov.23:2, twice; lust, as in Ps.78:18, twice; thing,
as in Lev.Besides the foregoing, it is rendered by the various pronouns, and by
the words, breath, beast, fish, creature, ghost, pleasure, desire, &c.,
in all forty-three different ways._Nephesh_ is never rendered spirit.This soul (_nephesh_) is represented as in danger of the grave, Ps.49:14, 15; 89:88; Job 33:18, 20, 22; Isa.It is also spoken of as
liable to be destroyed, killed, &c., Gen.10:30,
32, 35, 37, 39, &c.
Parkhurst, author of a Greek and a Hebrew Lexicon, says:--
“As a noun, _neh-phesh_ hath been supposed to signify the spiritual part
of man, or what we commonly call his soul.I must for myself confess
that I can find no passage where it hath undoubtedly this meaning.35:18; 1 Kings 17:21, 22; Ps.16:10, seem fairest for this
signification.But may not _neh-phesh_, in the three former passages, be
most properly rendered _breath_, and in the last, a breathing, or animal
frame?”
Taylor, author of a Hebrew Concordance, says that _neh-phesh_ “signifies
the animal life, or that principle by which every animal, according to
its kind, lives.1:20, 24, 30; Lev.Which animal life, so
far as we know anything of the manner of its existence, or so far as the
Scriptures lead our thoughts, consists in the _breath_, Job.41:21;
31:39, and in the _blood_.17:11, 14.”
Gesenius, the standard Hebrew lexicographer, defines _nephesh_ as
follows:--
“1.The vital spirit, as the Greek _psuche_, and Latin
_anima_, through which the body lives, _i.e._, the principle of life
manifested in the breath.” To this he also ascribes “whatever has
respect to the sustenance of life by food and drink, and the contrary.”
“3.The rational soul, mind, _animus_, as the seat of feelings,
affections, and emotions.living thing, animal in which is the
_nephesh_, life.”
The word soul in the New Testament comes invariably from the Greek ψυχή
(_psuche_); which word occurs 105 times.It is translated soul 58 times;
life, 40 times; mind, 3 times; heart, twice; us, once; and you, once.Spirit in the Old Testament is from two Hebrew words _n’shah-mah_ and
_ruach_.It is 17 times rendered breath, 3 times,
blast, twice, spirit, once, soul, and once, inspiration.d—n the parades; you must all go—you must all go.” And so we
started for our rooms and dressed and were off as usual.So long were
our dancing and parties continued that most of us were again absent from
parade the following morning.Our colonel still continued to send
sergeants to town to look for us, and to say he wished to see us
immediately.Soon after that, Captain Parker followed alone to smooth
the way and to prepare for our reception.This he effectually did by his
well-timed excuses and his courteous manner, so that when we arrived in
barracks the colonel was so perfectly satisfied that he only said he was
glad to hear that we enjoyed ourselves so much.This was latterly almost
an everyday occurrence, and I mention it here to show how happy young
men may be under a good and kind colonel.Mary moved to the garden.But all things must have an end, and so had our fun in Guernsey; for, as
I have already said, we all embarked in October for Barbados, leaving
our sweethearts and friends without coming to any positive understanding
as to the future.On our voyage we called at the Cove of Cork, where we
remained for some days, and were then joined by the 40th Regiment in
transports, bound for the West Indies and finally for New Orleans, and
here our good and much respected friend Colonel Coghlan left us and
retired on half-pay.I was at this time in command of one of our transports, and here must
notice an instance of true honesty that occurred.Being tired of
visiting the Cove, I agreed with some officers to take a run up to Cork
for a day or two; but, before leaving my ship, I gave orders to the
senior officer not to allow any of the men to go on shore.On my return
to the Cove I met some of the officers, who told me that my servant had
deserted, having got leave to land on the pretence of taking my clothes
to be washed.This alarmed me not a little, for I had then between three
and four hundred pounds belonging to the troops and to myself in one of
my trunks, in dollars and doubloons, and as I entrusted my servant, whom
I had long known, with my keys, I now made sure all was gone; I hurried
on board and found the door of my cabin locked, and, inquiring for the
key, an officer handed it to me, saying my man Henry gave it to him with
a request to let no one have it except his master, should I return
before he did.I instantly opened my cabin, and the first thing I
observed was my bunch of keys hanging by a piece of twine from the top
of the berth; I seized them with a trembling hand and heart, and
instantly opened the money trunk, and on counting my bags and treasure,
to the honour of poor Henry be it told, not one dollar was missing.Poor, honest Henry was never afterwards heard of by me, and I was glad
he had secured his escape, for had he been captured and brought back he
must have been severely punished.We finally sailed from the Cove of Cork escorted by a line-of-battle
ship and two small men-of-war, and for a day or two made good progress;
but we were then caught in a severe gale, right against us, and after
struggling for a day or two the sign was made by our commodore to return
to “port in view,” namely Bantry Bay, on which all the fleet put about,
and, led by the line-of-battle ship, steered direct for that safe and
splendid anchorage, which is very extensive within, but narrow and
dangerous at its entrance, so that not more than one ship can enter with
safety at a time.As we were passing in, one of our fleet, the _Baring_
transport, with the 40th Regiment on board, got so near the rocks that
she struck, and immediately after went broadside on, and finally became
a total wreck.My ship followed in her wake and passed within fifty
yards of the stranded vessel, and it being then early in the day, it was
most distressing and heart-rending to see the sufferers all in confusion
crying for help, which from our position it was quite impossible to
render, for we were obliged to run in, in order to save ourselves.So
was every other ship as she reached and entered the same narrow passage.But the men-of-war and other vessels which had got safely into the bay
soon sent their boats to the rescue, and all the soldiers and crew,
excepting about fifteen wretched men, women, and children who were
drowned in their hurry to jump on the rocks, were saved, but the ship
and nearly all the baggage and cargo were lost.I remember as we passed
the ill-fated ship seeing an officer’s wife standing and screaming on
the poop, her infant in her arms, and with no covering beyond her
nightdress; I heard afterwards that the child fell out of her arms and
was drowned, but she herself was saved.The survivors were encamped on
the beach for some days, and then were divided for a time amongst the
other transports, on which the whole fleet again returned to the Cove of
Cork to charter another vessel for the sufferers.About a week after that we sailed once more for our destination.The
weather was fair and beautiful until we arrived off Funchal, in Madeira,
and thence we had a dead calm.Some of my brother-officers from another
ship came on board, and being, as we supposed, close in to the town, we
proposed after dinner to go on shore.We had a lieutenant of the navy as
agent of transport in charge of us.As he made no objection to our
landing (believing the calm would continue until the following morning)
our captain consented, and ordered two boats to be manned, so eight of
us started on the clear understanding that we should return by daylight
next morning.John went to the bedroom.Our sailors, who were promised all sorts of drinks and
rewards, pulled most heartily, but the distance to the shore proved much
further than we expected, and a dark night overtook us; but still we
pushed on, and the brilliant lights in the town cheered us.At last we
reached the beach and found a heavy surf running in, and none of us knew
the proper place for landing; but the sailors, undaunted, assured us
there could be no danger, so one of the boats (not mine) took the lead,
and was no sooner in the surf than she was instantly upset and all her
passengers were seen struggling in the sea; but after a good ducking
they all got safe on shore, and also managed to secure their boat.My sailors wanted to try the same risk, but I would not allow them.Seeing a shore battery near us, we approached, and were challenged by a
Portuguese sentry, and answered, “English officers, who request to be
allowed to land.” This the sentry refused, and said his orders were to
allow no one to land.My knowledge of the language was now of some use
to me, and after talking to the sentry quietly and kindly and promising
him a dollar, the brave man suffered us at once to step on shore, and
showed us the way to the town.There we found our friends, still
dripping wet, but with some good wine before them.After refreshing
ourselves a little, we went to look after our boats and sailors, and
found all safe.We then gave them sufficient money to make them
comfortable, and urged them to leave one man at least as sentry over the
boats.This they promised to do, so we returned to our hotel, determined
to have our fun also.Soon after this the weather from a calm suddenly
changed to a strong wind and heavy rain, which continued to pour without
any change during the whole night.This damped our follies, but we were
up and at our boats before daylight next morning.These we found all
safe, but not a sailor to be seen anywhere; and when daylight appeared
not one of our ships was in sight.This was truly distressing and
alarming, but we had still hopes of seeing and overtaking our fleet, for
beyond the town, and in our course, a long promontory of land projected,
sufficient to conceal our ships from us, even if they were close behind
that obstruction.Without further delay we searched for our sailors and eventually found
them, but in such a state and humour from drink that they positively
refused to go to their boats, or any farther with us, saying that we all
had been dry and enjoying ourselves, while they were left hungry and wet
watching the boats.All our coaxing and entreaties had no effect, and
they got worse and worse and even insolent.At last large promises of
grog and money when we should reach our ships made some impression on
the best of them, and after many more oaths and much grumbling, the
others at last consented to go with us, still believing our ships could
not be far beyond the distant point.Our next care was (having had no
breakfast) to get some cold meat and bread and a couple of kegs of good
wine.Our boats were then launched, and off we started with three
cheers.It took us two good hours to pull round the point; then came our
great fear and alarm, for although the wide ocean was then clear as far
as the eye could reach, only one solitary ship was to be seen, and that
nearly hull down, in our direct course.Here the sailors again declared
they would not go one yard farther.Much conversation and many arguments
followed, and for a time we did not know what to do.To go back to
Funchal would be our ruin, and risk perhaps our commissions; moreover,
all our money was gone, and as we were strangers we did not know where
to get more.At last great promises were renewed, and after another and
another tumbler of wine our mutinous crew consented to try to make the
ship in sight.Fortunately the weather was moderate, and we had a light
breeze in our favour; by good luck, also, we had a few empty bags in our
boats, which were intended to carry off some vegetables to our ships;
with these the sailors managed to rig out some sails fixed upon oars;
this assisted them very much in their pulling, yet with all their
struggling and endless swearing it was not till four in the afternoon
that we managed to reach the ship, which we hoped to be our own, but,
alas!we were again disappointed, for she proved to be an American
whaler; but we were received most kindly, and provided at once with a
good dinner.From her deck another ship was in sight, about ten miles distant, which
the American captain assured us was one of our own convoy, and that he
had observed her all day, as our fleet went by, trying to remain as much
as possible behind, on the pretence of making repairs.This was
cheering, if we could but get our men to take again to their boats.At
last we prevailed, and off we started, the American captain giving us a
small cask of water and some rum to cheer us; and at seven o’clock that
evening, after a trying exposure and fatigue of eleven hours, we reached
the sail in sight (which proved to be our ship) in safety, thankful
indeed for our escape from the tremendous danger to which we had so
foolishly exposed ourselves.Had it come on to blow hard at such a
distance from the land, the chances were that we must have perished or
been starved to death from want of provisions.When we got on board our
fleet was just visible ahead from our decks, and it took us two days
under all sail to make up with them.------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XII
ST.VINCENT AND GUADELOUPE
Life in Barbados—I am appointed acting-paymaster—President of a
court-martial—Deputy judge-advocate—At St.Vincent—Expedition to
Guadeloupe—Appointed deputy-assistant quartermaster-general and sent
to Guadeloupe
WE had no more mishaps during that voyage, and got safely to Barbados on
December 14, 1814.We landed on the following morning, and occupied St.Anne’s barracks, and the same evening dined with the officers of the
80th West India Regiment.None of us had been in the West Indies before,
so that everything was new to us.Nothing attracted my notice so much as
the imposing display of well-dressed <DW64> servants who attended at
dinner; most of them were boys, but very efficient and up to their work.The lights, all in glass shades (for all the windows were open), were
also more than usually brilliant, and the dinner and wines excellent.As
to dessert, it was in profusion, with countless fruits which we had
never before seen.We spent, indeed, a happy night, and our first
impressions from all we saw, and the kindness and hospitality with which
we were received, gave all a charming and contented hope of a continued
happy residence in the West Indies.There were no less than four more regiments of the line in Barbados at
that time, so that each succeeding day we were more and more entertained
and feted.The garrison was then very healthy, and we |
garden | Where is Mary? | For weeks and weeks we got on very well, and
without much sickness.At last a gradual change took place, and we began
to lose men daily, and soon the numbers increased, the prevailing
complaint being yellow fever, which also attacked the other regiments in
garrison.We were the last comers, and lost considerably more than any
of the other regiments.Amongst our dead was our paymaster, Captain
Thompson.His death occasioned a committee of paymastership to be
appointed, of which I was the junior member, and as the others disliked
the work, I engaged, with the consent of my commanding officer, to do
all, and consequently I got the whole of the allowances, namely, nine
shillings per day in addition to my pay.I also continued to do my
regimental duties.About this time I was appointed president of a garrison court-martial.The case was one of much difficulty and complicated evidence, but we
got through it, and the proceedings were forwarded to Major-General
Robert Douglass (then Adjutant-General to the Forces in the West
Indies and commanding the garrison), by whom they were at once
approved, and nothing more was heard on the subject till a fortnight
later, when, to my surprise, I saw my name in General Orders as deputy
judge-advocate-general!I immediately wrote to General Douglass
thanking him for the appointment and stating that I should endeavour
to fulfil the duties to the best of my powers.On the following
morning I received the more than flattering answer as follows:—
“SIR,—In appointing an officer to perform the important duties of
Deputy Judge-Advocate it was my duty to select a competent one, and
I am satisfied I have done so.“I have the honour to be, etc., etc., etc.,
”ROBERT DOUGLASS,
“_Major-General and Adjutant-General_.”
The first case for trial in my new appointment was unfortunately that of
a captain of my own regiment (for being drunk on duty).He was found
guilty and cashiered, but strongly recommended to mercy on account of
his former services, and this recommendation from the court induced His
Majesty to allow him to retire from the service by the sale of his
commission.After this I had occasion to see General Douglass
repeatedly, but, as he was a very reserved man and at all times a very
strict disciplinarian, I had no intimacy with him then beyond our formal
meetings; however, as I shall hereafter show, we became intimate soon
afterwards.The York Chasseurs were removed to the island of St.Vincent, and we had
not been many months there under our new Lieut.-Colonel Ewart, when
General Orders reached us from headquarters (Barbados) detailing an
expedition then ordered from the various islands in the command to be
immediately formed to proceed against the islands of Martinique and
Guadeloupe, and to rendezvous in the first instance at the small group
of islands called the “Saints.” The York Chasseurs were included and
attached to Major-General Campbell’s brigade, and all the staff
appointments were filled except that of brigade-major.Our senior
captain at this time was Holland Daniel, a distant relative of Sir Henry
Torrens, then Adjutant-General to His Majesty’s Forces at the Horse
Guards, and from whom my friend Holland Daniel brought out letters to
our Commander-in-Chief, Lieut.-General Sir James Leith, who was also an
officer of some service with the 61st Regiment in Spain and Portugal, so
that when the General’s orders appeared with the staff vacancy which I
have named, Captain Holland Daniel made sure he would be the fortunate
man to fill it.Mary moved to the garden.In a few days our transports arrived, and we embarked
and sailed for the appointed rendezvous, and there found a considerable
number of troops already arrived; and several ships-of-war, with the
admiral and Sir James Leith, and other transports with troops were
standing in.As soon as we got to anchor Colonel Ewart went on board the
admiral’s ship to report his arrival, and on returning in his boat we
observed him standing up and waving a paper over his head.We at once
believed this to be good news, and on reaching the deck he said:
“Anderson, you are the lucky man; you were appointed major of brigade,
but in justice to myself and my regiment I have been obliged to object
to your leaving me, and I have done so, with the assurance to the
Commander-in-Chief and to General Douglass, who recommended you, that no
one rejoiced more than I at your good fortune, and that I objected to
your leaving me solely on the grounds of your being one of the few
officers of my regiment who ever saw service, and to whose experience,
therefore, I attached the greatest importance, as we were now sure of
going into action.I told the Commander-in-Chief that I had the highest
opinion of you as an able and intelligent officer, and that I should be
willing to part with you when the fight was over should his Excellency
then see fit to give you any other staff appointment.”
All this was very gratifying, yet very galling, for staff appointments
are not so easily had, but I could not do less than thank him for his
good opinion and patiently bear my fate.Ewart saw my distress and said:
“Come, I must take you on board the flagship and introduce you to the
Commander-in-Chief.” So off we started, but on getting on board Sir
James Leith was so engaged that he could not see me, but General
Douglass received us, and Colonel Ewart went again kindly over his
objections and said much more to please and flatter me.General Douglass
said that I must remain for the present with my regiment, and that he
was glad to hear such a good report of me.We then took leave and
returned to our own ship.During that and the following day the whole of the troops of the
expedition arrived, and about the same time a frigate came from England
bringing the news of the battle of Waterloo, the abdication of
Bonaparte, and the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty to the throne of
France.This great and astounding news was at once dispatched under a
flag of truce by the admiral, Sir Charles Durham, and Sir James Leith to
the respective governors of Martinique and Guadeloupe, with the earnest
request that they would at once acknowledge and show their loyalty to
Louis XVIII, their now reigning King, and thus put an end to our
intended hostile proceedings and useless effusion of blood.The governor
of Martinique at once acknowledged the sovereignty of the Bourbons, and
hoisted the white flag, but General Boyer, of Guadeloupe, returned an
answer that he did not believe one word of the news, and that he was
determined to fight for his Emperor and to resist to the last.On the following morning, the 9th of August, 1815, our armament sailed
from the Saints in two divisions for Guadeloupe, the main body of the
force under the Commander-in-Chief for Grande Ance Bay, and one brigade,
consisting of the 63rd Regiment and York Chasseurs under Major-General
Douglass, for Bailiffe.In a few hours the whole were landed in safety
at these places respectively.Our landing at Bailiffe was opposed by a
considerable number of French infantry, but we had a man-of-war with us,
which covered our landing and cleared the beach for a sufficient
distance to enable us to get on shore safely.The enemy formed again at
a little distance inland, and there we at once attacked them, and
finally drove them before us till they reached Basse Terre and got under
the protection of the batteries of Fort Matilda, beyond which we took up
our position for the night, expecting to be joined by our main body next
day.In the course of this day we lost some men, but no officers except
Captain Lynch of the 63rd.The main body of our troops was also opposed
on landing, and constantly during this march of two days from Grande
Ance to Basse Terre, but their casualties were not numerous, and they
joined us in safety at the expected time.Guns were then put into
position, and they began battering the town, the fire being ably
returned from Fort Matilda.Preparations were at the same time made by
us for storming, and when the proper time arrived a flag of truce was
sent in, giving the enemy the choice of surrendering without risking any
further additional loss of life.This the governor refused, but the
French general officer, who was next in authority, at once complied.John went to the bedroom.He
hauled down the tricolour and hoisted the white flag, acknowledging all
as prisoners of war.The 63rd and some more of our troops marched in and
took possession, the French garrison having first marched out under arms
and laid them down in front of our main force, which was drawn up in
line ready to receive them.The French troops, as prisoners of war, were
formed in separate divisions and marched back to town into separate
places of confinement until ships were ready to receive them, which
finally took them back to France.The officers were allowed to retain
their swords, and both they and the men were allowed to keep their
private baggage.The governor, General Boyer, was nowhere to be found,
till after a long search he was discovered concealed in a wine-cellar,
determined to the last to uphold the honour of his Emperor.Of course,
he was treated with every kindness, and was sent with the others to
France.A week afterwards the whole of our troops were re-embarked and went back
to their former quarters in the different islands, except the 25th
Regiment, which was left to garrison Basse Terre and Guadeloupe, and the
latter was now made the headquarters of the British troops in the West
Indies.Vincent and continued my
additional duties as acting-paymaster, expecting nothing better for some
time.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.In a few weeks the General Orders arrived, and to my great delight
and surprise I read: “Captain Joseph Anderson, of the York Chasseurs, to
be Deputy-Assistant Quartermaster-General to the Forces, and to repair
forthwith to Headquarters, Guadeloupe.” I was indeed proud of my
extraordinary good luck, and so was Colonel Ewart, and as a mark of his
regard he made me a present of a handsome staff sword, which he had
himself worn for many years in a similar appointment.I soon handed over
my company and my accounts as paymaster to officers appointed for those
duties, and availed myself of a passage in the very first vessel that
started for Guadeloupe, and arrived there safely.------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XIII
DOMINICA
Sent to Dominica—A fatal foot-race—I give up appointment and rejoin my
regiment at St.Vincent—An awful voyage
COLONEL POPHAM, of my old regiment, the 24th, was then
deputy-quartermaster-general and the head of my department.He was
always on the staff, and had not served much with the 24th during my
time, so that I was very little known to him; but he received me most
kindly, and set me at once to work in his office at correspondence and
various public returns, which gave me a good idea of the duties.Thus I
continued more than a month, until at last, being considered up to my
work, I was sent off to Point à Pitre, thirty miles from Basse Terre, to
take the sole charge of that station, or rather of the duties of the
department, for there I found Colonel Brown as commandant with his 6th
West India Regiment.A more charming man and able officer I have seldom
or ever met.I became a member of the mess, which was well conducted and
most comfortable.Sandra went to the bathroom.Although we had little society at Point à Pitre, I
found enough to do, and spent my time very happily there for some
months.I was then suddenly ordered to hand over my charge to Captain Killy
Kelly, of the 6th West India Regiment, and to proceed to Roseau, in the
island of Dominica, to take charge of the department there, and I found
the change a very agreeable one.The governor at the time, Colonel
Maxwell, was a most kind and hospitable man, and I lived within a few
yards of Government House.There was a very extensive and pleasant
society amongst the residents and settlers in the town of Roseau and its
neighbourhood.Parties and dinners were frequent, and I enjoyed them
very much; but, alas!our greatest pleasures are subject to change, and
ours had a partial check which proved very distressing to many.I was
dining with a large party at Government House, and amongst the guests
was a Dr.The conversation turned on foot races, and he
boasted much of his powers and success in that line.I had had some
experience in running also, and asked him what odds he would give me in
a thousand yards.He declined giving any odds, and so we agreed to run
equal for two hundred dollars.At
the given day and hour (three in the afternoon) no less than four
thousand people had assembled, lining each side of the road we were to
run.Tents and marquees were pitched for our dressing and for
refreshments.de Ravière’s two lovely
sisters.We soon appeared, both dressed in flannel, and the word being
given we started.I allowed him to lead for twenty yards, then pushed
on, and for a few yards we ran abreast; then I passed him, increasing my
advantage.He (in trying to overtake me) fell down, and became for a
time almost insensible.He was carried home and put to bed; fever soon
followed, and next day he was dead.In the absence of a medical man a
Major Jack undressed me and put me into a tub of rum as a bath, then to
bed, giving me a mixture of brandy and porter till I became almost
unconscious, and finally fell into a sound sleep, from which I did not
awake till next morning.I was free from fever, but was confined to my
bed for that and the following day, and was kept ignorant of the fate of
Dr.It was indeed a foolish frolic to
attempt to run a thousand yards in such a climate and at such an hour.I remained at Roseau for some months after, with an excellent house and
good allowances, amounting in all to more than double my regimental pay.Early in 1817 orders arrived from England for the removal of the York
Chasseurs from the Windward and Leeward Islands to Jamaica, a distinct
and separate command.I was then written to, officially, to say that my
staff appointment would be continued if I exchanged into another
regiment within that command, but if not I must follow the York
Chasseurs to Jamaica in command of a detachment of the regiment still
remaining at St.This was a serious step for me to decide on,
and I took some days before I finally made up my mind.I was then the
second captain of my regiment, and to exchange into another would place
me at the bottom of the captains, and yet my appointment was a most
important and lucrative one, and such as I might never again hope to
enjoy.For days I was quite undecided and did not know what to do, but
at last I thought the least risk and the best chance of promotion was to
give up my appointment and to follow my regiment.I wrote to the
adjutant-general (my friend General Douglass) accordingly, and in due
course I saw my name in General Orders directing me to hand over the
charge of the quartermaster-general’s department and to join a
detachment of my regiment at St.The first opportunity was from Barbados, from which island I knew I
could readily get a passage to St.I left Dominica in a small
colonial schooner, the _Johanna_, commanded by a mulatto and manned
exclusively by <DW64>s.Our captain knew nothing of navigation, but was
in the habit of making this voyage successfully by taking his departure
from Point des Salines, in Martinique, and steering |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | In clear weather it is seen at a distance of fifty-nine
or sixty miles, but we had thick fogs and much rain, so that though we
cruised about with a man constantly at the mast-head for some days, we
could nowhere discover the island nor any other land.In despair our
captain turned back before the trade winds, sure of making some of the
islands, from which he could again take a fresh departure.About sunset
we recognized Martinique, and on the following morning Point des Salines
once more, from which we again took our departure; but that effort
proved worse than the former, for on the second day we were opposed by a
fearful hurricane, which carried away both our masts, and left us a
helpless, unmanageable hulk in a wild and terrible sea.Our situation
became indeed most fearful and alarming.The sea was constantly breaking
over us, and wherever there was any opening it rushed in tons below,
until the cabin, where I was alone, was completely flooded by many feet
of water.All the crew except the captain gave up in despair, and shut
themselves up below, crying and moaning all the time.The captain
manfully kept to the deck, lashing himself to the tiller ring-bolts.In
this perilous situation we continued for two days and one night,
expecting every moment to be our last, for our ill-fated barque, being
under no control, was tossed about at the mercy of the raging seas.We
gave up all hope—then, recommending ourselves to Providence, we expected
every moment to founder.In this awful and long-continued danger I must
confess my mind was much troubled about a few hundred pounds which I had
on board with me, in doubloons and dollars, and which I sorely grieved
to think my sister would now lose.On the second day of this hurricane a
sail appeared in sight (or rather a vessel under almost bare poles).It
soon passed near us, and our captain managed to show his ensign on a
spar upside down, expecting that the stranger would try and come to our
assistance; but instead of doing so, he hoisted his own flag reversed,
and continued his course.Although this was an English man-of-war, she
was in such distress and danger in this heavy gale and raging sea that
it was quite impossible for her to come near us or to render any help.Towards the evening of the following day the storm moderated, and by
great exertions our people managed to rig up something like a jury-mast,
on which they hoisted one or two of the smaller sails, and we bore away
before the trade wind, sure of making some of the islands which we knew
must be to leeward.In the evening land was seen ahead, but the sea was
still running so high that our captain was afraid to go too near it, and
so kept an offing as he best could until next morning.Then at daylight
we steered for the land; in a few hours we were satisfied that it was
the island of St.Lucia, and about noon we got to the anchorage, with
our lives at least in safety, and truly thankful, indeed, for our
marvellous escape from death.I took my final leave of the schooner
_Johanna_ and landed at once, and here I found my friend General
Douglass acting-governor of the island.I dined with him, and on the
following day, with his advice, took my passage in a small vessel bound
direct for St.Vincent, where I arrived in safety, and took command of
the detachment of my regiment, then under orders for Jamaica.------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XIV
AN AMUSING DUEL
Jamaica—Return to England—York Chasseurs disbanded—Trip to France—An
amusing duel
I HAD not been many days at St.Vincent before the papers announced that
no less than sixteen vessels had foundered in the late hurricane, and as
none of the crews were heard of it was taken for granted that they must
have all perished.Vincent with my
detachment, and after a pleasant voyage arrived in safety at Port Royal,
Jamaica.On the following day I landed and joined the headquarters of my
regiment at Stony Hill barracks.The change from staff to regimental
duties I did not much like, but there was no help for it.I found myself
again associated with my gay and happy brother officers, with Major
Dumas in command, Colonel Ewart having gone on leave.Mary moved to the garden.Some months
afterwards four companies of the regiment were detached and sent under
my command to Falmouth, Montego Bay, Marroon Town, and Savanna-lamar, my
station being at the former of these places.Our barracks there and at
all the other stations were very good and we enjoyed ourselves very
much.For nearly two years we were quartered in that part of Jamaica.My
orders were to visit each detachment occasionally, which I did
repeatedly, not solely as a point of duty, but also for my own
amusement.About the month of March, 1818, our senior major arrived from England
and took command of the regiment at Stony Hill; Major Dumas joined us at
Falmouth, and relieved me of my charge.I now began seriously to think
of a trip to England, for my health was not particularly good and I
required a change.On consulting our assistant-surgeon, he advised me to
apply for a medical board, so I wrote officially to Major Dumas, who
forwarded my application to the deputy adjutant-general at headquarters,
Kingston, and by return of post I was advised to repair to Stony Hill,
to appear before a medical board.I made that journey, a hundred and
twenty miles overland, on horseback in four days.I appeared before the
board, who, without asking me any questions, recommended me for twelve
months’ leave of absence to England.We sailed from Port Royal early in
April, and touched at Havana, where we remained ten days, shipping at
night (contrary to the laws of the port but with the connivance of the
governor) thousands and thousands of dollars and doubloons on account of
merchants in England, upon which our admiral and his senior officer had
a large percentage.We left Havana, and arrived in England early in May,
1818, after a most agreeable passage.John went to the bedroom.The admiral and his captain were
particularly jolly, and very kind to us all; the former had the officers
of the wardroom daily at dinner in their turn, and entertained us with
his numerous stories; among other things he told us he had made a
hundred thousand pounds during his three years’ command on the Jamaica
station.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Again in England, and with my health much improved by the voyage, I
endeavoured to enjoy myself as much as I could.About December, 1819, I
heard that the York Chasseurs were ordered from Jamaica to Canada, to be
there disbanded, consequent upon the general peace which followed the
battle of Waterloo and the great reductions in the British army.Soon
afterwards I received an official letter informing me that I was to
consider myself on half-pay in three months from that date.This was
indeed bad and most unexpected news for me, but I endeavoured to make
the best of it, consoling myself with the hope of getting employed again
as soon as possible by an appointment to some other regiment, and in
this mind I returned soon afterwards to London, determined to see what
chances I had at the Horse Guards.After waiting some time I attended
the levée of the Military Secretary, Lieut.-General Sir Henry Torrens,
and stated my case, and my anxiety to be employed.He received me with
his usual consideration and kindness, and directed me to write to him on
the subject.I did so in due course, and soon received his answer saying
that on my stating my readiness to proceed to Sierra Leone I should be
appointed to a company of the 2nd West India Regiment.I immediately
wrote back saying that my health was still very indifferent, from my
services in the West Indies, but that rather than forfeit all hopes of
employment I would proceed to Sierra Leone, should his Royal Highness
the Commander-in-Chief wish me to do so.This was a decision forced on
me, and anything but satisfactory to my feelings, so with fear and
trembling I watched every succeeding gazette which appeared for the next
month, expecting to see myself appointed to the 2nd West India Regiment,
but to my joy no such notice appeared then or afterwards, and I again
began to breathe freely and hope for something better.Months of idleness passed in London, and as I was afraid to appeal again
to the Horse Guards for a time, I determined to go at once to France to
study the language, for I well remembered how much inconvenience I had
suffered while in the French island of Guadeloupe from not being able to
speak French fluently.Fortunately, at this time I was in correspondence
with a dear friend and brother officer, Lieutenant Wharton of the York
Chasseurs, and I persuaded him to accompany me to France.Having made
our arrangements, we left London early in 1820 for Southampton, where we
took our passages in a sailing mail packet for Jersey, and from thence
to St.Malo in Brittany, and there, for the first time, I found myself
in “la belle France.” Next morning we went up the St.If such thy wish, and such thy pious thought,
If with such Roman aims thy breast is fraught,
Thy daring soul the giddy height shall soar,
Till, fully cloy’d, it drops to mount no more.Yet if you meet that death you wildly seek,
And with bright honor’s scars thy frame grows weak,
Remember Titus, call him to thy side,
(He will not mock thy zeal, nor proudly chide,)
Pour in his friendly bosom all thy wrongs,
The fatal cause that now thy woe prolongs;
Repose in him, as friend, thy last request,
Or aught to give thy parting spirit rest;
And here he swears in face of all—of thee
To ’tend thy wish, whatever it may be.”
With heart o’erfill’d the lone Placidus bow’d,
And silent mix’d among the list’ning crowd.Now round the tent the flowing goblet moves,
Some pledge their friends, and some their distant loves;
Nought but full pleasure can their hearts approach,
While flask by flask the sparkling wine they broach;
Glee, mirth, and laughter, with each bowl increase,
And ev’ry thought of bloodshed feels release.Sandra went to the bathroom.Not so Placidus, destitute of joys,
He seeks his tent, and shuns their lively noise;
There sits him down, while on his mournful face
The love-lorn pearly shower falls apace.Oft on his lost Paulina’s name he calls,
Oft casts his eyes around the strengthen’d walls,
Forebodings pleasing on his spirits flock,
He longs for death, nor fears the dreadful shock:
“But oh!(he cries) were fair Paulina here,
And with her love my dying hour would cheer,
I then resign’d should close my eyes to rest,
Shed my last fleeting breath upon her breast;
For her blest safety all the gods implore,
And haste contented to the dismal shore.In vain my wish!—My faithful slave, draw nigh,
Let me have music—wherefore dost thou sigh;
You only know my grief, my gallant boy,
And thy soft tales alone e’er yield me joy;
For when I look, or hear thy soft’ning strains,
My heart rebounds, and all my dreary pains
Retire in peace, and, like their subject mute,
Own the sweet magic of thy quiv’ring lute.Strike—strike, my boy—attune thy keys anew,
Chaunt some fond lay of parted lovers true,
Let thy sweet music waft my soul above,
And with thy words remind me of my love.”
The lovely slave with cheerfulness obeys,
Sweeps o’er the strings, now loud—now softly plays;
Responsive through his heart the murmurs creep,
His grief is gone—and calmness lulls to sleep.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The slave with care his weighty helm removes,
And though a willing slave, a friend he proves;
O’er his succumbent frame he gentry bends,
Echos each sigh his tortur’d breast that rends,
Thinks on each woe by which his heart is torn,
And watches near him till the waking morn.Now fill’d with war, he grasps his sword and shield,
To join the common bustle of the field;
Where Titus in his burning arms encas’d
(Each giddy thought of merriment eras’d)
Sends forth his orders with a gentle mien,
While bright anticipation cheers the scene.Placidus comes, his foaming courser neighs,
Shakes his long mane, and shares his rider’s praise,
Who with a party, burning for the fray,
Towards the city takes his quick’ning way.The Jews with expectation see him near,
The priests convene, and slay the lowing steer.Not so the rebel chieftain’s artful bands,
They thirst for blood, and arm their eager hands.Unmindful of the truce Placidus bears,
The stately walls soon throng with shafts and spears;
Yet still he hastens heedless to the walls,
Nor hosts of enemies his soul appals.no deep laid treachery he views,
And by the wall addresses thus the Jews:
“Attend my words—foes, Isr’alites, and men,
Brist’ling like tigers pant within their den,
When will ye own cool reason’s easy sway?When join in peace, and shun the rude affray?In vain I speak—you shake your gleaming swords,
Then hear from me the Roman monarch’s words:
Unless you open wide yon rusting gate,
Admit and hail him to the regal state,
Our ’vengeful army, with a mighty force,
Like rolling Tyber in its foaming course,
Shall wash away each vestige of your town,
And, ’midst the horror, bury your renown;
Not one shall live of sire, child, or dame,
But on your heads we’ll climb to peace and fame.”
A priest appears the hostile Jews among,
With peace and soft persuasion on his tongue,
Accedes to all the terms of Roman law,
And Titus owns, to shun the dreadful war.Soon as his peace-fraught eloquence was done,
Ill fated man!his course on earth was run:
A harden’d rebel’s well-aim’d barbed dart
Rends his fine robe, and pierces to his heart.(he calls aloud)
Thy end is come—observe, ye foolish crowd,
God by his prophets this thy fall foretold,
Be cruel still, and, if ye can, be bold;
For fall you must—the sword is pois’d on high,
Darkness overspreads and hides the shining sky”—
He stops—he strives—alas!Daniel moved to the garden.can say no more,
And dying wallows in his smoking gore.A joyful shout his last sad murmurs drown,
Placidus hears, and bends his brow to frown;
When swift as flashing lightnings ever sped,
Wing’ |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | His little army, planted thick around,
Return the show’r, and dying bite the ground.Placidus views his comrades round him lie,
He bids the rest give back, and heaves a sigh;
Yet still they fall, the coward and the brave,
Till none are left but firm Placidus’ slave,
Who, when they mark his master for their prey,
Uplifts his shield, and turns each death away:
But ah!what fury glows in yonder crew,
Now flush’d with blood, their treachery pursue.Thick fly the darts around the noble pair,
Who now like brothers in the danger share;
Yet fate omnipotent will e’en prevail,
And—(must I tell the sad, the dreary tale)—
A venom’d shafts more cruel than the rest,
Now takes its standing in the poor slave’s breast;
Sighing he falls, upon his bleeding friends,
With tears his master him alone defends.Then mounts him moaning with him on the steed,
And spurs towards the camp with utmost speed;
Fatigued with toil, and heated with the rage,
Within his tent he rests his wounded page,
Extracts the dart, returns each rising groan,
And weeping feels the suff’rings as his own.The youth in anguish bids him stop the tear,
And turn his thoughts to her he still holds dear;
While yet he speaks, his lightsome helm lays by;
Oh, heav’ns!Mary moved to the garden.what rapture strikes his master’s eye!Amaz’d he stands, and views the smiling youth,
Who faintly utters thus the pleasing truth:
“In me the lost Paulina you behold,
The constant lover of Placidus bold,
You only my fond heart could ever gain,
For you I’ve suffer’d toil, now suffer pain;
For you a life of sweeten’d woe I’ve spent,
But heaven now a kind relief has sent;
My hopes, my fears, my earthly joys, are past,
Then on thy faithful breast I’ll breathe my last;
To guard your life I fought, and guarding fell,
Remember thy Paulina,—and farewell!”
Annihilation strikes the wond’ring chief,
And every sense with her is lost in grief,
Till in his tent, with Titus at their head,
His steel-clad comrades their refulgence shed:
With fell reproach to wound his ear they came,
To call him coward, and his flying blame.cease (he cried) your foul invectives spare,
Your eyes and tongues have own’d how much I dare;
But if unsatisfied you still remain,
Thus—thus—I dare ye singly to the plain.’Twas not from hope of life, or paltry fear,
I flew to save the maid who now lies here;
You saw the youth with zealous ardor glow,
And shield me from each death-impending blow,
Beheld her burning with a passion pure,
Receive her death my safety to secure.Think’st thou I could my brave defender see
Lie scarr’d with wounds, and those receiv’d for me:
Does your new faith such horrid doctrine teach?Do your fam’d prophets such delusion preach?let me first the tomb’s cold darkness fill.My leader frowns—my tie to earth is broke,
And thus I willing hail the welcome stroke.”
Swift glides the steel, attacks the seat of life,
He calmly smiles amid the parting strife;
Salutes the corse—his frame no more respires,
Reclines his head, and on her breast expires!Survey of the ascension of Christ—The consequences of the Jews rejecting
him—State of the city—A description of the leaders of the rebels, with
their situations—The Romans effect a breach—The rebels join and resist
them—A battle which lasts till night—Titus is awakened by a dream—Walks
among the dead—Encounters a dying Jew and his daughter, whom he swears to
protect—The Jew’s death—Titus bears the lady to his tent—Morning—The
siege renewed—Antiochus of Macedon begs leave to attack the Jews—Titus
consents—Antiochus’s defeat and narrow escape—The Romans gain the second
and third wall—A view of the city.the wondrous great God-man,
Archangels’ wings theorising breezes fan;
Their trumpets shake the joyful realms above,
And hail his coming to a Father’s love:
Th’ angelic choir the golden harps prepare,
And waft their joyful strains to nether air,
More sweet they chaunt, more vigorous their lays,
They sing his love—a fond Redeemer’s praise;
They sing of him who shed his peaceful blood,
Who in the place of ruin’d mortals stood;
Who, now the task is done, his throne resumes,
’Till sleeping men shall issue from their tombs.See how the cherubim their homage pay,
And raise their hallelujahs thro’ the day;
Around his throne the lovely rainbow {34} gleams,
On His bright face its added glory beams:
Yet this Eternal, fallen man to save,
Hung on the cross, descended to the grave,
Was marr’d with thorns, bore man’s vast load of guilt,
To save e’en Jews his precious blood was spilt;
But they, perverse, his promis’d ransom scorn’d,
And lost in sin, to sin their safety pawn’d.Now comes the tainting force of sin’s harsh breath,
War, famine, murder, slavery, and death.Now view the holy temple’s checquer’d floor
Strew’d o’er with bodies welt’ring in their gore;
Their op’ning veins send forth a crimson flood,
The marble steps are overflown with blood;
The rev’rend priest before the mob recedes,
And sacrifice with sacrificer bleeds:
Sons, fathers, brothers, ’gainst each other strive,
And as their victims fall, with joy revive;
While gnawing hunger, horror, and despair,
Pervade each breast, and in their faces stare.A tender mother, by hard famine prest,
Views her dear infant die upon her breast;
The spouse returning sucks his partner’s breath,
And with her sinks into the arms of death;
A loving brother hears his sister’s cries,
Kisses her haggard cheek, and with her dies.Now through the streets the mad’ning rabble pour,
Thousands by thousands with their leaders—four;
Ambitious souls, who strive to win the crown,
Four able chieftains, and of great renown.First came Eleazer, Simon’s headstrong son,
Whose fame was sullied e’er his deeds begun;
His fiery soul by gentle love was sway’d,
He sought for Judah’s crown to win the maid:
A Jewish dame, possessing ev’ry grace,
A splendid fortune and a lovely face;
But high of birth, proud, arrogant, and vain,
Such was the fair, Eleazer strove to gain;
For her the claims of pity he withstood,
And swore to gain her, tho’ through fields of blood
Unhappy youth!with grief we see thy state,
And think thee worthy of a better fate;
By him oppos’d was Chezron, luckless fool,
What claims are his that he alone should rule?Devoid of sense, impetuous and proud,
Heedless in war, and in the senate loud;
Cruel, revengeful, deadly in his hate,
Fit man, indeed, to save a falling state.John went to the bedroom.The next was John, a Jew of noble birth,
Who thought that he was born to rule the earth;
His father told him so, and he believ’d,
Nor doubted but the world would be reliev’d
From Roman tyranny.—Mistaken youth,
Had some kind friend inclined thine heart to truth,
How many husbands’ groans and fathers’ fears,
How many mothers had been spar’d their tears;
But such is man; his restless passions’ slave,
He seeks for happiness, and finds a grave.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Spurr’d by ambition and a thirst for fame,
He gains his end, then dies and leaves—a name:
He hears that joys are found beyond the skies,
And not on earth, yet after joys he flies,
Gives up the chace, pursues again, and dies.The other murd’ring chief,
Who fill’d Jerusalem with woe and grief,
Was Simeon, Eleazer’s haughty sire,
A Jew by birth, and fill’d with Jewish fire,
By some call’d Simon—dreadful in array,
He swore to Judah’s throne to cut his way.Sandra went to the bathroom.Eight thousand men of war his power own’d,
Beneath whose swords how many thousands groan’d!Eleazer and his bands the temple gain’d,
And with their horrid deeds the place profan’d;
In blood they walk’d, breathing defiance round,
The vaulted roof their awful oaths resound;
Madly they rush, like tygers on their prey,
And murder all who dare oppose their way.Without was John’s and Chezron’s savage bands,
In bloody strife engag’d, clos’d hands to hands,
While from the hill above the shafts were pour’d,
To fell those wretches who escap’d the sword.By Simon’s party was the hill possess’d,
And wing’d their darts, whilst others closely press’d;
But hark!the Romans shout, “It’s down!A breach is made, and we possess the town!”
The wall so long by Roman arms assail’d,
The wall which long o’er Roman arts prevail’d,
But now, deserted by the city’s feud,
Gives way, at last, by Roman pow’r subdu’d.(Eleazer cries) and cease your rage,
Shall we like lions here with friends engage,
While pagan dogs lay this our city low,
And trample on our laws without a blow?No, never be it said; but follow me,
And with me die, or share my victory.”
The bands inspir’d, forget their civil thrall,
And join’d like brothers, rush towards the wall;
The mounted Romans view their coming foes,
Whilst ev’ry breast with double ardour glows:
The Jews approach—a bloody scene ensues,
Whole hosts of Romans fall on hosts of Jews.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The Jews retreat—the inner wall they gain,
And there with fury still the fight maintain;
Till lively Day had spun her golden thread,
And dusky Night her sable pinions spread.Each warrior then, with toil and fury worn,
Unclasps the armour he so long has borne;
The sombre god their weary eyelids close,
And void of fear they taste a sweet repose;
Save the drear centinel, whose measur’d pace
Suits well the gloomy horrors of the place:
He gazes round upon the slaughter’d hosts,
Now thinks of blood, and now of fleeting ghosts,
And sighing cries—“I wish the war was o’er,
I safe at home within my cottage door.”
The conq’ring Titus now securely rests,
Freed from the cares of war and hostile guests;
But flitting fancies now around him play,
In wanton song they bid him to be gay;
Imagination points the city’s doom,
And he triumphant welcom’d into Rome:
The crown of laurels on his brow he feels,
And Jewish slaves attend his weighty wheels,
While Mars, o’ercome by Cupid’s well-known pow’r,
Destroys his tent, and rears a shady bow’r;
Here Love and Pleasure hail his wish’d return,
Here pomp and adulation round him burn,
Here joyous nymphs their graceful forms display
In mazy dance, and glad the happy day
With merry songs, and Titus is the theme,
But Titus wakes, and finds ’tis but a dream;
Still unresolv’d he looks around with pain,
Then sinks upon his couch to dream again,
Yet sleep flies from him, while his roving sense
Recalls past scenes—a paltry recompense.Now, peerless Cynthia, goddess of the night,
In bright array sheds forth her silver light:
Her splendid beams shine on the waking chief,
Dispel the cloud, and smile away his grief.(he cries) shall fancy thus controul,
And shall a dream unman a Roman soul?Shall fleeting visions thwart my well try’d aim?Forbid it manliness, forbid it fame.”
Whilst speaking thus, the Roman king arose,
And wanders forth ’midst heaps of slaughter’d foes;
Now join’d with dying friends, whose deepen’d sighs
In mournful echoes play along the skies.Daniel moved to the garden.Here thrifty Jews regret their ill-got coin,
Here Romans bold with bleeding cowards join;
The haughty chiefs in life overspread with pride,
Now grovel with the peasant side by side;
These Titus view’d with pain and downcast eye,
And strove in vain to stop the coming sigh;
Lost in himself, he wanders to and fro,
His eyes cast upward now—now down below,
While Cynthia still, is all her splendor deck’d,
Smiles on the bloody scene by clouds uncheck’d.He hears a sound, and, aided by her beams,
Moves on his way—then stops, and thinks he dreams;
Listens again, and hears a female’s words:
“Oh, men!Daniel went to the kitchen.more cruel than your shining swords,
Could ye not spare my father’s hoary age?Would not my three brave brothers glut your rage?Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Would not a mother, by keen famine slain?back to life again,
Return to share again thy daughter’s kiss!Or bear me with you to yon scenes of bliss,
Where war and blood ne’er fright the peaceful shore,
And Jews or Romans trouble us no more.”
Great Titus melts, his flashing eyes o’erflow,
|
bathroom | Where is Mary? | “Fair maid (said he) why spring those flowing tears?Mary moved to the garden.Repose your grief with me, drive hence your fears,
Suppress those sighs, your parent yet may live,
He shall not fall for aught that I can give.”
The dying father at these words awoke,
And stares with vacancy on him who spoke,
Then mournful lisps, “Oh, man!if man thou art,
Attend my last poor wish e’er I depart,
And, if thou hop’st for peace beyond the grave,
Preserve an orphan, and my daughter save;
Oh!cheer my Jezra, pity her despair,
With you I leave her, take her to your care:
I was your deadly enemy ’tis true,
For thou a Roman art, and I a Jew.that starting tear now speaks thee friend,
Then promise thou my Jezra to defend;
Thou swearest by thy sword!—Enough, enough;—
Oh!John went to the bedroom.Here, take this casket, all I now have left,
For I have been of wealth and house bereft;
Give Jezra part, and then keep thou the rest,
Protect and guard her—so shalt thou be blest;
Farewell!the tide of life ebbs fast,
Soon will my dreary sorrows all be past,
Soon shall I meet my sons and martyr’d wife,
And feel no more the woes of war and strife.I can no more—my wand’ring sight grows dark,
Jezra, adieu!death sinks my shatter’d bark,
My wound bursts forth, my spirit mounts on high,
To gain a happy home—I sink, I die!”
A dreadful pause, all nature seems to sleep,
The moon retires involv’d in clouds to sleep;
The scene around looks naked and forlorn,
And black’ning clouds obscure the welcome morn;
The maid in anguish wrings her lily hands,
Then flings her fragile form upon the sands.Titus, transfix’d with love and fear, still kneels,
Hears ev’ry sob, and all her sorrow feels;
Raises the lovely burden in his arms,
Wipes off the tear, and gazes on her charms:
Then checks his sighs, which strive in vain for vent,
And bears the senseless maiden to his tent.The sun now rises, and with him the troops,
Some singly go and some in chatting groups;
Some shew how they might gain the second wall,
Some plan th’ attack, and tell the city’s fall.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.The trumpets sound, each hastens to his post,
Till straggling numbers form a dreadful host,
Their brighten’d arms with polish’d lustre glows.Sandra went to the bathroom.To strike with dazzling awe their bearded foes;
Whilst neighing chargers, eager for the fight,
Now prance around with joy—a goodly sight.Brave Titus now in warlike pomp array’d,
For war’s dread clangor leaves the weeping maid,
And mounted on his lofty milk-white steed
Surveys his armies—ready all to bleed;
With lofty shouts they rend the troubled air,
And joyful for the crimson field prepare.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.“This joys my soul (cries Titus) comrades all,
Who dare oppose such bravery must fall;
Then let not eager rashness mark your way,
But dart like serpents on your yielding prey;
Let not dissension part our peaceful hive,
And oh!reflect, that you with madmen strive—
Madmen who, careless of their city’s fate,
Meet death like tigers, and like tigers hate:
Be crafty then, be steady, but be brave,
And dim with Jewish blood each shining glaive;
Remember your forefathers’ mighty deeds,
This poise your darts, this urge your well-train’d steeds;
Here let our Roman banners be unfurl’d,
Rome still shall be the mistress of the world.”
Again the army their loud voices raise,
And in loud accents echo forth his praise:
“Down with Jerusalem!Titus shall reign; to him our lives we give,
For him we’ll fight ’till Jewish tongues shall own,
That only he is worthy Judah’s throne.”
They raise, their spears, their shining weapons wield,
And strike their arms against the sounding shield;
Their eager coursers paw the beaten ground,
While e’en the city hears the lengthen’d sound.“Approach, brave Antiochus (Titus cries)
Why bends that brow?Daniel moved to the garden.Has aught been done to shame thy father’s shade?does thy courage fade,
That courage which has e’er undoubted stood,
That tips thy weighty spear so oft with blood?Or does this dreary siege your spirits tire,
And still restrain your youthful warlike fire?Speak freely, prince, brave Alexander’s heir,
Believe me, friend, your weal shall be my care.”
“Most mighty sir (the youthful chief returns)
My lofty soul for speedy conquest burns,
Which ne’er can be attain’d if thus we stay,
And with such boyish tremours shun the fray:
Six hundred hardy youths attend my word,
All skill’d to fling the dart or wield the sword,
Of Macedonia all, a lofty race,
And sprung from fathers they will ne’er disgrace.Permit us then, brave sir, these Jews to tame,
And die, at least, with glory on our name;
At once like lions on our foes we’ll rush,
Like lions perish, or like lions crush.”
“Prince (answers Titus) you’re, I fear, too bold,
But yet in Rome it never shall be told,
That Titus checked the ardor of his hosts:
No, lead them on, we still maintain our posts,
And if thou fall’st, as much I fear thou wilt,
Thy comrades’ blood be on thee, thine the guilt.”
The headstrong youths now spur their foaming steeds
Straight to the walls, and Antiochus leads;
The walls are lin’d with Jews, a mighty show,
Who pour their jav’lins thick upon the foe:
The jav’lins ring upon each brazen shield,
Rebound aloft, and sink upon the field.Daniel went to the kitchen.Machines for scaling ’gainst the wall they fix,
And then undaunted mount them six by six;
But six by six they fall, a gory heap,
And with their fathers now in darkness sleep.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Five thousand Jews now issue from the gate,
All fram’d for slaughter, big with ’venging fate;
Surrounding Antiochus’s brave band,
Their angry songs are heard through Judah’s land.Buckler to buckler, clashing steel to steel,
Ring thro’ the air with harsh and dismal peal;
In vain the Macedonians strive to fly,
Hemm’d in with foes they fight, and fighting die.Titus afar beholds them cut and slain,
And bids his willing army scour the plain;
But all too late—the Jews hard pressing still,
Like reapers mow till none are left to kill,
Save Antiochus—he, amidst the fray,
Brake their close ranks, and through them cut his way:
His courser wounded fell, on foot he fled,
Whilst whizzing arrows flew around his head.The Jews pursue, each goads his tiring steed,
The flying prince defies their angry speed,
And gains the camp, from fear and danger freed;
Then turns his eyes towards the fatal walls,
Gazes on Titus, staggers,—pants,—and falls.Just so the bounding stag by hunters chac’d,
Its lovely limbs by sweat and dust defac’d,
Escapes their toils, regains his native glade,
And trembling sinks to rest beneath the shade.But now the Roman army move along,
Around the walls the Jewish rebels throng;
They meet, the fight begins, with blow for blow,
While hostile blood in foaming currents flow.Breast-plates resound, spears crack on shatter’d helms,
The Romans press, their fury overwhelms;
Death stalks triumphant o’er the purpled scene,
And fills his hungry jaws from wounds yet green,
Scoffs at his victim’s courage to his face,
And joyous clasps him in his cold embrace.The Jews retire, o’erpress’d with dire fatigue,
Within the gate to mourn their broken league,
To mourn the bleeding comrades they now lack,
And breathless wait the Romans’ fierce attack.The Romans, with their new success elate,
Place batt’ring rams, and force each pond’rous gate;
A breach they make, then mount—the Jews oppose,
And pour destruction on their rising foes:
Whole legions fall, yet legions still appear,
And mount the breach, devoid of puny fear.The rebel Jews dismay’d the wall forsake,
And Roman arms the second wall retake;
Soon mounted high the golden eagle shines,
And spreads new life, thro’ all the weary’d lines.They shout aloud, their sun-burnt faces glow,
Heedless they pass their comrades now laid low;
No thoughts but war and victory they own,
Of conq’ring Romans and of Jews o’erthrown,
Of easy plunder to reward their toils,
Of massive gold and weighty Jewish spoils.A sad reverse within the city reigns,
Here all is dying groans and bleeding veins;
Here Famine still in all its horrors clad,
Press some to death, and leave the living mad;
Here restless Faction rides in deadly strife,
And pleas’d with blood now takes the long-sought life;
Here sore oppression gripes with iron hand,
And darts with fury o’er the bleeding land;
Here houses blaze, here welt’ring bodies lay,
And fright with deep-fetch’d groans the dark’ning day;
Wild desolation holds his murd’ring reign,
While pity heedless bleeds at ev’ry vein.Ill-fated city, Judah’s greatest pride,
Thy boasted strength all distant lands deride,
Now laugh to see thy boding towers gone,
To view thy fertile meadows left forlorn;
To view thy chiefs, with blood and rapine strong,
Now spread destruction o’er the famish’d throng,
Whose wealth nor pow’r can aught assistance give,
Or let their starving owners longer live.Sandra travelled to the garden.So the firm oak, proud monarch of the wood,
Which for whole ages has undaunted stood,
When lightnings flash, and thunders roll afar,
Gives way, o’ercome by elemental war.The Romans assembled by the walls are addressed by Titus, who approves of
their bravery, and incites them to pursue their conquest—Chezron and his
band fire the towers and retake the inner wall—Chezron, in the act of
erecting his standard, is killed.—His troops rush into the flames—Eleazer
meets the Romans—Retreats to the temple, where the battle is
renewed—Simon fires the outer courts of the temple—Jezra, wandering in
the Roman camp, sees the flames, hurries to Titus, and implores him to
stop their progress—The Jews retreating to Lebanon are followed by their
foes, whom they entice within the walls, and then burn the place—Jezra
ascends to a pinnacle, and perishes among the ruins—Simon and Eleazer
attack the Romans—Their flight—Eleazer’s death—Plunder of the city—Simon
gives himself up—Final overthrow of the city—And conclusion.Sandra went to the hallway.NEAR to the conquered walls the Romans meet,
And long to see their victory complete;
With conquest flush’d in eagerness they wait
The word “attack,” to seal the city’s fate.But Titus comes, his laurell’d brow serene,
Nor cross’d with frowns, nor wrinkled o’er with spleen,
But in his well-bought honors slowly moves,
Turns to his men, and thus their deeds approves:
“Behold, my friends, Jerusalem’s proud walls
O’erthrown by bravery and inward brawls,
By Roman bravery, which never droops,
By Rome’s allies and Roman well-try’d troops;
With grateful heart I ’plaud your mighty deeds,
And honor him who for his country bleeds;
Yes, happy he who in our cause has fell,
For fall we must, and who can fall so well
As for his country’s freedom—Who would shrink,
And, like a dog diseas’d, forgotten sink?Is there one present holds a soul so base,
That would the name of Roman so disgrace?Is there one here of all Rome’s fighting friends,
Who to such grov’ling baseness e’er descends?Why do I pause—Let’s ask yon bleeding foe,
And why—yon falling towers answer—no?Look at yon sturdy walls no longer such,
Those clouds of dust will tell you’ve done too much;
The walls no longer stop our great career,
Those headstrong rebel Jews no longer jeer.Then on, my friends, nor check your flowing rage,
E’en to the temple’s steps the war we’ll wage,
There from its rocky height we’ll dash them slain,
And save the holy place themselves profane;
There pay our vows to Him, whose frowning nod
Makes nations tremble, Rome’s benignant God;
To whose great pow’r we owe each great success,
The king of all in heav’n, on earth not less.”
As Titus spoke, a band by Chezron led
Descend with each a torch of blazing red,
Down to the conquer’d inner wall they haste,
To move the Romans or the wall lay waste;
They mount the tow’rs, the Roman guards destroy,
And glut their deep revenge with savage joy;
Chezron, the foremost, tears the standard down,
And in its place exulting rears his own:
A well pois’d shaft now trembles in the air,
Which, e’ |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | His followers with frenzy view his end,
And lose at once their leader and their friend;
Wild in despair the destin’d wall they fire,
Then rushing headlong in the flames expire.Three hundred Jews thus fearless sought a grave,
And fell with Chezron—all as Chezron brave;
Thus fell three hundred renegading Jews
To endless night (as all who God abuse),
Neglected fell, and fell no more to rise,
For ever banish’d from the happy skies.Eleazer’s troops now on the Romans rush,
Resolv’d to perish or at once to crush,
With double speed their weighty jav’lins fly,
They kill with fury, and with fury die;
Yet all their courage now avails but nought,
For Roman ranks, with glowing freedom fraught,
Pursue their conquest, spite of breasted files,
Through falling ruins and o’er smoking piles.Sandra travelled to the office.The Jews retreat, the Romans follow hard,
Nor can assistant troops their steps <DW44>;
Back to the guarded temple’s sloping height
The Jews retire, and there renew the fight;
There head to head they press both man and horse,
As striving vultures o’er the mould’ring corse,
Or, like two lions, eager both for blood,
Wage with their fangs to grasp the trembling flood.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.But see!—the holy house—it smokes, it burns,
By Simon fir’d (who all devotion spurns),
The holy house, the temple’s outer court,
’Till now held sacred—stands a blazing fort.Now ’midst the war, poor Jezra, sunk in woe,
Prays for her lofty friend—her city’s foe;
Around the Roman camp she walks and wails,
Tears her dark locks, and spreads them to the gales;
Like a young plantain, nipp’d by raging frost,
Droops for her friends—her native city lost;
Now wildly gazes on her once fair home,
Now views the ’spiring temple’s shining dome,
Beneath whose concave she so oft hath knelt,
Warm’d by that mercy angels never felt:
Angels ne’er felt?—nay, reader, do not pause,
What sav’d us from the curse of broken laws?For what did Jesus sweat, did Jesus sigh?To save fall’n man from gaping hell—and prove
The strength of mercy and his saving love;
Redeeming love, to angels e’en unknown,
Redeeming mercy, ne’er to angels shown:
’Twas this that Jezra’s pious bosom fill’d,
’Twas this that ev’ry rising passion still’d;
’Twas this, when at the altar’s foot she lay,
Cheer’d her young soul, and bade her fears give way;
’Twas thoughts of this, and happy days gone by,
That now made Jezra roll her languid eye.The curling smoke the stately building hides,
The flames dart round its well-built glossy sides;
The Jews fly thro’ their gory streets with fear,
Their groans and shouts reach even Jezra’s ear;
“The temple’s fir’d (they cry in piercing tones)
No shelter left to rest our weary bones!God is the strongest, all our hopes are vain,
We strive ’gainst him, and therefore suffer pain;
Great God!restrain thy wrath, in pity save,
And penitent we’ll seek the silent grave.”
O’er dead and dying frantic Jezra speeds,
Through ranks of footmen, and ’midst frothy steeds,
To where brave Titus, struggling with the rest,
Inspires his men, and shews his dazzling crest;
There mid’ the din of war she dauntless stands,
And to the Roman lifts her lily hands:
“Great conqueror—invincible—my friend,
Oh!save the temple, and some pity lend;
Oh!let not distant ages proudly tell,
God’s consecrated house by Romans fell.No—no—to check the flames then give your word,
And victory accompany your sword,
Think on my dying father’s last behest,
Think how he clasp’d you to his heaving breast,
Think how he gave me to your willing care,
Think how he bade you all my troubles share;
Preserve this casket, which again I give,
For if the temple falls I cease to live;
Oh!may’st thou ever conquer, ever quell,
Oh!that crash, farewell!”
Thus spake the maid, then seiz’d a fallen blade,
And cut her way, of foes nor death afraid;
Through smoke and dust she gains the silver’d door,
And flings herself upon the burning floor.Around the roof the uncloy’d flames still roll,
While fear and madness fill each Jewish soul;
The Romans fight with more than mortal pow’r,
And press the Jews to Lebanon’s high tow’r,
(A place of strength, where Solomon abode,
And prov’d his wisdom in each new-penn’d code).By hateful craft, in which the Jews excel,
Two hundred thousand manly Romans fell,
With twice as many Jews, who murd’ring died,
And with their victims grovel side by side.Titus with grief beholds his falling troops,
But still his youthful courage nothing droops,
He goads his steed, repeats his leader’s names,
And bids them risk their lives to stop the flames:
But useless all, th’ increasing flames arise,
With dreadful glare illume the low’ring skies.Amidst the flames is Jezra rising seen,
Around her neck a scarf of shining green,
The gift of Titus, which she always wore
In token of the stifled love she bore:
High on a pinnacle she stands, and there
Pours forth in dying tears her deep despair.Warriors and men of might,
Great in peace and strong in fight,
Strive and slay
While you may,
God inspires you—He is right.Sacrilegious rebels all,
You have fought, and you must fall,
In these fires
Hope expires,
Death your drooping heads enthrall.Wake the trumpet, still the song,
Wield your weapons firm and strong,
Bravely rush,
Die or crush,
Round the burning temple throng.'I am quite sure that this great error, madame, is not arising
from any oversight of yours, and that you have been led to
understand that there was some necessity for it; at the same
time I am very far from being satisfied with those who have
allowed themselves to proceed in this matter without my command,
and who have presumed to counsel you on subjects of such grave
importance as ought never to be treated of without my knowledge
and approval.I send you a copy of the cessation of hostilities
concluded here, in order that you may cause it to be published
duly, and at the time therein declared, and to be strictly kept
and performed according to its form and tenor, setting aside
your own as null and void, as well as the publications which may
have taken place; for it is my express intention that it should
not be held of the smallest force or value; insomuch that if I
had not even concluded a treaty, as aforesaid, here, I would not
have permitted yours to be carried into effect.may our Lord have you in His holy keeping.Written at
Toledo, the 13th of August.* * * * *
'Further, madame,... I have ratified the neutrality of
Burgundy, as you desire, and I have included you, as well as my
brother the archduke and all your country and subjects, in the
treaty for the cessation of hostilities, which has been here
negotiated; and in all I may be able to do for you, for your
affairs and your welfare, I shall always and most willingly do
the same for you, my good mother and aunt, as for myself,
praying God to give you all your heart's desire.Written at
Toledo, the 15th of August 1525.'[108]
[108] W. Bradford, _Correspondence of the Emperor Charles V._
We can imagine how much upset Margaret must have been at receiving
this severe rebuke which was called forth by the report that the
emperor had just received from his ambassadors in London giving an
account of an interview they had had with Wolsey, in which he
expressed great surprise and annoyance at the truce which Margaret had
just concluded with France.'The treaties of Windsor stipulated,' he
said, 'that neither of the contracting parties was to conclude a truce
without the consent and full approval of the other one.We have so far
adhered to this, that, though the king has been often solicited by the
French, he has never given his consent to it.... I should never have
thought that, after so many stipulations, promises, and declarations
made by madame, she would have been the first to break through them.'... Any plans and designs which the emperor, Mons.de Bourbon,
and the king, my master, may have formed in this particular
matter are ruined for ever through madame having granted this
truce to our common enemy.'... In fact, I do not know how I shall be able to appease the
king's anger when he hears of it, for he has always maintained
that madame was incapable of doing anything in this matter
without letting him know first.The perplexity and doubt by
which madame is said to be assailed, and which have induced her
to take this step, are no excuse for her acting thus; for she
ought first to have consulted the king, my master, and stated
her reasons, instead of deciding, as she has done, for herself,
and then sending an agent to acquaint him with her resolution,
which was by no means an honourable proceeding....'[109]
[109] _Calendar of Spanish State Papers_, vol.Margaret's reply to her nephew explaining her reasons for her conduct
has unfortunately not been preserved, but she evidently found means to
soothe his anger, for ere long they were again on the best of terms.Charles was genuinely devoted to his aunt and held her in the highest
esteem, and to the end of her life Margaret enjoyed his full
confidence, and was always consulted by him on every occasion of
importance.King Francis had been brought to Spain in June, but it was not until
August that he was removed from Valencia and its neighbourhood to
Madrid.On his arrival in the latter town he was bitterly disappointed
to learn that the emperor was away hunting in Segovia, for he had
hoped much from a personal interview and his own powers of persuasion.Although comfortably lodged and treated with every mark of respect,
the unaccustomed life of seclusion soon told on his health, and the
report spread that he was dangerously ill.On hearing of his illness
his sister Margaret, Duchess of Alencon, hastened to Spain, provided
with full powers from her mother, the regent, to treat for peace.On
the evening of September the 18th Charles was out hunting when he
received the news that the French king was dying.Immediately he set
out for Madrid, and without hardly drawing rein he rode straight to
the Alcazar.Francis was asleep when he arrived, but the emperor
waited until his prisoner awoke, and then as the invalid slowly raised
himself, exclaiming, 'Here I am, my lord emperor, your servant and
your slave!'courteously replied, 'Not so; you are my good friend and
brother, and I hope that you will always be so.'He begged Francis to
keep up his spirits, and only to think of getting well: saying 'that
when his sister the Duchess of Alencon arrived, peace and liberty
would soon follow, for he only asked for what was reasonable, and did
not doubt that Francis would do what was just.'[110] The next day
Charles paid the king another visit, and was equally kind and
considerate, leaving him very much improved in health.As the emperor
descended the stairs from the invalid's room, he met the Duchess of
Alencon, who had just arrived, and after warmly greeting her,
conducted her to her brother.The Duchess Margaret was a very
attractive, graceful woman, and Charles had been warned by his
Ministers not to receive her, for as they said, 'Being young and a
widow she comes... to see and to be seen,' and they feared that the
emperor might fall in love with her; but though Charles kissed her and
had private interviews, not all her charms could make him relax one
point in his conditions of her brother's release.After many fruitless
efforts and endless discussions Margaret was obliged to return to
France without having secured the much-desired peace.On the 19th of
November 1525 Perrenot de Granvelle[111] wrote a long letter to
Margaret of Austria from Toledo, giving her an account of the Duchess
of Alencon's visit:--
'Madame!...In fulfilment of your wishes, and in accordance
with the good pleasure of the emperor,... I forthwith went to
take your letters to the king (Francis I.), and on your part to
pay him a visit.I had long audiences with him, at four
different times after the fever had subsided, when I found him
in a good disposition to receive me, though extremely weak from
the severity of his malady.He told me that he and his kingdom
were much indebted to you, madame, for the desire you had
manifested for peace, and a good intelligence and amity between
the emperor and him, and consequently for his deliverance;
which, if God should please to grant, he must always esteem you,
even as a second mother, with whose advice and counsel he should
be happy to govern his affairs; adding many other fair and
courteous expressions.On this subject and his ardent desire for
peace, as well as for the friendship and good graces of the
emperor, he spoke much, devising at large the means of effecting
it, and always recurring to the idea of a marriage as the
principal thing to build upon.He also repeated his assurances
of the desire he had to contribute to the aggrandisement of the
emperor, and to assist in forwarding all his enterprises,
referring all the means and details to the aforesaid Madame
|
bathroom | Where is Mary? | I met on my journey the said lady, and
delivered to her your letters; and whilst I had this
opportunity, with the knowledge and will of the emperor, I went
to visit her, and have reason to think that I gave satisfaction
without any cause of distrust on the one side or the other.I have since recovered the copy of the letter which the
emperor had written to M. de Praet, and of other writings which
I now send, as a summary of the communications which here took
place.At the commencement, the said lady recapitulated the
proposition which had already been entertained respecting the
marriage, the ransom, or the cession of the duchy (of Burgundy)
on condition that it should be pronounced by the Parliament of
Paris a possession belonging of right to the king, who would be
ready to give hostages in this case, to ensure its surrender.Sandra travelled to the office.On
this point, however, the emperor declared, as he had before
done, without any reference to the marriage, that no ransom
would satisfy him, nothing less than the duchy, his ancient
heritage, the foundation of his order, of which he bore the name
and arms, rejecting the conditions attached to it as wholly
inadmissible.Some days afterwards, the said lady made a
proposition to the emperor, who went to visit her at her
lodgings, to choose arbitrators, which he had before refused,
and which he then, as she told me the same day, was ready to
agree to.Afterwards, however, when she was in conference with
the ambassadors, they came to a standstill when they touched on
the aforesaid condition relating to the Parliament of Paris, and
the hostages which the emperor, they maintain, would not
accept.... Communications have passed in writing on both sides,
of which the result has been nothing more than is above related.They have now taken their leave, both the Duchess of Alencon and
the ambassadors, declaring that the king has fully made up his
mind not to resign the said duchy except on the condition
already proposed, choosing rather to submit to perpetual
imprisonment; and this very day the said lady has sent to demand
her passports, that she may return to France under the same
security as she travelled hither, which has been granted her.No
further movements or proposals have since taken place, the
emperor continuing in the same determination to obtain
possession of the duchy; and if the said lady takes her
departure, as appears her intention, the hope of peace which has
been excited by her arrival, and the subsequent attempts at
negotiation, as well as by the arbitration supposed to be agreed
on, will altogether vanish for the present.On Sunday last, the 15th of this month, I received by
Richard the letters and other papers which you were pleased to
send me.The emperor was at that time on a hunting expedition
five leagues hence, with a few attendants, having previously
taken leave of the Duchess of Alencon; and on his return I
presented to him your letters.I discussed with him at length
the two principal points relative to the peace or truce, and the
commercial arrangements in which your country is concerned....
To all this his Majesty gave a willing ear, and seemed to take
in good part all that was said....
'Madame!Whatever might have been the opinion offered, it has
certainly come to pass... that peace has been made with
England, and according to articles which had been proposed and
resolved upon before the battle and capture of the king....
Among other causes, it has chiefly arisen, as is pretended, out
of the truce made in your country, as well as from the
correspondence which has passed, and your frequent declarations,
that as far as your interest was concerned, you had abandoned
all thoughts of war.Concerning this matter I gave a sufficient
explanation, and satisfied his said Majesty, as I hope
thereupon....'[112]
[110] E. Armstrong.[111] Nicolas de Perrenot, known as the Sieur de Granvelle.[112] W. Bradford, _Correspondence of the Emperor Charles V._
At last, on the 14th of January 1526, the Treaty of Madrid was signed
between Charles V. and Francis I., and the emperor at once wrote to
Margaret to inform her of the joyful news, enclosing a summary of the
treaty.In return for his freedom the French king agreed to give up
the much-coveted duchy of Burgundy and the counties of Charolais and
Hesdin, to allow the sovereignty of Flanders and other countries of
the emperor within France.To renounce all claim to Naples, Milan,
Genoa, and Asti, as well as to Tournay and Arras.To reinstate the
Duke of Bourbon in all his property; and set at liberty the Prince of
Orange without any ransom.It was agreed that all prisoners on both
sides should be liberated; and that the Duke of Gueldres should be
allowed to retain his title during his lifetime, on condition that at
his death his duchy should pass to the emperor.The king's marriage with Queen Eleanor of Portugal was to take place
as soon as possible, the queen bringing 200,000 crowns in gold as her
dower, besides the counties of Macon, Auxerre, and Bar-sur-Seine,
which were to be settled on her and her heirs.It was especially
stipulated that if the king should be unable to restore Burgundy or
carry out other parts of the treaty, he should again return to
captivity, leaving the Dauphin and his second son as hostages.[113]
[113] _Calendar of Spanish State Papers_, vol.The emperor also wrote to Margaret on the 15th January asking her to
convoke the States-General for the 22nd of May, to inform them of the
peace that had just been concluded.But Francis had no intention of keeping the promises which had been
wrung from him under compulsion, and he secretly resolved to break
faith with the emperor as soon as he regained his liberty.A few days after the Treaty of Madrid had been signed Margaret had the
sorrow of losing her niece, Isabel, the young Queen of Denmark, who
died near Ghent on the 19th of January, at the age of twenty-five, and
was buried in that city.had not been a
happy one, and it was said that she died of a broken heart.Her three
children, John, Dorothea, and Christina,[114] she left to her aunt
Margaret's care, 'whom she had always called her mother.'Margaret
nobly fulfilled this trust, and tenderly watched over the children
until her death.She appointed the learned Cornelius Agrippa, then
residing at her Court, as tutor to Prince John, who at the time of his
mother's death was only eight years old.In a letter to Ferdinand
Charles thus mentions their sister's death: 'I am very sorry for the
death of our sister the Queen of Denmark, and have taken care that
prayers should be said for the repose of her soul.I would willingly
recommend to you her children our nephews, who are at present in the
hands of our dear aunt in Flanders.'[114] Christina married first Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan,
and secondly the Duke of Lorraine.Her beautiful portrait by
Holbein, lent by the Duke of Norfolk, hangs in the National
Gallery.Her elder sister, Dorothea, married Frederick, Count
Palatine.The portraits of Isabel's three children in one picture
by Mabuse are at Hampton Court Palace.[Illustration: THE CHILDREN OF CHRISTIAN II AND ISABEL OF DENMARK
IN MOURNING DRESS FOR THEIR MOTHER
FROM THE PAINTING BY MABUSE AT HAMPTON COURT PALACE]
On Ash-Wednesday, the 14th of February, Charles de Lannoy wrote to
Margaret from Madrid to inform her that the emperor had arrived the
day before, and King Francis had gone outside the city to meet him.After supper they had spent two hours talking together, and seemed
well pleased with each other.The king had begged permission to see
Queen Eleanor, which was granted, with the assurance that as soon
as he set foot in Provence she should be delivered over to him.Lannoy goes on to say that he has been ordered to attend the king on
his way to France.On February the 26th the Abbot of Najera mentions in a long letter to
the emperor that peace had been proclaimed in Milan on St.Matthew's
Day, the 24th of February, which was looked upon as a good omen as it
was the emperor's birthday as well as the anniversary of the victory
of Pavia.But a little later John Jonglet wrote to Margaret from
London that 'it was publicly asserted that the King of France would
not keep his treaty with the emperor, as the States-General of his
kingdom would never sanction the dismemberment of his crown.'[115]
[115] _Calendar of Spanish State Papers_, vol.iii
Charles himself seems to have suspected that Francis might play him
false, for, on the 19th of February, he had written to De Praet that
... 'as the said Seigneur King (Francis) is bound to deliver up to us
certain hostages, as you will see by this treaty, we desire that you
will well and carefully inform yourself who the said hostages are to
be, whether the king's two eldest sons, or Monseigneur the Dauphin,
and twelve of the principal nobility... that you take especial notice
of, and be regardful of the persons of the three children of France,
that you make yourself thoroughly acquainted with the visage,
physiognomy, size, and person of each, that when it comes to the
delivering of them over... there may be no trickery in substituting
one person for another, and that you may be able of a certainty to
recognise them as the identical persons whom we ought to have.Our
Viceroy of Naples is to take the charge of the said delivery and
acceptation, and as you are aware he can have no particular knowledge
himself of the said children, it is a matter of necessity that you
should be well acquainted with all these particulars....' In another
letter to De Praet he says: 'On Shrove-Tuesday we reached Madrid,
where we had the satisfaction of finding ourselves with the Sieur
King, reciprocally exchanging such sentiments and good offices as two
attached friends and brothers entertain and exercise together....
'We remained at Madrid Tuesday evening, Wednesday, and Thursday, and
on the following day departed thence with the said king our brother,
and slept four leagues from Madrid, in order to reach Illescas, two
leagues further, on Saturday.At Illescas we shall find the queen our
sister (Eleanor).Here they will meet and see each other, and speak
together; and then the king will return to Madrid, and we shall
continue his companion in the evening.The next day he will begin his
journey direct for Bayonne accompanied by our said viceroy.Soon
afterwards our sister the queen will also set off for the same,
attended by our Constable of Castile.And as to ourselves, we intend
to take the road towards Seville, where we shall find our empress, and
where our marriage is to take place.'[116]
[116] W. Bradford.On the 16th of February Charles wrote to Louise of Savoy:--
'Madame, my good Mother,--Since I have given back a good brother
to the king your son, and am offering you the queen my sister
for a daughter, it appears to me that, in order not to present
you one son only, I should resume the name which I used
formerly to give you, and should again address you as my good
mother; and seeing that I do so consider you, I pray you to act
as such towards the said queen my sister, as well as towards
myself.I came to this town of Madrid to see the king your son
... and I was sorry not to have been able to do so sooner, but I
am greatly rejoiced at finding both his health and his
affections in so different a state from what they were when I
last saw him.The love and friendship which he professes to bear
towards me have given me no small satisfaction, and I nowise
doubt the sincerity of these good feelings, which I hope you
will assist in confirming, as you have promised me by your
letters that you would do.On my part I assure you that the love
and friendship I bear towards him are most sincere, and that I
am fully prepared to accomplish everything I have promised.'You request in your said letter that the king... should take
the queen, his wife, my sister, with him.As soon as the king
... has ratified and sworn to the treaties, and that all things
are concluded between him and me, she shall be given up at
Bayonne according to your desire.This shall be done by my
Viceroy of Naples after he has liberated the king... and has
received the hostages that are to be given.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.'And now, madam, that he may no longer distress you by his bad
writing, he who looks upon you as his good mother will conclude
by recommending himself with all his heart to your kindness, and
will sign himself,--Your good son,
CHARLES[117]
'To Madame the Regent of France, my good mother.'Mary went back to the hallway.From the emperor's Itinerary we learn that Queen Eleanor left off her
mourning on being affianced to the King of France.On her arrival at
Talavera she was met by the emperor and the Duke of Bourbon.Mary travelled to the bathroom.On the
20th of February the emperor and the King of France went together to
Illescas, where they paid a visit to the Queen Eleonora and Queen
Germaine de Foix, accompanied by the Countess of Nassau and other
ladies, who received them on the stairs.They then went into a saloon,
where the four sat down under a canopy, and were engaged in
conversation, whilst the ladies of the Court amused themselves by
dancing.... On the 23rd of February the emperor took leave of his
sister, the Queen of France, who remained at Illescas, and pursued his
journey towards Seville, where the Princess Isabella of Portugal, his
affianced bride, was to meet him on the 9th of March.He made his
entry into Seville on that day, and on the 10th his marriage was
celebrated with much pomp.At the magnificent festivities which
followed, it is recorded that M. de la Chaux opened the ball.[118]
[118] W. Bradford.In a letter to his brother Ferdinand, Charles thus briefly refers to
his wedding: 'I have now entered upon the estate of marriage, which
pleases me well.'And yet this marriage, begun under such unromantic
conditions, turned out very happily, for Isabella was a capable
princess, who, besides her beauty and clear complexion, had a good
heart and sound judgment, and Charles, we are told, 'lived in perfect
harmony with her, and treated her on all occasions with much
distinction and regard.'Guillaume des Barres, one of Margaret's secretaries, sent his mistress
the following description of the bride: 'I would give much that you
could see her, for if you have been told of her many beauties,
virtues, and goodness, you would find still more, and you should see
how happy they are together.'[119] On April 26th, 1526, Margaret sent
an embassy to Spain to congratulate Charles on his marriage, and
present her good wishes to the empress, to whom she wrote, 'that she
wished that things could be so arranged that she could come and visit
the countries over here (Flanders), which are so beautiful and adorned
with such fine towns....'[120] Amongst other things her ambassador was
ordered to tell the emperor 'that the archduchess had the greatest
pleasure in trying to extirpate the sect of the Lutherans,' and on his
own account he added that his mistress lived so |
office | Where is Mary? | [121]
[119] _MSS.de la Bibliotheque de Bourgogne._
[120] _Ibid._
[121] _Ibid._
Meanwhile, on the 17th of March, King Francis had been set at liberty.Charles in a letter to his brother says: 'The King of France was
restored to his kingdom on the 17th of this month (February), on my
receiving the Dauphin and Duke of Orleans as hostages, whom I have
desired to be taken to Burgos; and the said King of France promises to
accomplish all that he has engaged in by the treaty of peace....'
Guicciardini gives the following interesting account of the exchange
of prisoners at Fuenterrabia: 'By this time the French king was come
to Fuenterrabia, a town appertaining to the emperor, standing near the
Ocean Sea upon the frontiers of Biscay and the duchy of Guyenne; and
on the other side the Lady Regent was arrived with the children of
France at Bayonne, which is not far from Fuenterrabia.... Then the
18th day of March, the French king, accompanied by the viceroy,
Captain Alarcon, with fifty horse, came to the shore of the river that
divideth the realm of France from the kingdom of Spain; at the same
time M. de Lautrech, with the king's children, and the like number of
horse, presenting themselves on the other side.There was in the midst
of the river a great barque made fast with anchors, in which was no
person.The king approached to this barque in a little boat, wherein
he was accompanied by the viceroy, etc.... all armed with short
weapons, and on the other side of the barque were likewise brought in
a little boat, M. de Lautrech, with the hostages... after this the
viceroy went into the barque... and the king with him.... M. de
Lautrech fetched out of the boat into the barque the Dauphin, who
being given to the viceroy... was forthwith bestowed in his boat, and
after him followed the little Duke of Orleans, who was no sooner
entered the barque than the French king leaped out of the barque into
his boat with such swiftness that his permutation was thought to be
done at one self instant, and then the king being brought to the
shore, mounted suddenly (as though he had feared some ambush) upon a
Turkish horse of a wonderful swiftness, which was prepared for the
purpose, and ran without stay to St.Sandra travelled to the office.John de Luz, a town of his
obedience, four leagues from thence; and being there readily relieved
with a fresh horse, he ran with the same swiftness to Bayonne, where
he was received with incredible joy of all the Court.'[122]
[122] Published in 1618.Mentioned by W. Bradford in his
_Correspondence of the Emperor Charles V._
In a despatch to the emperor, written on March 23rd, Ochoa de Ysasaga
announced that 'The day that the King of France was released from his
captivity he leaped from the boat, with water up to his knees, mounted
a horse that had been prepared for him, and rode without stopping to
St.Jean de Luz, where he dined, and was visited by the flower of the
French nobility, who came to congratulate him.[123]
[123] _Calendar of Spanish State Papers_, vol.And thus Charles let slip his chance, and omitted to reap the fruitful
August, which Lannoy, in announcing the victory of Pavia, had declared
comes to a man once and once only in his life.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.CHAPTER XIII
THE LADIES' PEACE
The eventful year 1526 was not to close without further troubles for
the House of Austria.The Sultan Solyman, taking advantage of the war
in Italy and the consequent absorption of the principal rulers of
Europe, had pushed his conquests in the east until his vast hosts
encamped before the walls of Vienna.Louis II., King of Hungary, who
had married Margaret's niece Mary, seeing his kingdom thus invaded by
the Turks, sent urgent appeals for help to all Christian princes.But
either the neighbouring powers were too much occupied with their own
affairs, or they did not realise the actual danger, for they returned
cold and indifferent answers, and even the emperor delayed sending aid
to his brother-in-law until too late.On the 29th of August a decisive
battle was fought on the plains of Mohacs between the Hungarian army
and the troops of Solyman, and ended in the utter defeat of King
Louis, who before the day was over lost his crown and his life.Two
months after, his body and that of his horse was found sunk in a bog,
into which he had ridden during the retreat.His next heir was his
sister Anne, who had married Margaret's nephew, the Archduke
Ferdinand.Mary went back to the hallway.And it was in right of his wife that a few months later
Ferdinand was elected to the thrones of Bohemia and Hungary.An interesting correspondence between Margaret and her nephew
Ferdinand gives full details of these stirring events.On the 18th of
September Ferdinand wrote to Margaret from Lintz:--'Madame, my good
Aunt,--The news has just reached me that the Turk with two hundred
thousand men met the King of Hungary, my late brother-in-law, about
twenty miles from Buda, where he was with forty thousand men to defend
his country.On the 29th of August last he gave battle, which (battle)
was won by the Turk, and all the late king's large quantity of
artillery was destroyed and he himself slain, some say whilst
fighting, others, that seeing the said battle was lost, he retreated,
and thinking to escape, entered a morass, where he remained, which
seems most probable.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Thus, madame, you can imagine how perplexed I am
to be deprived of money and help against such a formidable power as
the said Turk.... To-day news has reached me that the said Turk has
taken the town of Buda and that he has despatched two of his principal
captains, each with a good number of men, one to invade my country of
Austria... and the other to do the same in Styria, which they have
already begun to do, and have gone within fifteen or sixteen miles of
Vienna.And you ought, madame, as a good lady and experienced
princess, to help the emperor, my lord and brother, to make peace with
our common enemies to his greater honour and safety, as soon as
possible... and diligently make every effort to repulse this cursed
Turk, which I very humbly beg you to do, for if his Majesty does not
quickly find a remedy, not only I, our House of Austria, and all
Germany will fall into complete ruin and desolation, but also the
whole of Christianity....
'As to the affairs in Italy, they are, madame, also in a very bad
way, owing to the enemies' great power and our insufficient number of
men.... I have sent Messire George de Fronsberg... to Augsbourg with
the best jewels and rings that I have... for, madame, I neither have
or know of other means to raise money to send help... so you can
imagine to what poverty I am reduced.... And at present I do not know
of anything else worthy to write to you about, excepting to beg you,
madame, very humbly to send some help and succour if you can... for I
am so much in need of money, without which I can do nothing, because
of the great expenses I have had since I came to Germany.... And it
may be that for lack of help and succour you may soon have the same
news of me as of the late King of Hungary.And as to the queen, my
sister, she is about ten miles from Vienna, very unhappy and desolate,
as you may imagine.I have sent for her consolation and also for her
safety some good people and some infantry.... I will inform you of
anything more that occurs....' Then follows a postscript in
Ferdinand's handwriting: 'Madame, je vous suplie vouloir tenir la main
a la pais; car vous voyes bien que c'est plus que besoin.'[124]
[124] _Archives de Bruxelles._
Margaret replied: 'My good Nephew,--I have received your two letters,
one of the 18th and the other of the 23rd September, and by them have
heard of the sad and pitiable news of the death of the King of
Hungary, the loss of the kingdom, and the state of the poor queen,
your sister, my good niece, and above all, the danger which you, your
country and subjects are in.I do not know how to express to you the
regret and sorrow that I feel, and you can believe that it is not less
than if the misfortune had befallen me, and that I was in the position
of the queen, your worthy sister, or yourself.In any case it becomes
us to conform in all things to the will of God, our Creator, the
refuge and consoler of the desolate, who never forsakes or abandons
those who pray to Him with their whole heart....
'I have ordered your courier in Zealand to cross the sea with the
first good company that leaves, which is the safest way, and I have
written to the emperor reminding him of your conduct and the services
you have rendered him, exhorting and imploring him first to assist you
in your great and extreme necessity, as I hope he will, and on my part
in this and other matters I will do what I can for you and your
service.John Seigneur de Temstel, whom Monseigneur de Bourbon sent to
you, and also Messire George de Fronsberg have been to see me and told
me that the said Messire George has not been able to raise money from
the Fuggers or others on the rings you gave him... for which I am
sorry.I have informed the King of England and the legate of the loss
of Hungary and the death of the king.... Monseigneur, if it should
happen that you should see the Queen of Hungary, your sister, or...
that you should send or write to her, I beg you to recommend me to
her, and console her for her misfortune as much as is possible, and
comfort her and forward a letter which I have written to her.... I beg
you, monseigneur, to often send me your news, and I will send you mine
from here, and assist you in every way in my power, with the help of
our Lord.'[125]
[125] _Archives de Bruxelles._
Ferdinand also received a sympathetic letter from Charles, in which
the emperor said that 'he could not well express his grief on hearing
of the misfortunes and death of King Louis of Hungary, and at first
could not believe the news, although it reached him from various
parts.... When his (Ferdinand's) letter arrived he had already sent
his last penny to Italy, and was therefore unable immediately to send
help, but he had done his best to procure money, and would shortly
send 100,000 ducats in bills by a gentleman of his bedchamber, whom he
was sending on a mission to him and their sister Mary with
instructions to carry out his (Ferdinand's) wishes in every respect,
and hoped that the archduke's affairs would soon be satisfactorily
settled....'[126]
[126] _Calendar of Spanish State Papers_, vol.Daniel went to the bedroom.On the 17th of December Queen Mary announced that her brother, the
Archduke Ferdinand, had been duly elected King of Hungary and Bohemia
on the 16th by all the barons and nobles present at the Diet.When
Charles heard this welcome news he at once sent to congratulate his
brother and thanked the States for the part they had taken in his
election, promising 'to spend all his treasures and all his blood in
their defence.'[127]
[127] _Ibid._
But other important events now claimed the emperor's attention.Francis I. had no sooner gained his liberty than he deliberately
evaded his promises and refused to ratify the Treaty of Madrid.On May
the 22nd, 1526, he entered into an alliance with the Pope, Venice, the
Duke of Milan, and Henry VIII.Mary went to the office.This League of Cognac had for its
ostensible object the peace of Christendom, but in reality aimed at
expelling the emperor from his possessions in Italy, and checking his
growing power.As soon as the treaty was concluded, Clement VII.absolved Francis from the oath he had taken to observe the Treaty of
Madrid on the plea that he had acted under compulsion.When the
emperor discovered that the King of France intended to break faith
and elude his most solemn promises, his wrath knew no bounds, and he
publicly denounced Francis as a prince without faith or honour, at the
same time accusing the Pope of base ingratitude.To these reproaches
Francis replied by challenging the emperor to single combat, but this
interesting duel was not allowed to take place.The peace for which
Margaret had 'grandement tenu la main' was broken, and war broke out
again fiercer than ever.The North Italian towns made overtures to the French, and the imperial
troops received a decided check in Lombardy.Money was very scarce,
and, worried on every side, Charles grumbled that Margaret showed lack
of energy in raising funds, and reproached her for not squeezing more
out of the Netherlands.To his other troubles was added the knowledge
that Lutheranism was making enormous strides in the Belgian provinces.Margaret's attitude towards the reformers showed great moderation
considering the irritation she felt against those sects who added
religious dissension to the troubles of a foreign war.She was
convinced that overmuch zeal on the part of the orthodox could only do
harm, and addressed a circular letter to all religious houses within
her jurisdiction, recommending that only wise, tactful, and
enlightened orators should be allowed to preach, and advising them
always to speak gravely and prudently, and never mention either the
reformers or their doctrine.She also forbade all meetings where the
divine office was reduced to only the reading of the Bible.'These
meetings,' she said, 'aim at alienating the people from the reverence
due to the sacraments, to the honour which belongs to the Mother of
God and the Saints, to prayers for the dead, fasting, and other
precepts of the Church.'She imposed various fines on those who were
convicted before a magistrate of reformed practices--twenty francs for
a first offence, forty for a second, and eighty for a third.All who
were unable to pay were to be banished.But these measures had no
effect, and a little later a new edict appeared in which it was
proclaimed that in order to check the progress of heresy, those who
possessed books written by Luther or his followers were to bring them
to the governor of the place, under pain of confiscation of goods, or
even death.Extreme measures were against Margaret's nature, but
circumstances and the spirit of the times forced her into them.In May of the following year (1527) she received the joyful tidings
that a son and heir (Philip II.)had been born to Charles on the 22nd
at Valladolid.But these cannot be considered as ideal marriages, or likely to
produce highly endowed children.And in England, at least, such unions
are the exception and not the rule.Broadly speaking, to make any marriage happy each partner ought
deliberately to use every atom of his or her intelligence to think out
the best method to live in sympathy with the mate, and should not
simply be set upon expressing his or her own personality, regardless
of the other.Chain any two animals together and watch the result!Nothing will teach what marriage means more effectually.It is only
when the two poor beasts are of one mind that their chains do not
gall.But human beings are above animals in this, that they have wills
and talents and aspirations, and can judge of good and evil, so that
their happiness or misery is practically in their own hands, and to
quote an immortal remark of a French writer--"If as much thought were
put into the making a success of marriage as is put into the mixing of
a salad, there would be no unhappy unions!"V
SHOULD DIVORCE BE MADE EASIER?However much some of us may feel that divorce can never touch our
personal lives, at least |
hallway | Where is Mary? | To
those people entirely influenced by religion as it is expounded from
the laws laid down by the Church, there can be nothing to say,
because, in the first place, their belief in the infallibility of
these laws and the influence of their pastors ought certainly to keep
them from sinning at all; and if sinned against, ought to enable them
to bear the pain without murmur.Sandra travelled to the office.But there are a vast number of our
countrymen and women who do not consider the dogmas of religion and
are not entirely imbued with respect for the laws of the Church, while
nevertheless being good and honest citizens.It depends upon each
person's point of view.In this paper, as in my former ones upon Marriage, I want only to take
the subject from the standpoint of common sense, while with reverence
I admit that if the moral conscience could be awakened by any
religious convictions whatever, so that it would keep each individual
from sinning, that would be the true solution of the problem.But,
while seeking to enforce its laws in opposition to the laws of the
State, the teaching of the Church seems somehow not to have been able
to retain much hold over the general conscience which, ever since the
first secular law came into being, has availed itself of the relief so
afforded to free itself from galling shackles.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.The point, then, to
look at sensibly is not whether divorce is right or wrong in itself,
but what sort of effect the making of it easier or less easy would
have upon the nation.There does not seem to be the slightest use in
applying any arguments to the subject which do not take into
consideration the immeasurable upheaval in ideas, manner of living,
relaxation of personal discipline, and loss of religious control which
have taken place since the last reform was made.The luxury of
existence, the rapid movement from place to place permitted by
motor-cars, the emancipation of women, the general supposed necessity
of indulging in amusements, have so altered all the notions of life,
and so excited and encouraged interest in sex relationships, that the
old idea of stability and loyalty in marriage is shaken to its
foundations.The temptations for people to err are now a thousand-fold
greater than they were fifty years ago, and very few young people are
brought up with ideas of stern self-control at all.This being the
case, it would seem that the only rational standpoint to view the
question of divorce reform or divorce restriction from is the one
which gives the vastest outlook over each side's eventuality,
realising present conditions and tendencies to be as they are, and not
as they were, or ought to be.The forces which produced these
conditions are not on the decline, but, if anything, on the increase,
and must therefore be reckoned with and not ignored.What are they
likely to bring in the future?Still greater intolerance of all
restraint, still more desire for change?And if this is so, will it
have been wiser to have made the law harder or more lenient?That is
the question we shall soon, as a people, have to try to decide.In setting out to look calmly at the subject of divorce, no good can
be arrived at by studying isolated cases, inasmuch as surely there can
be no divided opinion upon the fact of the cruelty of some of them,
and the certainty of their betterment by divorce.The one and only aim
to keep in view is what will be best for the whole people, and no
other aspect should ever influence the true citizen in making up his
mind upon so vital a question.Thus surely we ought each one of us to
ask himself or herself to look ahead, and try to imagine what would be
the result to our nation of relaxing the severity of the present
divorce law--or of increasing it.Of the effects of its present
administration we can judge, so it ought to be no impossible task to
work from that backwards or forwards.But to look at any subject dispassionately, without the prejudice of
religion or personal feeling, is one of the hardest things to
accomplish.These two forces always make people take views as
unchangeable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, regardless of
totally altered conditions and requirements of mankind.I hold a brief
for neither side, and in this paper I only want to suggest some points
of view so as to help, perhaps, some others to look at the matter with
justice, as I have tried to look at it myself.It would seem to me
that divorce as a means of ridding oneself of one partner merely to be
happier with another must surely always be wrong, because it must
entail the degradation of conscious personal motive, in the knowledge
that one had taken advantage of a law to gain an end, and to help one
to break a vow solely for one's own gratification.The enormous
responsibility of so taking fate into their own hands would frighten
most people, if they gave themselves time to think--but they do not.Mary went back to the hallway.Nine-tenths of them have no compunction in breaking vows, because they
do not realise that by making them they have connected themselves with
currents and assumed responsibilities the consequences of which to
themselves they cannot possibly eventually avoid, no matter how they
may try temporarily to evade them.It would seem to me that divorce for the rich and educated should be
made as difficult as possible, and the pleas investigated mercilessly,
to discover if any advantage has been taken of legal quibbles for
ulterior ends; but that the judge should grant decrees instantly when
habitual drunkenness, madness, or anything which degrades and lowers a
household or community is proved against the defendant.It would seem
to me that divorces for the poor should be facilitated in every way,
if this difference to those of the rich could possibly be
accomplished, so that the hideous cruelty and encouragement of vice
(cases of which are so admirably set forth in the pamphlets issued by
the Divorce Law Reform Union) could be summarily dealt with, and
relief and peace conferred upon the innocent party.Because the lives
of the poor are too filled with work to be as easily influenced by
personal emotion as the lives of the rich, and the lower level of
their education and standard of manners admits of such far greater
unkindness and brutality in their actions than in a higher class; and
thus they are the more entitled by justice to relief and protection
than the highly endowed and developed section of society who can
better take care of themselves.It seems to me to be a crying
injustice that the law of divorce can only be administered by paying
exorbitant fees for it; and that if the separation of two human beings
who are admittedly bound together by law can be accomplished by law
and that the breaking of the marriage vow is a sin against the law,
then the poorest in the land have an absolute right that this law
should be put into execution for them without special payment, just as
they have now a right to the Law's working for them to catch offenders
who steal their goods, or who break business contracts with them.It
would seem that this is a frightful case of there being one law for
the rich and one for the poor, and that it is a blot upon the boasted
equity and fairness of English justice.How glorious it would be if
all lawyers could be remunerated equally by the State!It would do
away with a thriving industry perhaps, but it might be a great aid to
real justice being arrived at, and not as things now are, when whoever
can pay the cleverest pleader has the best chance of winning the case.But to get back to the views of divorce!Mary travelled to the bathroom.It would seem to me that the vital and essential question all persons
wishing for divorce ought to ask themselves is, "What is my motive in
desiring this freedom?"They should search their very souls for the
truth.If it is because the position has not only become intolerable
to themselves, but is a menace to their children or society, then they
should know that they are acting rightly in trying their utmost to be
free; but if the real reason is that they may legally indulge in a new
passion, then they may be certain that if they take advantage of a law
designed for the benefit of a race, and use it to their own baser
ends, they are invoking most dangerous forces to militate against
their own eventual unhappiness.No one who is in a position where his
or her good or bad example will be followed has any right to indulge
in any personal feelings to the influencing in a harmful way of his or
her public actions.This is the true meaning of that finest of all old
sayings, "_Noblesse oblige_."To me it would seem to be a frightful
sin for a man or woman for personal motives to degrade an order or a
community.So this is the standpoint I would suggest every one looking at divorce
from: "Will the thing bring good or harm?--not to me who am only a
unit, but to that wider circle of my family and my country?"And if
common sense assures him or her that no good can come of it, then the
true citizen should not hesitate to bear the pain of refraining.It would seem to me to be wrong to allow any personal feeling at all
to influence one to divorce, no matter what the cruelty of the
circumstances or the justice of the grievance one had, _if by so doing
the children of the marriage were injured in any way, or that the
prestige of an order or the honour of a family were lowered by one's
action_; but that were the husband or wife a shame and degradation to
the children or the family, the individual would be entirely justified
in divorcing, and would be helping the good of the State by preventing
the guilty and debased partner from committing further harm.Common
sense is always the truest wisdom, but it has often unhappily had to
be cloaked and hampered either by spiritual superstition, prejudice,
or ignorance.So that when a flagrant case which corrupts a whole
neighbourhood cries aloud to common sense to remove it by divorce,
there are found hundreds of good and worthy people to oppose this on
the ground that the Church does not sanction such proceeding!If the
State religion administered by the Church cannot inculcate higher
principles in its members, so as to prevent them from sinning, it
would obviously seem to be more fair to allow the statesmen and
sociologists to have a free hand in their attempt to better the
morality of England than for the Church to use the vast influence it
still possesses to the stultifying of these plans.The homely proverb
of the proof of the pudding being in the eating seems to be plainly
shown here.The religious teaching has failed to influence the people
to refrain from sin and to discountenance divorce, proving that its
method of imparting knowledge and obtaining influence over the modern
mind is no longer effectual, and common sense would suggest changing
the method to ensure the desired end.There is a story told of a
French regiment in the early days of conscription.A certain size of
boots had been decided upon for recruits, and this decision had worked
very well when the young men were drawn from the town, where the feet
were comparatively small, but when countryside youths became the
majority, the boots they were given were an agony to them, and
constant complaints were the result, with, however, no redress.Omnipotent head-quarters had decided the size!And it was not until nearly the whole regiment was in hospital
with sore feet that it entered the brain of the officials that it
might be wiser for France to regulate the size of the boots of the
regiment to the feet of the wearers.Why, then, cannot the Church
devote all its brain and force to evolving some new form of teaching
which will, so to speak, "fit the feet of the wearers"?Then all
questions of divorce could be settled by noble and exalted feeling and
desire to do right and elevate the nation.But meanwhile, with the
growth and encouragement of individualism, every little unit is giving
forth his personal view (as I am doing in this paper!), perhaps many
of them without the slightest faculty for looking ahead, or knowledge
of how to make deductions from past events, or other countries'
experiences; and the Church is preaching one thing, and the State
another, the Majority report taking a certain view, and the Minority a
different one--and we are all at sea, and the supreme issue of it all
seems to be fogged.An enormous section of the public, and almost all women it would seem,
are of opinion that divorce should be granted for the same reason to
women as it is now to men.Daniel went to the bedroom.But surely those who hold this view cannot
understand that fundamental difference in the instincts of the sexes
which I tried to show as forcibly as I could in my former articles
upon Marriage.Mary went to the office.Infidelity in man cannot be nearly such a degradation
to his own soul as infidelity in woman must be to hers, because he is
following natural impulses and she is following grafted ones.A woman
must feel degraded in her body and soul when she gives herself to _two
men_ at the same time, a husband and a lover; but a man, when he
strays, if it has any moral effect upon him at all, probably merely
feels some twinges on account of breaking his word, and the fear of
being found out.The actual infidelity cannot degrade him as much as
it generally degrades a woman, and may be only the yielding to strong
temptation at a given moment, and have no bearing upon the kind home
treatment he accords his wife and children, or the tenor of his
domestic life.The eventuality of what this law would bring should be
looked at squarely.And it is rather a pitiful picture to think of the
entire happiness of a home being upset because a wife, without
judgment or the faculty of making deductions, discovering a single
instance of illicit behaviour in her husband, sees fit to, and is
enabled by law, to divorce him.It may be argued that the fear of this
would make him mend his ways; but did fear ever curb strong natural
instincts for long?--instincts as strong as hunger, or thirst, or
desire to sleep?Mary travelled to the hallway.Fear could only curb such for a time, and then
intelligence would suggest some new and cunning method of deceit, so
as to obtain the desired end.The only possible way to ensure fidelity
in a man is by influencing him to _wish_ to remain faithful, either by
fond love for the woman or deep religious conviction or moral opinion
that not to do so would degrade his soul.The accomplishment of this
end would seem to be either in the hands of the woman or in the
teaching of the Church--and cannot be brought about by law.Law can
only punish offenders; it cannot force them to keep from sin.When a
man is unfaithful habitually, it amounts to cruelty, and even with the
present law the woman can obtain relief on that ground.In looking at a single case of infidelity in a woman, a man would be
wise to question himself to see if he has not been in some measure
responsible for it--by his own unkindness or indifference, and in not
realising her nature; and if his conscience tells him he is to blame,
then he ought never to be hard upon the woman.John moved to the garden.He ought also very
seriously to consider the circumstances, and whether or no his
children or his family will be hurt by the scandal of public
severance, as they should be more important to him than his personal
feelings.Tolerance and common sense should always hold wounded vanity
and prejudice in check.How often one sees happy and united old
couples who in the meridian of their lives have each looked elsewhere,
but have had the good taste and judgment to make no public protest
about the matter, and thus have given each other time to regain
command of vagrant fancies and return to the fold of convention!With so many different individual views upon the right and wrong of
divorce, it is impossible for either side--the divorce reform or the
divorce restriction supporters--to state a wholly convincing case
against the other.The only possible way to view the general question
is, as I said before, to keep the mind fixed upon the main issue,
_that of what may possibly be best for the nation_, having regard to
the ever-augmenting forces of luxury and liberty and democracy and
want of discipline which are holding rule.Lack of space prevents me from trying to touch upon the numerous other
moot points in divorce, so I will only plead that, when each person
has come to a definite and common-sense conclusion, unclouded by
sentiment or prejudice, he or she may not hesitate to proclaim his or
her conviction aloud, so that the law of the land may be reorganised
to the needs of present-day humanity and help it to rise to the
highest fulfilment.VI
THE RESPONSIBILITY OF MOTHERH |
garden | Where is John? | A striking example of the consequences of the
latter state of being is shown by "Barbara," that thrillingly
attractive Polar bear in the Zoo, whose twelfth and thirteenth infants
were only the other day condemned to follow their brothers and sisters
to an early grave through their parents'--and especially their
mother's--gross stupidity about their bringing-up and welfare.And we
who are human animals, given by God conscious souls, ought to realise
the fact that civilisation and pampered environment have enormously
blunted our natural instincts in this respect, just as they have
Barbara's, and so we should try to restore the loss by consciously
cultivating our understanding of the subject and deliberately
realising the tremendous responsibilities we incur by bringing
children into the world.When we think about the matter quietly, the
magnitude of it is almost overwhelming, and yet there are hundreds and
thousands of women who never give it a serious thought!They have some
vague idea that to have children is the inevitable result of
matrimony, and that if they pay others to feed and clothe the little
creatures, and give them some instruction in the way that they should
go, their own part of the affair is finished.That, until a child is
grown to an age to judge for itself, the parents will be held
responsible for their stewardship of its body and soul at the great
tribunal of God does not strike them, and it is only perhaps when the
boomerang of their neglect has returned to them and blasted them with
calamity that they become conscious of their past negligence.In this article I do not propose to touch upon the father's side of
the question, important as it is, but shall confine myself to the
mother's, because this has always been one of my deep preoccupations
to think out the meaning of it all, and how best to fulfil the trust.Obviously the sole aim of true motherhood is the moral and physical
welfare of the child, and to accomplish this end we should understand
that it is quite impossible to lay down any set rule, or go by any
recognised and unchangeable method.For in one age certain precepts
are taught which are obsolete in the next, because science and the
improvement of mechanical aids to well-being advance with such giant
strides.But if we keep _the end_ in view it is simple enough to see
that common sense and discrimination, unclouded by custom or sentiment
or superstition, can accomplish miracles.Sandra travelled to the office.The circumstances of the
particular case must always govern the method to be used in order to
obtain the same given end, no matter what the station in life of the
parents.Thus every mother, from the humblest to the highest, ought to
think out how she can best procure her child moral and physical
welfare _according to her means_.In the lives of the very poor the only thing to be done for the
betterment of the understanding of the responsibility of motherhood
seems to be to teach the simplest rules of hygiene which animals know
by instinct, and after that for the State to take care of the children
as much as possible.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.For this very strange fact is in operation,
namely, that while Nature leaves an insatiable desire to create life,
she allows civilisation to rob human beings of instinctive knowledge
of how to preserve it in its earliest stages, and that the human
mother is of all creation the only one entirely at the mercy of
imparted knowledge as regards the proper treatment of her offspring.Into the conception of the duties of motherhood among the very poor we
cannot go in this short paper--the subject is too vast--so we must
confine ourselves to discussing those of a higher class where, having
the means to do well, the responsibilities are far greater.I want, if
I can, to open a window, as it were, upon the outlook of the general
responsibility of motherhood and let each class apply what it gathers
of the meaning, if it wishes, to its own circumstances.It is the aim and end of a thing which is of sole importance; in this
case the aim and end being the happiness and welfare of the child.And
that is the point which I want to harp upon, the necessity of keeping
the goal in view and of not wandering off into side issues.It was for
the sake of the end, namely, obtaining happiness, that I tried to show
in my articles upon marriage how common sense might secure this
desired state.And it was to _the end_ of what might be best for
England that I pleaded for the necessity of using fair judgment over
the question of facilitating or restricting divorce.Mary went back to the hallway.And it is now to
_the end_ of helping the coming race to be fine and true that I want
to talk about the responsibility of motherhood.Let us take the subject from the very beginning.PRE-NATAL INFLUENCES
The thought for the child should commence with the first knowledge of
its coming birth.A tremendous control of self, and emotions, and
foolish habits, and a stern command of nerves should be the
prospective mother's constant effort, as science has proved that all
pre-natal influences have such powerful effect upon the child; and,
surely, if any woman stopped to think of the colossal responsibility
she has undertaken in having become the vehicle to bring a soul from
God to earth, she would at least try to employ as much intelligence in
the fulfilment of her obligation as she puts into succeeding in any of
the worldly pursuits in life.Think of the hours some women spend in
painful discipline by going through exercises to keep their figures
young and their faces beautiful--the massage!and the
"rests" they take to this end--but who let their waiting time for
motherhood be passed in a sort of relaxation of all control--getting
into tempers, indulging in nerves, over-smoking, or tiring themselves
out with excitement without one thought for the coming little one,
except as an inevitable necessity or a shocking nuisance.During this
period the wise woman ought to study such matters as heredity.She
ought to view the characteristics of her own and her husband's
families, and then firmly determine to counteract the objectionable
features in them by making her own mind dwell upon only good and fine
attributes for her child.She ought to try to keep herself in perfect
health by using common sense, and, above all, she should _determine_
to fight and conquer the nervous emotions which more or less beset all
women at such time.She ought to encourage happy and loving relations
with her husband, and try in every way to be in herself good and
gentle and brave.Mary travelled to the bathroom.It is the most important moment in the whole of a
woman's life for self-discipline, because of the prodigious results of
all her moods and actions upon the child, and yet, as I said before,
it is one of the commonest sights to see a woman who at other times is
a very good sort of creature, simply letting herself go and becoming
an insupportable bore to her husband and the whole house, with her
perverseness and her nerves and her fads.If they could analyse causes, what bitter reproaches many poor little
diseased, neurotic children might truly throw at their irresponsible
mothers for endowing them with these evils before birth.THE CASE OF TWO WOMEN
When the child is born--again it is only its welfare which should be
thought of by the mother, and not what custom or family opinion would
enforce.To me it seems that no mother ought to undertake any of the
so-called duties of a mother that she is incapable of performing to
the advantage of the child, who would be better cared for by employing
highly trained service.Daniel went to the bedroom.She should only force herself to do her best
in uncongenial tasks if circumstances make it impossible for her to
obtain a better nurse or teacher for her infant than she herself could
be.She must constantly keep _the end_ in view, so as to stamp out
prejudice and out-of-date methods; especially she should guard against
making the child suffer for her own fads and experiments.I believe I
shall better illustrate what I mean by "keeping the end in view" if I
give a few concrete examples, instead of trying to explain in the
abstract.There were two women of my acquaintance, one of whom had an exquisitely
obedient, perfectly brought-up little girl of five who was her
constant thought, and a baby of two months.This mother could afford
an excellent nurse, and left all the physical care of the infant to
her, concentrating her intelligence upon wise general supervision, and
upon the training of the little girl whose dawning character was her
study.The other mother had two very ill-behaved, disobedient children
of five and seven, and a baby of three months.She spent her time
washing and dressing the infant, fussing over it and caressing it from
morning to night, and interfering with the paid nurse, who well knew
her duties.She was also quite indifferent to her appearance, and
wearied her husband to death with her over-domesticity.But she felt
herself to be a perfect and affectionate wife and mother, and strongly
censured the other woman when she admitted that she had never washed
or dressed her baby, and was even rather nervous when she held it in
case she should hurt its tender neck and head.But the proof that the
first woman was a true and good guardian of God's gift to her was in
the finely trained little girl, and the proof of the second woman's
undevelopment from the animal stage was in her concentrated and, in
the circumstances, unnecessary preoccupation with the infant, to the
entire neglect of the character training of the elder children.Had
they both been so poor that actual physical care of the infants
devolved solely upon each mother, the first would have used all her
intelligence to discover the sensible and common-sense way to carry
out her duties, and the second would have continued using any obsolete
method she had been accustomed to, while she lavished silly fuss and
attention upon the baby.FORE-THOUGHT FOR BEAUTY
The first woman had _the end_ in view; the second did not look ahead
at all, but simply indulged her own selfishly animal instincts,
without a thought of what would be best for her child.The apparently "good" mothers might be divided into two classes--the
animal mothers and the spiritual mothers.The animal mothers are
better than indifferent, and therefore abnormal, mothers, but are far
below spiritual mothers, for they, the animal mothers, are only
obeying natural instincts which have happily survived in them, but
obeying them only as animals do, without reason or conscience.And the
spiritual mother uses her common sense and tries to secure the
continual welfare of her child, looking ahead for all eventualities,
from matters of health to personal appearance, as well as character
training and soul elevation.Mary went to the office.Numbers of women think that if they follow out the same lines of
bringing-up for their children as are the recognised ones employed by
their class they have fully done their duty, and that if the children
do not profit by the stereotyped lessons of religion and behaviour
that have been imparted to them by proper teachers it is the fault of
the children, and a misfortune which they, the mothers, must bear with
more or less resignation.Let us take a spiritual mother's duties in rotation, beginning with
the most material.After bringing into the world the healthiest infant
her common sense has been able to secure, she should guard against any
physical disability accruing to it that she can prevent.In all
matters of health she should either make a great study of the subject
herself, or employ trained aid to its accomplishment; but beyond this
there are other things which, if she neglects them, the boy or girl
could reproach her for afterwards and with reason.One is the
fore-thought for beauty.Mary travelled to the hallway.How many boys' whole personal appearances are
ruined by standing-out ears!How many little girls' complexions are
irretrievably spoilt by unsuitable soap having been used which has
burnt red veins into their tender cheeks.These two small examples are
entirely the fault of the mother and do not lie at the door of
uncorrected habits in the children themselves.John moved to the garden.Sandra journeyed to the office.No boy's ears need
stick out; there are caps and every sort of contrivance yearly being
improved upon to obviate this disfigurement.No girl need have
anything but a beautiful skin if her mother uses intelligence and
supervises the early treatment of it.Because if she has _the end_ in
view, the mother will know that her little boy or girl will probably
grow up and desire affection and happiness, and that beauty is a means
not to be discounted to obtain these good things, and, for the
securing of them, is relatively as important as having a well-endowed
mind.THE SPIRITUAL MOTHER
When the first dawning characteristics begin to show, the spiritual
mother's study of heredity will begin to stand her in good stead, for
she must never forget that every expressed thought and action of a
small child shows the indication of some undeveloped instinct, and
should be watched by a sensible mother, so that she may decide which
one to encourage and which one to curb, and, if possible, eradicate.Should there be some strong inherited tendency which is not good, then
her most careful care and influence will be needed.There is not the
slightest use in making rules and then leaving their enforcement to
servants and governesses--the true mother should see that her child
thoroughly understands what it is being asked to do, and why it is
being asked to do it.She should appeal to its intelligence from
earliest days, and make it comprehend it is for its own benefit.For
children cannot when very young be influenced by high moral
considerations which come with maturer years, but only by personal
gain or fear--and if ruled by fear they invariably become deceitful.It is a spiritual mother's business to show interest in all her
child's tastes and occupations, and to supervise and direct them into
the best channels, and if she has several children she should watch
each one's idiosyncrasies and not imagine that the same method will do
for them all.What good gardener would treat a rose-tree in the same
fashion which he does a tulip bulb?The spiritual mother should think
out for herself, guided by what she sees are their personal needs, the
best method of instructing her children in true morality--that is,
honour and truth, and freedom from all hypocrisy and deceit.She
should not be influenced by any set-down rules of religion or dogma,
or by any precepts she may have been taught herself in her youth, if
they no longer convey conviction because of the change in time,
otherwise she will be following custom and losing sight of _the end_.Sandra moved to the bathroom.She should make her children understand that the soiling of their own
souls by committing mean actions is the greatest sin, and that what
other people think or do not think of them is of no consequence, but
the only vital things are what God thinks and they think of
themselves.Hundreds of children's afterlives are shipwrecked because
they were only taught all the dry dogmas and seemings of religion, and
the real meaning was never explained to them.I know a rigorously
strict clergyman's family where the children are taught and conform to
all the observances of their father's church, and yet a falser, more
paltry set of young creatures could not be found--they have never had
it explained to them that it is impossible to hoodwink God.For a
perfect example of the religious spirit _not to_ employ towards
children, all mothers ought to read the immortal scene between Trilby
before she dies and Mrs.Bagot--when the narrow woman expresses her
puny views and Trilby puts forth her broad and true ones.It is so
incredibly stupid to use obsolete methods which can never obtain the
desired end just because the dominion of custom is still strong upon
us, and we have not been intelligent enough to grasp and benefit by
the spirit of the age.For all mothers must realise that they can
never dominate the spirit of the age, and must either make vain fights
with it, and be conquered to their loss, or must make terms with it
and use it in its brightest and best aspect.The spirit of this age is
a totally different one to the spirit of their own childhood's age.It
is shorn of reverence and unquestioning obedience to elders, and is an
independent creature who will only obey through conviction of good or
personal benefit.Children are unerring and pitiless judges of those
placed over them, and how can a mother, just because she is a mother,
expect respect and reverence in her children if she earns their
contempt by her conduct and selfishness?It is the |
hallway | Where is Mary? | She should, before they go to school and
when they return for the holidays, endeavour to influence them into
liking cleanliness and care of their persons, especially when with
ladies.She should try to make these little men so happy and
contented, so certain of sympathy and understanding that home spells
heaven for them and remains the dearest memory of their lives, and for
her little girls, over whom she has a far vaster influence, she should
polish their minds, explain all the true and pure principles of
life--teach them the value of self-control and self-respect, and watch
for and encourage all their graces, so that when they arrive at the
ages of seventeen and eighteen they may be fitted in all points to
shine in whatever world they belong to, and take their places among
the best of their class.Space forbids me to go on longer, although
the subject seems only just to have been begun, so large is its sphere
of action, but I must give one last concrete example of two women's
methods, to enforce my meaning of the importance of _the end_.Both sent their girls to the same school, where every accomplishment
was taught and the highest tone prevailed that the masters could
inculcate.The first mother showed deep interest in the holidays, in
all her child's lessons, directed and encouraged her, opening her
understanding and broadening her point of view, while she attended to
every physical grace.She explained how her child should apply the
knowledge she acquired during term, so that it should grow
interesting, and as far as it lay in her power she endeavoured that
her daughter should be fitted with every charm and attraction which
could procure for her later on a larger selection from which to choose
her partner in life.The other mother let her girl run wild during the
holidays, and allowed her to feel that all she learned was just an
irksome duty to be forgotten the moment school was over.The work has all the charms of a romance; but we fear purchases
this reputation by sacrificing the more sober requirements of a history._Lectures and Addresses in Aid of Popular Education_, by the Right Hon.the Earl of Carlisle.--It would be difficult to find a more faithful or
a more gratifying type of the present age than this new part of _The
Traveller's Library_, in which we see one of England's "belted earls,"
and one of the most amiable and accomplished men of his time, recording
the experiences of his travels; and inviting to join him in the delights
which he has gathered from literary pursuits,--not a crowd of titled
listeners, but "a band of the hard-handed working men" fresh from the
anvil and the loom.A Report of the Proceedings of the
Roman Inquisition against Fulgentio Manfredi, taken from the Original
Manuscript brought from Italy by a French Officer, and edited, with a
parallel English Version, and Notes_, by the Rev.Richard Gibbings,
M.A.--The _Dublin Review_ for June 1850 having boldly asserted as a
fact, that "the Roman Inquisition--that is to say, the tribunal which
was immediately subject to the control and direction of the Popes
themselves, in their own city, has never been known to order the
execution of capital punishment"--the Rev.Richard Gibbings has
published, in contradiction of such assertion, this important document,
in the history of Father Fulgentio, who was hanged and burned in the
_Campo di Fiore_.BOOKS AND ODD VOLUMES
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W. S._The copy of Hoffman von Fallersleben has been left for him, as he
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C. S. P. T._Duly received: only waiting for room._
BIS., _who writes concerning the_ Palaeologi, _is quite right.'s _reply._
P. T.Its omission has arisen from
press of matter, not from any such cause as_ P. T._supposes._
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|
hallway | Where is Mary? | 1_s._
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Shortly:--
A JOURNEY TO KATMANDU (Capital of Nepaul), with the CAMP of JUNG
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THE HISTORY OF THE FOREIGN PROTESTANT REFUGEES in ENGLAND, 1547 to
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London: LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, and LONGMANS.THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY'S WORKS.A PRACTICAL EXPOSITION of the NEW TESTAMENT (The Gospels to the
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BISHOP KEN'S APPROACH to the HOLY ALTAR.Edited by the Author of
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THE LIFE of THOMAS KEN Bishop of Bath and Wells.WILLIAM PICKERING, 177.Just published, imperial 16mo., 4_s._ 6_d._,
POLONIUS.--A Collection of Wise Saws and Modern Instances.By the
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WILLIAM PICKERING, 177.Printed by THOMAS CLARK SHAW, of No.Mary travelled to the hallway.New
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published by GEORGE BELL, of No.Fleet Street, in the Parish of St.Dunstan in the West, in the City of London, Publisher, at No.Fleet
Street aforesaid.--Saturday, April 3, 1852.[Transcriber's Note: List of volumes and content pages in "Notes
and Queries", Vol.+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Notes and Queries Vol.|
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol., No.| Date, Year | Pages | PG # xxxxx |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.1 | November 3, 1849 | 1 - 17 | PG # 8603 |
| Vol.2 | November 10, 1849 | 18 - 32 | PG # 11265 |
| Vol.3 | November 17, 1849 | 33 - 46 | PG # 11577 |
| Vol.4 | November 24, 1849 | 49 - 63 | PG # 13513 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.5 | December 1, 1849 | 65 - 80 | PG # 11636 |
| Vol.6 | December 8, 1849 | 81 - 95 | PG # 13550 |
| Vol.7 | December 15, 1849 | 97 - 112 | PG # 11651 |
| Vol.8 | December 22, 1849 | 113 - 128 | PG # 11652 |
| Vol.9 | December 29, 1849 | 130 - 144 | PG # 13521 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.10 | January 5, 1850 | 145 - 160 | PG # |
| Vol.11 | January 12, 1850 | 161 - 176 | PG # 11653 |
| Vol.12 | January 19, 1850 | 177 - 192 | PG # 11575 |
| Vol.13 | January 26, 1850 | 193 - 208 | PG # 11707 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.14 | February 2, 1850 | 209 - 224 | PG # 13558 |
| Vol.15 | February 9, 1850 | 225 - 238 | PG # 11929 |
| Vol.16 | February 16, 1850 | 241 - 256 | PG # 16193 |
| Vol.17 | February 23, 1850 | 257 - 271 | PG # 12018 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.18 | March 2, 1850 | 273 - 288 | PG # 13544 |
| Vol.19 | March 9, 1850 | 289 - 309 | PG # 13638 |
| Vol.20 | March 16, 1850 | 313 - 328 | PG # 16409 |
| Vol.21 | March 23, 1850 | 329 - 343 | PG # 11958 |
| Vol.22 | March 30, 1850 | 345 - 359 | PG # 12198 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.23 | April 6, 1850 | 361 - 376 | PG # 12505 |
| Vol.24 | April 13, 1850 | 377 - 392 | PG # 13925 |
| Vol.25 | April 20, 1850 | 393 - 408 | PG # 13747 |
| Vol.26 | April 27, 1850 | 409 - 423 | PG # 13822 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Vol.27 | May 4, 1850 | 425 - 447 | PG # 13712 |
| Vol.28 | May 11, 1850 | 449 - 463 | PG # 13684 |
| Vol.29 | May 18, 1850 | 465 - 479 | PG # 15197 |
| Vol.30 | May 25, 1850 | 481 - 495 | PG # 13713 |
+---------------+-------------------+-----------+-------------+
| Notes and Queries Vol.|
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol., No.| Date, Year | Pages | PG # xxxxx |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.31 | June 1, 1850 | 1- 15 | PG # 12589 |
| Vol.32 | June 8, 1850 | 17- 32 | PG # 15996 |
| Vol.33 | June 15, 1850 | 33- 48 | PG # 26121 |
| Vol.34 | June 22, 1850 | 49- 64 | PG # 22127 |
| Vol.35 | June 29, 1850 | 65- 79 | PG # 22126 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.36 | July 6, 1850 | 81- 96 | PG # 13361 |
| Vol.37 | July 13, 1850 | 97-112 | PG # 13729 |
| Vol.38 | July 20, 1850 | 113-128 | PG # 13362 |
| Vol.39 | July 27, 1850 | 129-143 | PG # 13736 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.40 | August 3, 1850 | 145-159 | PG # 13389 |
| Vol.41 | August 10, 1850 | 161-176 | PG # 13393 |
| Vol.42 | August 17, 1850 | 177-191 | PG # 13411 |
| Vol.43 | August 24, 1850 | 193-207 | PG # 13406 |
| Vol.44 | August 31, 1850 | 209-223 | PG # 13426 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.45 | September 7, 1850 | 225-240 | PG # 13427 |
| Vol.46 | September 14, 1850 | 241-256 | PG # 13462 |
| Vol.47 | September 21, 1850 | 257-272 | PG # 13936 |
| Vol.48 | September 28, 1850 | 273-288 | PG # 13463 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.49 | October 5, 1850 | 289-304 | PG # 13480 |
| Vol.50 | October 12, 1850 | 305-320 | PG # 13551 |
| Vol.51 | October 19, 1850 | 321-351 | PG # 15232 |
| Vol.John travelled to the bathroom.52 | October 26, 1850 | 353-367 | PG # 22624 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.53 | November 2, 1850 | 369-383 | PG # 13540 |
| Vol.54 | November 9, 1850 | 385-399 | PG # 22138 |
| Vol.55 | November 16, 1850 | 401-415 | PG # 15216 |
| Vol.56 | November 23, 1850 | 417-431 | PG # 15Sandra went back to the kitchen. |
bathroom | Where is John? | 57 | November 30, 1850 | 433-454 | PG # 15405 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.58 | December 7, 1850 | 457-470 | PG # 21503 |
| Vol.59 | December 14, 1850 | 473-486 | PG # 15427 |
| Vol.60 | December 21, 1850 | 489-502 | PG # 24803 |
| Vol.61 | December 28, 1850 | 505-524 | PG # 16404 |
+----------------+--------------------+---------+-------------+
| Notes and Queries Vol.|
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol., No.| Date, Year | Pages | PG # xxxxx |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.62 | January 4, 1851 | 1- 15 | PG # 15638 |
| Vol.63 | January 11, 1851 | 17- 31 | PG # 15639 |
| Vol.64 | January 18, 1851 | 33- 47 | PG # 15640 |
| Vol.65 | January 25, 1851 | 49- 78 | PG # 15641 |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.66 | February 1, 1851 | 81- 95 | PG # 22339 |
| Vol.67 | February 8, 1851 | 97-111 | PG # 22625 |
| Vol.68 | February 15, 1851 | 113-127 | PG # 22639 |
| Vol.69 | February 22, 1851 | 129-159 | PG # 23027 |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.70 | March 1, 1851 | 161-174 | PG # 23204 |
| Vol.71 | March 8, 1851 | 177-200 | PG # 23205 |
| Vol.72 | March 15, 1851 | 201-215 | PG # 23212 |
| Vol.73 | March 22, 1851 | 217-231 | PG # 23225 |
| Vol.74 | March 29, 1851 | 233-255 | PG # 23282 |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.75 | April 5, 1851 | 257-271 | PG # 23402 |
| Vol.76 | April 12, 1851 | 273-294 | PG # 26896 |
| Vol.77 | April 19, 1851 | 297-311 | PG # 26897 |
| Vol.78 | April 26, 1851 | 313-342 | PG # 26898 |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.79 | May 3, 1851 | 345-359 | PG # 26899 |
| Vol.80 | May 10, 1851 | 361-382 | PG # 32495 |
| Vol.81 | May 17, 1851 | 385-399 | PG # 29318 |
| Vol.82 | May 24, 1851 | 401-415 | PG # 28311 |
| Vol.83 | May 31, 1851 | 417-440 | PG # 36835 |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Vol.84 | June 7, 1851 | 441-472 | PG # 37379 |
| Vol.85 | June 14, 1851 | 473-488 | PG # 37403 |
| Vol.86 | June 21, 1851 | 489-511 | PG # 37496 |
| Vol.87 | June 28, 1851 | 513-528 | PG # 37516 |
+-----------------+-------------------+---------+-------------+
| Notes and Queries Vol.|
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol., No.| Date, Year | Pages | PG # xxxxx |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.88 | July 5, 1851 | 1- 15 | PG # 37548 |
| Vol.89 | July 12, 1851 | 17- 31 | PG # 37568 |
| Vol.90 | July 19, 1851 | 33- 47 | PG # 37593 |
| Vol.91 | July 26, 1851 | 49- 79 | PG # 37778 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.92 | August 2, 1851 | 81- 94 | PG # 38324 |
| Vol.93 | August 9, 1851 | 97-112 | PG # 38337 |
| Vol.94 | August 16, 1851 | 113-127 | PG # 38350 |
| Vol.Sandra journeyed to the garden.95 | August 23, 1851 | 129-144 | PG # 38386 |
| Vol.96 | August 30, 1851 | 145-167 | PG # 38405 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.6, 1851 | 169-183 | PG # 38433 |
| Vol.13, 1851 | 185-200 | PG # 38491 |
| Vol.20, 1851 | 201-216 | PG # 38574 |
| Vol.27, 1851 | 217-246 | PG # 38656 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.4, 1851 | 249-264 | PG # 38701 |
| Vol.11, 1851 | 265-287 | PG # 38773 |
| Vol.18, 1851 | 289-303 | PG # 38864 |
| Vol.25, 1851 | 305-333 | PG # 38926 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.1, 1851 | 337-358 | PG # 39076 |
| Vol.8, 1851 | 361-374 | PG # 39091 |
| Vol.15, 1851 | 377-396 | PG # 39135 |
| Vol.22, 1851 | 401-414 | PG # 39197 |
| Vol.29, 1851 | 417-430 | PG # 39233 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.Mary travelled to the hallway.6, 1851 | 433-460 | PG # 39338 |
| Vol.13, 1851 | 465-478 | PG # 39393 |
| Vol.20, 1851 | 481-494 | PG # 39438 |
| Vol.27, 1851 | 497-510 | PG # 39503 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Notes and Queries Vol.John travelled to the bathroom.|
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol., No.| Date, Year | Pages | PG # xxxxx |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.114 | January 3, 1852 | 1- 18 | PG # 40171 |
| Vol.115 | January 10, 1852 | 25- 45 | PG # 40582 |
| Vol.116 | January 17, 1852 | 49- 70 | PG # 40642 |
| Vol.117 | January 24, 1852 | 73- 94 | PG # 40678 |
| Vol.118 | January 31, 1852 | 97-118 | PG # 40716 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.119 | February 7, 1852 | 121-142 | PG # 40742 |
| Vol.120 | February 14, 1852 | 145-167 | PG # 40743 |
| Vol.121 | February 21, 1852 | 170-191 | PG # 40773 |
| Vol.122 | February 28, 1852 | 193-215 | PG # 40779 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol.123 | March 6, 1852 | 217-239 | PG # 40804 |
| Vol.124 | March 13, 1852 | 241-263 | PG # 40843 |
| Vol.125 | March 20, 1852 | 265-287 | PG # 40910 |
| Vol.126 | March 27, 1852 | 289-310 | PG # 40987 |
+-----------------+--------------------+---------+------------+
| Vol I. Index.1849-May 1850] | PG # 13536 |
| INDEX TO THE SECOND VOLUME.MAY-DEC., 1850 | PG # 13571 |
| INDEX TO THE THIRD VOLUME.JAN.-JUNE, 1851 | PG # 26770 |
| INDEX TO THE FOURTH VOLUME.JULY-DEC., 1851 | PG # 40166 |
+------------------------------------------------+------------+
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Notes and Queries, Vol.THE GIFT OF THE OLIVE TREE
_Greek_
"Has everything a name, father?"asked a wide-awake boy one day."Everything I know of has a name," answered the father."What is the name of this stone, then?""The name of the stone you have just picked up happens to be granite.""I believe you made that up, father, just because I asked you so
quickly.It seems strange that a boy of ten does not
know granite when he sees it.""But you lived in the country, father, when you were a boy, and I
have been here hardly a month.Oh, here is another kind of stone;
what is this?"The father cracked the bit of rock so as to get a fresh surface and
then answered:
"Common white quartz, Harold.You are giving me easy specimens, which is
lucky for both of us.""Why, father, where did you learn all their names?"To find
the names of some kinds of rock or stone I should need quite an outfit,
such as you may have seen in the high-school laboratory."Sandra went back to the kitchen."Do all the flowers have names, too, father?""Harold, if you could find a flower that has not been named you would
become quite famous.There is something to work for; and you were wishing only last
night that you could be a famous man.""Where did all the flowers get their names?"Oh, I suspect the teachers named some, and many people helped them.I
don't believe I ever stopped to think that it is curious that everything
on the earth and in the sea and in the sky is named.You are a very
thoughtful boy, Harold.This praise from his quiet father made Harold happier than anything in
the world.He was silent a moment, but then asked:
"Have the stars names, too, father?I know those
large ones have, for you told me.""Yes, Harold, every star has a name of some kind.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Some of them have only
a letter or a number.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.But that answers for a name, you know.""And all the animals, and all the birds, and all the beetles, and all
the--everything!I'll have to go to school just all my life!""To-day, father, in the geography class, I learned about many cities,
and there are more in the large geography.Do you know how any of the
cities got their names?""What country were you studying about to-day, Harold?""It was about Greece, and some of the cities had such long hard names
that I can't remember them.Why, father,
you were there once, for I have heard you tell about Greece; and one of
the pictures in the parlor is named 'In Athens.'Do tell me something
about the place, for I can't make it seem like a real city like New York
or Chicago.""Yes, indeed, I do, and you like olive oil.Oh, of course, olives grow
in Greece.I couldn't think what made you ask such a queer question.Now
tell me about Greece, won't you, please?"Yes, and I'll tell you a tale of the sea, of olives, and of Athens, all
in one.You remember that beautiful head of Minerva, which is near my
book-shelf, do you not?She was known to the ancient people of Greece as the goddess of
wisdom and learning.Can you remember the name of the king of the sea?"You have his picture, too, haven't you?""Yes, Harold, but now you must learn the name by which the Greeks called
him.The story goes that Athena and Poseidon were each
very anxious to name a certain city in Greece."Jupiter said that he would let the one who brought the greatest gift to
the people have the honor of naming the place.And then such strife
began as you can hardly imagine.Poseidon put his wits at work and
called together all his friends for counsel.At last his gift was ready
for the day on which they were to appear before Jupiter."Minerva, as she was the goddess of wisdom, needed no such help as
Poseidon had asked and received.Her plans were ready in a moment and
she was waiting for the great day."When that day came all the people of the nameless city gathered
together to see what was to be brought them.As they were seated on the
side of mountain, on the top of which stood Jupiter, King Poseidon
appeared on the plain before them, leading a wonderful black horse.It pawed the ground and stamped with its
hoofs, and looked like the leader of a grand army.The people shouted
and would have declared for Poseidon without waiting for his rival, |
bathroom | Where is John? | "Then the goddess came forward on the plain.Sandra journeyed to the garden.She was beautiful, tall,
stately.She seemed to be holding something very small in her hand.She
opened her hand before the people and commanded a gardener to dig a hole
in the earth at her feet.Into this hole she dropped the small something
which was in her hand.As soon as the earth was over it, tiny leaves
came out.Then it grew instantly into a tree covered with silver-gray
leaves.It seemed to touch the skies
It was filled with fruit.She
showed them how to use the fruit."The horse neighed and pawed, and Poseidon laughed at the woman's gift.'Here is war, glory, and power!'"'Here is life, peace, and plenty!'"'The city shall be named Athena' came from Jupiter on the mountain top."And so the city of Athens was named and the people loved Athena for her
gift of the olive tree."THE LINDEN AND THE OAK
_Greek_
Two grand trees stood on a hill near a lake.One was an oak with wide
branches."Man and wife," the people called them, and when asked why, said,
"Because it is true.Now they
stand there side by side forever.But you can hear them whisper to each
other sometimes."even the little children would say, "Why,
Philemon and Baucis."Many children had these names in those days, and knew the story of the
two trees well, for there were none like them anywhere else in the land.It was said that these two people who lived in such strange form were
once a poor old couple, and their home was a wretched house in the
valley.Simple, honest, and quiet, they had little to do with their
bustling neighbors.One evening two strangers walked into the village, and stopping at the
first house to ask for food, were sent away in a hurry."We work for a living and have nothing for those who don't.Mary travelled to the hallway.They were told the same at the next house, and at the next, all down the
street.Tired and hungry, they neared the cottage where Philemon and
Baucis lived."I will try here," said the shorter of the two strangers.But before they reached the door, Philemon came to meet them.And Baucis
placed the best chairs for them as they entered, first spreading over
the chairs pieces of cloth she had woven."You are hungry," she said, and she went to the fire-place and uncovered
the few coals she had saved in the ashes for her morning fire.On these
she put sticks and dry bark, and with all her little strength, blew hard
on them, and the fire began to burn.On a hook over the fire she hung a small iron kettle, and getting ready
the beans her husband had brought in from their little garden, she put
them in to stew.All this she did eagerly, as if the strangers were
invited friends.While his wife set the table, Philemon brought a bowl
of water for the guests to bathe their hands.As one leg of the table
was too short, Baucis put a flat shell under to make it level with the
rest.Tired and trembling, she set out a few rude dishes.She added the pitcher of milk Philemon had bought for their own
meal, and when the beans were cooked, everything was ready.For dessert,
she had apples and wild honey.Drawing a bench to the table, she laid on it a thin cushion made soft
with dried seaweed, and then called the strangers.The smiles and gentle
welcome of the two old people made the meal seem like a feast.The strangers were very thirsty, but each time Baucis poured out a cup
of milk the pitcher filled again."You are people from the skies, and not men!"the old couple cried, and
fell on their knees and begged the strangers to forgive them for their
poor meal."You have done the best you could; who could do better than that?""Come with us," and he led them to the top of the hill.Then he stretched out his hand toward the village, and they saw it sink
down, down out of sight, and the river came rushing in, and the place
was a lake.Nothing could be seen but the house they had just left.It
stood on the shore of the lake.Its timbers were growing higher and
higher, and the yellow straw that thatched the roof changed to shining
gold."Ask of me anything you wish and I will give it to you," said the tall
one."I know now you are Jupiter," said Philemon."Let us take care of your
temple while we live, and when it is time for us to leave it let us go
together.Let not one be taken and the other left."Philemon and Baucis cared for the beautiful temple for years.Feeling
old and weary, they went to the top of the hill one day to say good-by
to all things.As they stood there they saw each other change, one into
this oak and the other into this linden."Good-by," they said together, as the bark grew up over their lips.No tree has so strong and true a heart as the oak, and in the leafy
linden hundreds of birds sing and are happy.THE LITTLE MAIDEN WHO BECAME A LAUREL TREE
_Greek_
Cupid was a beautiful little boy.John travelled to the bathroom.Between the wings on his shoulders he
always carried a quiver full of tiny arrows.Bow in hand, he started out
every morning ready, like any boy, for mischief.One day he came to
drink from a fountain with some thirsty doves who were his friends.Apollo saw the little fellow and, to tease him, asked:
"What do you carry arrows for, saucy boy?It is for great gods like
myself to do that.My arrow shot the terrible python, the serpent of
darkness."Apollo may hit serpents, but I will hit Apollo," said Cupid, and taking
out two tiny arrows, one of gold and one of lead, he touched their
points together and then shot the golden one straight into Apollo.Quick as a flash of Apollo's sun-crown, Cupid shot the other, the leaden
one, into a river cloud he saw floating by.In it he knew Daphne, the
daughter of the river, was hidden.Sandra went back to the kitchen.The leaden arrow hit her true, but
she drifted away on the swift breeze.Apollo, the sun-god, can see through everything except fog and mist, but
as Daphne fled he caught one glimpse of her face, and Cupid laughed to
see how his arrow did its work.His arrows never kill; sometimes,
indeed, they make life happier.Apollo now loved Daphne more than
anything else on earth.Daphne was more afraid of him than of anything
else in the sky.On flew Daphne, hoping her misty cloud would hide her till she could
reach her river home.On flew Apollo, begging her to stop for fear his
arrows might hurt her.His great arrows of sunlight must do their work
even if his friends should perish by them.As they neared the river he saw her face again.She was faint and he would comfort her but she cried to her
father, the river, "O father, help!"The earth opened, and before
Apollo could reach her he saw her waving hair change into glistening
leaves.Her skin changed to dainty bark, and
her face to a tree-top whose pink flowers show, even yet, the beauty of
Daphne's cheek.Apollo reached out and gathered the leaves and made
them into a crown.From an old painting]
"This tree shall be called laurel, and it shall be mine," he said."I
cannot grow old and the leaves of this tree shall be always green.Daphne has won the race against Apollo, the wreath of these leaves shall
be her gift and mine to the bravest in every race.Kings and captains
shall be proud to wear it."Apollo hid his face for days behind dark clouds.The
immortal gods cannot weep, but these great drops seemed like tears for
lost Daphne.Even saucy Cupid mourned, and he did not dare go out till the storms
were over, for fear Apollo's grief would spoil his wings.In cold northern lands you can find Daphne's tree in greenhouses among
the roses and lilies.And if you ask for Daphne, the gardener will point
her out, for he calls the tree by her name.THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES
_Roman_
In a cave by the seashore lived an old, old woman.This very old woman
was also very wise.She remembered everything that had ever happened and she knew almost
everything that was going to happen in her country.She lived in Italy and was called the Sibyl.One day a man named Aeneas came to her cave to question her.She even took him far down into the center of the
earth, Pluto's kingdom, to see those whom Pluto had carried away.When they came back, Aeneas said he would build a temple to her and have
gifts brought to her.She had so much power and was so wise he felt sure
she must be more than mortal.But she would not let Aeneas build the
temple.It was this:
"Apollo saw me when I was young, and told me to ask him for any gift I
would have.I stooped down and filled
my hand with the white sand at our feet."'Give me as many birthdays as there are grains of sand in my hand, O
Apollo!'But, in my foolishness, I forgot to ask
for everlasting youth."When one hundred grains of sand had slipped away from the glass in
which I placed them all, I was old.I shall yet see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests; then
the Sibyl will be no more.Soon I shall be only a
warning voice to the children of men, but I shall live till the grains
are gone from that glade.While my voice lasts men will respect my
sayings.As long as I live, I will strive to help the human race."Aeneas went with her into the cave.The Sibyl picked them up and wrote with an eagle's quill on each.She let him read as many as he wished.He found some of them were
warnings to his friends.The
Sibyl placed them in rows on the ledges of rock inside the cavern.A fierce wind blew into the cave and carried the written leaves away.Daniel travelled to the bathroom."My work is to write, Aeneas.If he wishes his leaf,
he must come for it before the wind takes it away.There are thousands
of leaves not written upon yet."I see your meaning, O Sibyl, and go
about my work.Each day shall bring me nearer
my journey's end, and when I reach my home the leaves on my forest trees
shall teach me your lesson over again.I will rise early each day and be
the first in all things.Even the winds shall not be quicker than I am
in the work it is my duty to do.Here is another story which is told of the Sibyl.It shows that she
could write on something beside leaves.She appeared one day at the king's palace gate with a heavy burden on
her back.With a guard on either side the Sibyl was shown into the presence
of the king.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.The burden proved to be nine large books closely written.She offered
them for sale at an enormous price.The
Sibyl only smiled and threw three of the books into the open fire.The
king had wished to own those three, for he knew that future events were
written in them."I have now six books and the price is the same as for the nine.While he was thinking what to
do, the little old woman threw three more into the fire."I have now three books and the price is the same as for the nine.And the king said, "Yes," without a minute's
waiting, and took the books.Her thousand years were nearly gone, but
her voice was still heard when people visited her cave.John went back to the hallway.The king searched the three books and found that all things concerning
his city, Rome, were foretold in them for hundreds of years.Perhaps
many wars and troubles would have been saved if he had bought all the
books instead of only three.It is usually best to decide a matter quickly when one knows that
nothing can be gained by waiting.THE LEGEND OF THE SEED
_Greek_
Once upon a time the earth was so very young and the people upon it so
pure and good that they could hear the morning stars as they sang
together.It was during the Golden Age, as it is now called, that one
morning in the early springtime a little group of girls were playing
together and gathering wild flowers.One of these girls was named Proserpina.She was the merriest of them
all, though her dress was of the plainest brown.Her little feet danced
everywhere and her little fingers seemed to touch the flowers as lightly
as the butterfly that flitted by her.Carelessly she danced close to a great opening in the ground.Looking
down she saw a yellow daffodil growing on the edge.Leaning over to pick
it, she felt herself caught by her dress, and the next minute found
herself sailing far down into the earth through the great crevice.She
was in a chariot drawn by black horses, which were driven by a driver
who seemed to be both deaf and dumb.He neither answered when she
pleaded with him to take her back, nor even seemed to hear her.The girls who were left gathering wild flowers had missed
Proserpina almost the moment she was out of sight, but no one knew
what had happened.the girls called, but no answer came up from the
great opening or from the forest near them.Only Echo marked their cry
of "Proserpina, oh, Proserpina, come back!""She has vanished," the
girls whispered."I always felt as though she had wings beneath that
plain brown dress she wore," said one."But who can tell Queen Ceres, her mother?"No one could go alone, so they all went together to Queen Ceres and told
her what had happened.That day she laid aside her regal robes
and began her search for Proserpina.Up and down the world went this
royal mother seeking for her lost daughter.At last she came to the land
of King Celeus.When Ceres reached his land she was so ragged and poor
that she was glad to earn money by taking care of the king's baby son.As nurse to the little prince, Queen Ceres was almost comforted.Because she was the goddess of the wheat and the fruits, the crops upon
the land of King Celeus, while she was there, were very wonderful.In
the land near Mount Aetna, where Proserpina had been lost, no rain fell
and no corn nor apples grew.Juno sent Iris down to earth to beg of Ceres to give rain to the
suffering people of her own home.Ceres said no rain should fall till
Proserpina came back to her mother.One day as Ceres was weeping by a
fountain her tears fell into the springing water, and, as they did so,
she heard a silvery voice:
"Why do you grieve, Queen Ceres?""Proserpina, my beautiful daughter, is gone from me," said Ceres.John travelled to the bathroom."I
have sought everywhere on the earth for her."Listen to me," said the voice from the fountain.She
is not on the earth; she is in the earth.She is in the palace of King
Pluto, who rules below.I saw her as I ran with a river through Pluto's
kingdom.Queen Ceres was like a stone for a time after she heard the story told
by the murmuring waters of the fountain.Proserpina alive and longing for her!It did not seem true, but she
would know soon.Taking back the little prince to his mother, she hid
herself in a forest, called for her chariot, and, when it came, drove
straight to the top of Mount Olympus, where Jupiter sat on his
shining throne.She begged of him to command his brother Pluto to return her
daughter to her."It is granted on one condition; that is, that Proserpina has never
tasted food nor drink since she has been beneath the earth."Mercury, the wing-footed messenger, and Flora, the goddess of Spring,
sought the center of the earth to bring back Proserpina to Ceres.Pluto loved his stolen prize as much as Queen Ceres did; and, being
unhappy because she refused to eat, succeeded at last in making her
taste one of the beautiful pomegranates that |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Even while she was tasting it Mercury and Flora stood at Pluto's gate
with the command to return her to Ceres.Mercury,
quick-witted as well as quick-footed, decided that if she dwelt with
Ceres for half the year and with Pluto the other half, Jupiter's
commands would be satisfied.So, arrayed in shining green, Proserpina swiftly set out with Flora and
Mercury to find Queen Ceres.Ceres saw her the minute her bright head
appeared above the brown earth and knew her through her disguise.You
remember when Proserpina was taken she wore a plain brown suit.They lived together, the mother and daughter, through the bright spring
days and the warm summer weather.When autumn came Proserpina donned her
brown suit again and Pluto claimed her.There, in his underground realm,
she reigns all the cold winter months.She is happy now because Queen
Ceres is happy.The mother knows that when spring breathes over the
earth again Proserpina will come back to her.Can you guess who Proserpina is?Yes, and when you see her next you will say how strange that the Greeks
could tell such a story of only a little brown seed.THE GIRL WHO WAS CHANGED INTO A SUNFLOWER
_Greek_
Years ago there was a beautiful girl who lived near a large garden.She had wonderful golden hair and big brown
eyes, and she was tall and slender.Clytie stood in this large garden one day, watching her pet doves as
they flew about in the sky, when she caught a glimpse of the sun chariot
of Apollo.She even had a glimpse of Apollo himself, as he guided his
wonderful horses along their course, which was the circle of the
heavens.There were many fleecy clouds in the sky, and one had veiled
the burning sunlight from the eyes of Clytie, or she would never have
been able to see the sight, which only the eyes of Jupiter's eagle may
endure and not become blind.After this the foolish girl went every day into the garden and, staring
up into the sky, tried to see Apollo once more.Every day for more than
thirty days she went into the garden.Her mother often told her that she
would make Apollo angry, for he shines brightly so as to hide himself
from people on the earth.her mother would call, "come in and take your sewing."Sometimes she would answer:
"Oh, mother, let me stay.Apollo saw the foolish girl day after day and he became out of
patience with her."Mortal maidens must obey their mothers," he said, and a burning
sun-arrow fell on Clytie's bright head.Such a strange change came upon Clytie from that moment.Her golden hair stood straight out around them, and
her pretty clothing changed into great heart-shaped leaves which clung
to a stiff stalk.Her feet grew firmly into the ground, and the ten
little toes changed into ten strong roots that went creeping
everywhere for water.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Mary travelled to the hallway.When Clytie's mother called again no answer came and she found, in going
into the garden, a flower in place of her child.And now Clytie always stares at the sun all day long.In the morning her
face is toward the east, and at night it is toward the west.Did you ever think that the sunflower was once a lovely girl?WHY THE NARCISSUS GROWS BY THE WATER
_Greek_
Down in the heart of the woods there was a clear spring with water like
silver.No shepherds ever brought their flocks there to drink, no lions
nor other wild beasts came in the night time.No leaves nor branches
fell into it, but the green grass grew around it all the year, and the
rocks kept it from the sun.John travelled to the bathroom.One day a boy hunter found it, and, being thirsty, he stooped down to
drink.As he bent he saw, for the first time in his life, his own fair
face, and did not know who it was.He thought it must be a water fairy, and he put his lips to the water,
but as soon as their touch disturbed the surface, away went the
shadow-face from out of his sight."Nothing has escaped me yet, and here I shall stay till this
curly-haired creature comes out of the water," he said."See its shining
eyes and smiling mouth!"He forgot his hunt, he forgot everything but to watch for this water
sprite.When the moon and stars came out, there it was just the same
as in the sunshine, and so he lingered from day to night and from
night to day.He saw the face in the water grow thinner day by day, but never thought
of himself.At last he was too weak to watch any longer.His face was as
white as the whitest lily, and his yellow hair fell over his hollow
cheeks.With a sigh his breath floated away, his head dropped on the
green grass, and there was no longer any face in the water.The fairies came out of the woods and would have covered him with
earth, but, looking for him, they found nothing but a lovely flower,
gazing with bended head into the silver spring, just as the boy
hunter had done.The fairies told the story to a little child, and she told it to her
father and mother.When they found this spring in the heart of the woods
they called the flower growing beside it Narcissus, after the boy hunter
who had perished watching his own face in the silver water.THE LEGEND OF THE ANEMONE
_Greek_
Just see the basketful of anemones we got down in the glen!They were as
thick there as they could be.We picked and picked and it didn't seem to
make a bit of difference, there were so many left."They are dainty little flowers, boys."On the low land in the glen by the brook.There were great trees on
both sides of the glen, and it was so still the little brook and the
waterfall sounded as loud as a big river."What else did you find besides the windflowers, or anemones, boys?""Here's a little moss and a few blood-root flowers, and Will Johnson
carried home a big bouquet of wild bleeding-hearts.""That makes me think, Charlie, of a myth there is about the first
anemones."Oh, I know, John," said Charlie; "it is
one of those stories that people used to believe just as we used to
believe in Santa Claus.He's a myth, you know, and now you please keep
still and maybe mother has time to tell us about the first anemones."This is a hunting story, so I know you will like it, boys."But just think of hunting with bow and arrows and spears!"Well, years ago in the Golden Age when the world was young there lived
a Greek hunter whose name was Adonis.He was tall and straight and
handsome.His friends thought it a great pity that he should spend his
time in the woods, with only his dogs for company.Away he would go day
after day with his arrows at his back and his spear at his side.His
dogs were fierce and would attack any creature.His friends begged him to wait till he was older and stronger
before he went into the deep forests, but he never waited.He had killed
bears, wolves, and lions.Sandra went back to the kitchen.[Illustration: ADONIS AND APHRODITE (Aphrodite is the Greek name
of Venus.)]"But the wild hog is fiercer than the tiger.One spring morning while
hunting in the forest, Adonis wounded two.Leaving his dogs to worry one
while he killed the other, he got off his horse, and, running, threw his
spear at the hog.Its thick hide was tough and the spear fell to the
ground.He drew out an arrow, but before he could place it in the bow,
the ugly beast had caught him with its horrid tusks."He tore away and, bleeding at every step, bounded down a hillside
toward a brook to bathe his wounds.But the savage beast reached it as
soon as he.A flock of white swans that had been drinking from the
brook, rose on their strong wings and, flying straight to their
mistress, Venus, told the story.Daniel travelled to the bathroom."Back they brought her in her silver chariot, sailing so steadily
that, from the silver cup of nectar she brought with her, not a drop
was spilled."There was nothing but drops of blood on the grass to tell her where he
had been.It was all that was left of the handsome hunter."Venus sprinkled some of the nectar on these drops and, in an hour, tiny
flower buds showed their heads.Soft winds
blew the tiny buds open, and at night blew them away.So people called
them wind-flowers, or anemones.And they believe that the pink and
purple which colored them came from the heart of Adonis.""But why didn't tiger-lilies or some other big and showy flowers come,
not these pretty little things?""I don't know, John; go and ask Venus."Daniel travelled to the kitchen.THE MISTLETOE
_Norse_
Baldur, the youngest brother of Thor, was called The Beautiful.His
thoughts were so kind and his ways so pleasant that all who lived in
Asgard, the home of the Norse gods, loved him.Baldur's days were the happiest of all in Asgard, but when he slept his
dreams were so strange that his nights were often unhappy.So Frigga, his mother, who was the wife of Woden, went
to the sea and made it promise that no water should drown Baldur.She went to the stones and made them promise not to harm her son.Everything promised to let no evil come upon Baldur the Beautiful.Iron and all the other metals, rocks, and trees all promised.Birds,
beasts, and creeping things all agreed to help and never to hurt
Frigga's youngest son.Woden, his father, went to ask a wise old woman what his son's dreams
meant.She was dead, and Woden had to go to the center of the universe
to find her.She gave him what help she could, and Woden and Frigga felt
that now nothing could hurt their child.The other gods that lived in Asgard knew that Baldur was safe from
all harm.But to prove this and to have a little fun among
themselves, they would sometimes use him as a mark at which to throw
their spears or darts.Setting Baldur in the middle of the ring, these gods of Asgard would
each throw something at him.If a stone struck him it would only glance off and never hurt.Nothing harmed him, and Baldur would smile as
they played their rough play, for he knew that no one of them would work
him any ill.But Loki was different from all the others in Asgard.He could not
endure to have Baldur so loved, and wished that some one could harm
him.At last Loki dressed himself up as an old woman and went to
Frigga's palace.Kind Frigga took the old woman by the hand and brought
her into Fensalir.Loki, in the shape of the old woman, pretended to be very friendly."Do you know what the gods are doing to Baldur when you are not by?""Yes, they are proving that all things have kept their promise not to
hurt my boy."said the old woman, "have all things promised not to hurt
Baldur?""All but one little plant that grows on the
eastern side of Valhalla.John went back to the hallway.It is so weak and
small that I did not ask it to join with the others.In a few moments Loki appeared on the
eastern side of Valhalla and plucked a bit of mistletoe from an old oak
that shaded Woden's palace.No one saw him, for he was as sly as a fox
and as tricky.Hiding the mistletoe in his hand, he hurried back to the
circle of gods who were seated around Baldur.One god who was blind sat outside the ring."Why don't you join in the sport?"John travelled to the bathroom."I cannot see where Baldur is; and nothing could or would harm anyone so
good," said the blind god."I will show you where to sit and you shall have this little sprig that
is in my hand to throw.You must not be left out of the sport because
you are blind," and Loki handed the mistletoe to him.The others welcomed the blind god to the ring and made him happy by
telling him that Baldur smiled at all of their strokes."Let me throw next," said Hodur, the blind god.Loki stood by him and
directed his hand as Hodur threw the mistletoe.The mistletoe pierced his heart through and through.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.The other gods knew that the treacherous Loki
had done it, and did not blame Hodur.Frigga asked which of the gods
would dare to ride to Loki's home to bring Baldur back.Hermod, called the nimble, an older brother of Baldur, said he would go.Woden, his father, told him to take the horse Sleipnir.Sleipnir had
never carried any one but Woden himself.He had twice as many legs as
any other horse.Hermod mounted Sleipnir and rode fast for nine days and nine nights
until he came to the land of Death, where Loki loved to stay.Hela, who ruled there, said Baldur might return if all things above
mourned for him.[Illustration: WODEN ON THE THRONE.Thor on the left, Freya on the
right, holding mistletoe.Loki at the bottom, suffering for the murder
of Baldur.Hermod rode back and asked all things if Baldur should return.All
begged for Baldur but one old hag, who sat on the side of a mountain.Mary travelled to the bedroom.Tears stood on the rocks about her as
we have seen drops of water on the hardest rock in early morning; the
leaves of the trees shed tears of grief.After the test was over, the gods believed that the old creature on the
mountain side was Loki disguised in this way.It must have been the evil
Loki, for nothing else could have been so cruel.Loki met his punishment at last, but that did not save Baldur the
Beautiful, the golden-haired god, whom his blind brother, dwelling in
darkness, slays again at every even fall.THE FORGET-ME-NOT
_German_
There is a legend connected with the name of the little blue
forget-me-not which everyone loves so much.It is said that a boy and a girl were walking by a river that flows into
the Rhine.The girl saw a lovely flower growing just by the water's
edge.The bank of the river was steep and the water swift."I will get it for you," said the boy.He sprang over the side of the
steep bank and, catching hold of the shrubs and bushes, made his way to
the place where the flower grew.He tried to tear the plant from the earth with both hands, hoping to get
it all for her who was watching him from the bank above.The stem broke and, still clasping the flower, he fell backward into the
rushing stream.he cried to her as the waters bore him down to the
falls below.She never did forget her blue-eyed friend who had lost his
life trying to get her a flower.she would say over and over until her friends called
the little blue flower by this name.Now these blossoms are called forget-me-nots all over the world.And
whether this story is true or only a legend, the dear little flower
could not have a prettier name.PEGASUS, THE HORSE WITH WINGS
_Greek_
There is an old myth of a winged horse.This wonderful horse was under the care of the nine Muses.These nine
fair daughters of Jupiter taught men all that is known of music, poetry,
history, and the stars.It was said and believed that they helped people
to remember what they taught.And now even their names are forgotten except by the few who love to
remember the things others forget.One beautiful summer morning this winged horse appeared at the fountain
of the Muses on Mount Helicon.The laughing Thalia, the Muse of Comedy,
saw him as she dropped from the sky.Dancing Terpsichore tried to take
him by the mane, but the white wings flashed in her face and the
wonderful steed was gone before she had touched him.Urania, the Muse who loved the heavens, believed that he was from some
star world."You are welcome," she said, "though at first |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Such sorrow
has come to Fees through mortals that we are wont to fly at man's
approach.But a Christmas Child is almost a Fee himself, and I may talk
to you.Then she asked me to walk with her through the wood, and I felt quite
proud when she took my hand.A cheeky little Elf, who overheard me say
that I would go with her anywhere, turned a somersault in the air and
burst out laughing, but I pretended not to hear.It wasn't his business,
anyhow, and I wished that that walk through the valley had been twice as
long.At the further end, quite hidden among the larches, was a natural grotto
of moss-grown stones, and just inside it a heap of ferns, piled up to
make a throne that was fit for a queen.Mellisande seated herself on
this, and I sat down at her feet.We did not talk for a long while, for she seemed to be thinking as
she stroked my hair, and I only wanted to look at her.After awhile
I asked her if she had been one of the Fees that Madame Daudet's
great-great-grandmother had met in a forest near Bayeux.She smiled
and sighed as she told me "Yes," and a wood dove flew out of the trees
and perched on her shoulder.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Chapter VI
The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou."Once upon a time," said Mellisande, "there dwelt at the Castle of
Argouges a noble lord who was famous not only for his bravery, but for
the extreme beauty of his dark features and slender form.All women
loved him, but though he served them with chivalry, as became a knight,
he sought his pleasure in the woods and fields rather than in their
company.He knew what the brook was humming as it gurgled over the
stones, and the wind told him all its secrets as it rustled among the
pines.Sometimes he wrote these things on a sheet of paper and read them
to himself aloud as he lay on the green sward.The Fees in the forest
drew near to listen, for the voice of this lord of Argouges was sweet as
the lute of Orpheus, and their lovely Queen lost her heart to him.Day
after day she hovered by his side, sighing when he was sad, and
rejoicing when the words he sought came quickly to his pen.Once when he looked up suddenly he saw her as in a vision.A silvery
veil of misty gauze half hid her exquisite form; and out of this her
face looked down upon him, pure as an angel's, but with the love of a
woman in her lustrous eyes.As he sprang to his feet, she melted away in
a white cloud, and close to his ear he heard a mournful sigh, as if her
spirit grieved to part from his.And he wrote no longer of flowing water
or whispering wind, but of the Lady of the Woods.For many a day he saw her no more, for Henry I of England coveted
Normandy, the ancient patrimony of his house, and sent his armies to
take possession of it.When the city of Bayeux was besieged, the Lord of
Argouges was amongst its most gallant defenders, and his resource and
daring were the talk of all.None who crossed swords with him lived to
tell the tale, for his courage was equalled by his skill.One morn a giant sprang from the enemy's ranks--a lusty German, well
over seven feet, with the limbs of a prize-fed ox.'I dare you to fight me singly, Lord of Argouges!'he cried, for he
knew with whom he had to deal.The soldiers near stayed their hands to
watch; the hearts of the Normans almost stood still, but the English
exulted, for surely now would the Lord of Argouges bite the dust, and
his fiery sword no more work havoc in their ranks!Their dismay was
great when he proved himself victor, though they would not have
wondered had they had vision to see how ever beside him moved the
shadowy form of his Lady of the Woods, directing his arm that his aim
might be swift and sure, and oft-times interposing her tender body
between him and the German's thrusts.Later on, when the gallant
knight fainted from his wounds and was left for dead, she tended him
pitifully as he lay on the blood-stained earth, moistening his lips
with the dew of heaven, and whispering such sweet thoughts to him that
the weary hours were eased by blissful dreams.He was still alive when
morning dawned, and was found by his friends and carried into camp.Though visible to him alone, the Lady of the Woods was there beside
his couch, and the terrible sights and sounds that accompanied the
merciful efforts of those who tended the wounded could not scare her
away from him.When his suffering was over, and he could raise himself
to eat and drink, she came to him no more, and as his strength slowly
returned he was consumed with a passionate desire to find her.At length he was able to go home to his castle, and once more he roamed
the forest.The songs of the birds were hushed by now, and the trees
under which he used to rest were almost bare.It was autumn, for he had
been long absent, and even yet his step was slow and his proud head bent
with weakness.He was sick with longing for his gentle lady; 'If I do
not find her, I shall die!'Presently he came to a glade where the naked boughs formed a splendid
arch above his head, and he saw a troop of horsewomen riding toward him
on snow-white steeds.In their midst was his Lady of the Woods, a bridal
veil on her star-crowned hair, and myrtle at her breast.He awaited her
approach in a trance of delight; nearer and nearer came the prancing
horses, their skins of satin glinting in the sun.The cavalcade reached
his side; the Queen of the Fees dismounted and stood beside him, while
the ground at her feet became a bed of lilies.The Lord of Argouges
threw himself on his knees amidst their fragrance, gazing up at her with
enraptured eyes, as softly and shyly she bent toward him.'Once more I greet you, dear lord!'she said, and as she touched his
forehead with her lips, the birds still lingering in the forest burst
into joyful song.When the knight found words to tell her of his great
love, she plighted her troth to him, but only he heard her whispered
promise that she would be his wife.Once more she mounted her snow-white steed; he seated himself behind
her, and thus they rode to the castle gates, accompanied by her maidens.Here the Lord of Argouges sprang to the ground; light as a wisp of
thistledown, she floated into his arms, and to the amaze of the
household, who had watched the approach of the procession from the
castle windows, her horse, thrice neighing, changed into a bird, and
fluttered sorrowfully away.[Illustration: "The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees"]
'Farewell, sweet Queen!'her maidens cried, and kissing their hands to
her, rode swiftly back to the depths of the forest.Then the Lord of the Argouges drew the Lady of the Woods across the
threshold of the castle, and so queenly was her beauty and so gracious
her demeanour, that even his aged mother, jealous of the son for whom
she would have shed her life-blood, found no word to say against his
choice.'My love for him is nought beside thine,' the Fee Queen pleaded very
sweetly, 'for thou didst bring him into the world, and hast anguished
for him as none else can.But I too have suffered on his behalf; I pray
thee, let me love him too!'Then his mother looked long and deeply into the eyes of the woman who
had dethroned her from her dear son's heart, and what she saw there
filled her with peace.'Be it as thou wilt,' she said, and that
self-same night the Lord of Argouges wedded his Lady of the Woods in
the castle chapel, which was decked with the fragrant lilies that sprang
wherever her feet had trod.The rejoicings lasted for seven days, and
the Lord of Argouges looked as one to whom the gates of Paradise had
opened.The Queen of the Fees was now to all seeming a mortal woman, and so far
from regretting that she had laid aside her rank, each day found her
more content in her husband's love, and by every womanly art she knew
she sought to please him.One favour only she asked of him--that never
in her hearing would he mention the word 'Death.''If you do, you will lose me for ever,' she told him fearfully, and he
vowed by all that he held most sacred that this dread word should not
cross his lips.The lovely Lady of the Woods bore him fair daughters
and gallant sons, and all was well with the Lord of Argouges.But one
thing grieved him; since the Fees' sweet Queen had linked her lot with
his, she too was subject to the laws of Time, and her beauty waned with
increasing age.The gold of her hair was streaked with silver, and her
face lost some of its soft pink bloom.Her lord spake no word of what
was in his mind as he looked at her earnestly one bright spring morn,
but she divined his regretful thoughts, and full sorrowful were her own.The Fees could not help her, since she had left her fairy kindred
to throw in her lot with mortal man, and so, with woman's wit, she
determined that at the forthcoming festival at the Court the splendour
of her attire should make her lord forget Time's changes.She therefore
summoned to the castle the most skilful workers in silks and broideries,
who toiled in her service day and night, that she might be richly
adorned at the Royal Tournament.Her gown was of azure satin, encrusted with many gems, and her long
court train glittered and shone with gold and silver.Diamonds blazed at
her breast and neck, while a circlet of rubies glowed in her hair.But
their rich red lustre made her pale sweet face look paler than ever,
and she still gazed wistfully at her glass though the Lord of Argouges
waited below, wondering what delayed her.At length he sought her
himself, and in spite of his impatience, he could but admire her
resplendent attire.'You have robbed the sky of his morning glories!'Then, as she lingered still, his impatience returned: 'Fair spouse,' he
said, 'it were well if Death should send you as his messenger, for you
tarry long when you are bidden to haste!--Forgive me, Sweet!His remorse came too late, for the ominous sound had scarcely crossed
his lips when with a cry of bitter anguish, his lady became once more a
Fee, and vanished from his sight.Long and vainly did he seek her, for
though her footmarks are still to be seen on the battlements of the
Castle, and night after night she wandered round it clad in a misty robe
of white, they two met on earth no more.She is pictured still in the
crest of the house of Argouges, over its motto, 'A la Fe!'"I liked this story, but I wished that it had not ended quite so sadly.When I said so to Mellisande she turned her face away from me, and I
think it was a tear drop that glittered on her hand."Then I will tell you neither of Pressina nor Melusina," she said, "for
both these Fees lived to rue the day when they put faith in the word of
man.She demanded no pledge, for
doubt and distrust came not nigh her path, and her love brought her only
gladness."The shadows lengthened; the wood dove flew off to rejoin her mate; and
Mellisande's lips began to smile as she thought of another story.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou."Long, long ago," she went on presently, "when our beautiful Normandy
was known by another name, and formed part of the kingdom of Neustria,
which was given to the Duke of Paris by Charles the Bald, there lived a
wise and noble lord who was said to have magic powers.So gentle was he
that the very birds would perch on his shoulder and twitter their joys
to him, yet so brave and strong that the proudest knight cared not to
provoke his wrath.He was skilled in the lore of plants and herbs, and
by means of a slender hazel from the woods could tell where crystal
waters flowed deep in the bowels of the earth.Full many a maid would
have flown to him had he lifted his little finger, but though he was
often lonely as he wandered beneath the stars, his heart went out to
none, whether of high or low degree, and he preferred his own company to
that of a mate whom he could not love.One Mayday he was up at dawn, searching the fields for a tiny plant
which had some special gift of healing.The grass was spangled with
myriad flowers, but he passed them all till he came to the one he
sought--a small pale blossom of faintest lilac, with perfume as sweet as
a rose's.While yet he held it in his hand he heard a cry; it was that
of some creature in pain, and forcing his way through a prickly hedge,
he found a pure white dove with a broken wing lying under a thornbush.'Who has dared to injure so
fair a thing?'With tender hands he set the broken wing, binding it to
her side with three green leaves and some long-stemmed grass, and fed
her with juice from the lilac flower as he soothed her with gentle
words.When he had stilled her flutterings, he laid her on his breast,
that he might bear her home and tend her until she could fly once more
under the vault of heaven.On he strode through the meadow, and high in the sky the larks trilled
their paeans of joy.Never to him had seemed the earth so fair, and the
morning sun tinged his cheek with gladness.Suddenly he felt the burden
on his breast grow heavy, and stayed his footsteps in surprise.No
longer did he hold a wounded dove against his bosom, but a beauteous
maiden in pure white garb, with three green leaves bound about her arm
with stems of grass.He set her on her feet and stared at her in amaze; she met his
enraptured gaze with eyes that shone like twin blue stars.Then her
eyelids fell; she drooped beneath his glance as a fragile flower beneath
the sun's fierce wooing.And as the wind sweeps over a field of corn when it is ripe for reaping,
love took possession of him.Fee or woman, he swore, this beauteous maid
should be his wife if she were willing, and he would guard her through
good and ill while life should last.he asked her presently, hoarse for very joy.she said, for she had loved him long, and had but taken
the form of a dove to try him.And taking her home to his castle, they
were wedded by the holy priest.John went to the office.No longer now was he lonely, no longer did he wander solitary beneath
the stars, for the lovely Fee was as true and tender as mortal woman,
and made him a faithful wife.Sons were denied them, but seven fair
daughters came, and he called them after the seven gems that graced
their mother's diadem.The maidens were of such supreme loveliness that as they grew up to
womanhood they were known as the Seven Fair Queens; each was without
rival in her own style of beauty.Pearl was fair as day, with a skin
like milk; Ruby's dark splendour was a gift from the Queen of Night,
and her red, red mouth the bud of a perfect flower.The glorious hair
of Amber fell round her shoulders in shimmering waves of light, and
sunbeams lost themselves in her lashes.Sweet Turquoise had her mother's
eyes of blue forget-me-not, while Sapphire's were of deeper hue, and
Amethyst's that of the violet.Chrysolite's were a misty green, like the
sky in the early morning, and no mermaid sang sweeter songs than she as
she sat on the rocks at low tide.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.There came a time when the father of the Seven Fair Queens fell very
sick, and |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | His call had come,
and so closely were he and Norina united, that one eve at sunset her
life went out with his.For awhile their orphaned daughters wept with
grief as they paced the gardens, or sat by the crackling fire in the
great hall.But youth cannot mourn for ever, and with a second spring,
glad hopes came back to them, and once more they rode in the chase.Since they were rich as well as beautiful you may be sure they had many
wooers, but all preferred to reign alone.'When we wed, it will be with Fees!'This
angered their lovers, and presently they were left in peace.Full wisely did they use their parents' wealth, improving the land and
making sure provision for all dependant on their bounty.On the coast
of the Cotentin they built the Castle of Pirou, which gave work to the
poor for several succeeding years, and when it was finished they filled
it with gorgeous tapestries and all the treasures of art they could
collect.Here they lived in splendour, keeping open house; no passing
wayfarer, however humble, need miss a welcome if he cared to claim it.They were still in the first full bloom of their beauty when their fame
reached the ears of one of the great sea pirates, the dreaded Vikings
who rode the waves like giant birds of prey.North, South, East and
West, from Norway and Sweden, and little Denmark, they sailed in search
of plunder, and such was their love of fighting that they would, if
need be, challenge each other rather than allow their swords to rust
with disuse.Although they robbed, they were brave men, and believed
themselves entitled to all they took.Their vessels were small, and
light of draught, so they could penetrate many rivers, but the great
chiefs chose the sea for their battle ground, and ravaged many a town
and village on the coast of France.When the mighty Siegmund heard of the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou, he
resolved to storm their castle and take the loveliest for his bride.With this intent he set sail for the coast of Cotentin with a gallant
fleet.The wind and the tide were with him; he reached it one soft
spring morning when the sea was a sheet of blue.As the vessel which bore him neared the shore, the Viking espied a bevy
of maidens in a sheltered cove, where the sand lay in golden ripples.Ruby and Pearl, and the gentle Turquoise sported in a sun-kissed pool;
while Sapphire and Amethyst wove wreaths of seaweed, and Amber was
smoothing her shining hair with a slender shell of mother-of-pearl
that the waves had thrown at her feet.Chrysolite sat on a dark rock,
singing, and her soft clear notes rang over the waters, enchanting
Siegmund with their music.'By Thor and Odin,' he thundered, 'our journey was well planned.Haste
thee, my men, and get me to that rock!The boat sped swiftly, with Siegmund sitting in the stern.His yellow
locks streamed over his stalwart shoulders, and his face was like that
of some eager god as he noted Chrysolite's beauty.John went to the office.The maiden saw his
approach; and now the glad notes of her exquisite song changed to a
mournful rhythm.She was chanting the words that her mother had
breathed to her seven daughters as she lay a'dying:
'Women ye, my daughters fair
(Cloudless spreads the sky);
But when menace fills the air,
Fees, as once was I.
Slender arm shall change that day
Into snow-white plume;
Winged as birds, haste swift away
From thy threatening doom!'As the last words left her sorrowful lips, Chrysolite's sisters gathered
round her; the boat's keel grated on the sand, and Siegmund sprang
eagerly forward.At the same moment the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou
raised their arms, and instantly these changed, before his eyes, to
fluttering wings.High in the air mounted the maidens, and to the
bewildered gaze of Siegmund they were nought but a line of snow-white
birds flying westward in single file high up in the sky.[Illustration: "They instantly changed into snow-white birds."][Illustration]
When Siegmund had somewhat recovered from his amazement, he and his
followers sacked the castle, and pillaged the surrounding country;
it did them but little good, for a storm blew up as they sailed back
northward, and the ships that carried the stolen treasure were wrecked
on the rocks.As for the Seven Fair Queens, they mated with Fees, and
were glad as the morning.Every year as spring comes round, they return
to Pirou with their numerous descendants, in the form of a flock of wild
geese, and take possession of the nests which they have hollowed out in
the crumbling walls.They also appear when a child is born to the house
of Pirou; if it be a daughter, and Fate has destined her for a nun,
one sits apart in a corner of the courtyard, and sighs as if in sore
distress.If a son is born, the male birds display their plumage, and
show by their mien that they rejoice."* * * * *
Mellisande rose from her throne of ferns, "It will be twilight soon,"
she said, "and we must go.the mists are already rising in the
valley, and the night-birds awake and call.Farewell, dear Christmas
Child, farewell!"And, stooping down, she kissed my forehead.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Chapter VII
In the Dwarf's Palace.Now I knew that Germany was the very country for Dwarfs and Fairies,
and when I heard that this was where we were going next I determined to
be on the look out.I did not see them, though, for a long time after we
arrived, for I was so tremendously interested in everything else.Even
in the big cities where Father spent hours and hours in the hospitals,
watching the wonderful things that the German doctors did, most of the
children looked plump and rosy, and I didn't see any so thin and pale
as those we had left at home.One of the Herr Professors, with whom we
stayed, said that this was because the State made so kind a Grandmother,
but when I asked him what he meant, he only laughed.I liked this professor best of all--he had such a nice way of talking,
and he loved Fairies as much as I do.So!_" when I told
him I was a Christmas Child, and smiled all over his kind old face.Then
he put his hand on my shoulder, and told me that I must remember to do
my part to make my birthday the gladdest day in the year for everyone
around me."It is different in your country," he went on, "but here, in the
Fatherland, there is scarcely a cottage home which has not its Christmas
tree, even if this is only a branch of fir stuck in a broken pot, and
hung with oranges and golden balls.No child is so poor but has his
Christmas presents of cakes and toys, for if his mother cannot provide
them, she tells his teacher in good time, and the teacher sees that he
is not forgotten."I thought this was a ripping plan, for it is horrid when Santa Claus
forgets you, and your stockings hang all limp and flat, like mine did
last year.And I made up my mind, then and there, that next Christmas
there should be a tree for all the littlest and grubbiest children in my
old home.While Father was at the hospitals with the Herr Professor, I stayed with
Rudolf and Gretchen, two of his grandchildren--fat little things with
big blue eyes, who stared at me as if I had seven heads when I told them
about the Korrigans.Gretchen believed in Fairies of all kinds, but
Rudolf only in Dwarfs and Giants.He even said that Santa Claus was
just his own father dressed up, and declared he had seen his old brown
pipe peeping out of Santa Claus' pocket the last time he paid them a
visit.Gretchen said that if so, Santa Claus had taken away the old
brown pipe to bring a lovely new one in its place, and Rudolf told her
girls knew too much.They were both angry by this time, and their faces
looked very red.So I thought we had better talk about Dwarfs and
Giants."Grandfather says there are no Giants now," Rudolph said seriously, "but
there are plenty of Dwarfs in the hill which looks down on the forest.I
saw one there myself last summer; he ran away and wouldn't speak to me,
as if he were afraid."Without saying anything to Rudolf, who might have wanted to come too, I
started for the hill directly after dinner, while he and Gretchen were
arguing again over the pipe and Santa Claus.The Professor's house was
just at the end of the town, so I didn't have far to go; but the hill
took much longer to climb than I thought it would, and I was quite out
of breath when I reached the top and sat down on a flat white stone.As
I looked about me, I swung my foot, and it tapped against a biggish rock
that was just in front.The third time that I did this, a little brown
man hopped briskly out of a crevice and stood before me.He wore a
bright red coat trimmed with green buttons, and carried in his hand a
close-fitting cap of grey.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.[Illustration: Fat little things, with big blue eyes.]"One knock is enough, if we want
to hear it, for our ears are as keen as we could wish.Why did you call
me, and what would you have?""I would hear of you, and of your kinsmen, Master Dwarf!""I am
a Christmas Child, and the Fairies are all my friends."At this he bowed, and said he was glad to meet me, nodding his head with
a sort of grunt as I told him where I had met Titania."If it be your pleasure," he said, looking round to see that no one was
near but me, "I will take you within the hill, and introduce you to my
wife.The ground whereon you stand is hollow, as you will soon perceive,
and we are less than a stone's throw from my palace."I told him that nothing would please me more than to pay him a visit,
and muttering a word in some strange language, he rapped his knuckles on
a cleft in the rock.It widened sufficiently to let us both through, and
closed again with a thud.The winding passage in which I found myself was lit by a soft red glow,
coming from hundreds of rubies set deep in the walls, which seemed to
be of oxidised silver.After several twists and turns, it ended in a
wide hall, where I could just stand upright under the jewelled dome!As
soon as my eyes grew accustomed to the blaze of light which came from
the diamond stars set round it, I saw a sweet little creature in a frock
of pale purple silk, cut short in the sleeves to show her pretty white
arms, on which she wore many bracelets.said the Dwarf proudly, and he explained to her who I was and
what I wanted, and a great deal more about me that I was astonished he
should know.My surprise amused him a good deal, and as his wife led the
way to her boudoir he chuckled merrily."There are Kobolds, or House-Spirits in most old houses," he remarked,
"and it is more than two hundred years since the first stone was laid of
the Herr Professor's.I knew this noon that you were coming, and the
Kobold spoke well of you, and said that you were not above taking advice
from others wiser than yourself.And he opened a door with a great flourish, holding it back for me to
enter.The silver floor was inlaid with
a gold scroll; the walls, of tinted mother-o'-pearl, were adorned with
wreaths of forget-me-nots, each tiny turquoise flower having an amber
centre.The furniture was of filigree silver, so fragile to look at
that I was afraid to touch it, much less to sit down on one of the tiny
chairs, even if I could have fitted myself in.The Dwarf invited me to
be seated, and his small wife gave me a roguish smile as she brought a
velvet cushion from an inner room, and placed this on the ground.I
found afterwards that it was the Dwarfs own bed, and that his pillow was
made of spun spider silk, filled with scented roseleaves and wild thyme.[Illustration: The Dwarf invited me to be seated.][Illustration]
"When you are rested and refreshed," said the Dwarf kindly, as his
little spouse offered me a sip of nectar from a crystal goblet, "I will
show you my palace.There is not much to see, for we are humble folk,
and this hill comparatively a small one.The estates of some of our
nobles extend for miles, and that of our Emperor runs through a range
of mountains.In times gone by we welcomed mortals as our guests, for
we were anxious to be their friends.But they grudged us even a handful
of peas in return, and met our advances with jeers.Now we keep to our
hills as far as possible, and when we desire to walk abroad, we are
careful to wear our mist caps, which render us quite invisible."He sighed so deeply that the dainty lace cap poised on his wee wife's
hair was almost blown away, and then, straightening his bent shoulders,
he took me to see his Banquet Hall.The curtains were all of filigree
silver, fine as lace, and on the walls of the kitchen, where silent
little men in big white aprons kneaded cakes on crystal slabs, shone
ruby and sapphire butterflies.But this was nothing to what I saw in the long low vault where the Dwarf
kept his treasures.At one end was a shimmering heap of pearls, some
larger than pigeons' eggs; at another, a conical mound of diamonds,
which threw out marvellous lights as the Dwarf stirred them gently with
one small hand.John travelled to the bedroom."We know the properties of each stone," he said; "how some give
strength, and some wisdom and power to rule, while others still stir
up strife and envy, and make men merciless as beasts of prey.That
ruby you see has an evil history; a woman gave her soul for it, and
thousands were slain in her cause."I picked up the beautiful, glowing gem, and fancied I saw the face of an
evil demon grinning at me from its depths.Dropping it quickly, I looked
instead at a pile of rings at the other side of the vault.One in
particular drew my attention; it was of beaten gold, with a curious
stone set deep in its centre.As I held it aloof and stared at it, I
caught a glimpse of a waving meadow, with a tiny path leading past a
brook."That is the ring which the Queen of Lombardy gave to her son, Otnit,"
said the Dwarf."Come with me to the Court of Rest, and you shall hear
the story."This was the loveliest place which I had yet seen in the palace.A
circle of orange trees in full bloom enclosed a space round a rippling
fountain, where from the gleaming beak of an opal bird a stream of water
splashed into an emerald basin.The invisible wind that stirred the
petals of the orange blossom brought with it the swish of the sea, and
somewhere, far off, a nightingale was singing.The Dwarf seated himself on one of the velvet cushions strewn on the
ground, and motioning me to take another, began his tale.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Dwarf Elberich and the Emperor."Otnit, Emperor of Lombardy, was one of the greatest kings that ever
lived.John moved to the garden.By force of wisdom more than by might, he subdued the surrounding
nations, and his people looked up to him as to a god.When the time came
for him to wed, no maid in his wide dominions pleased his fancy, for
the wife he pictured in his dreams was sweet and simple, though of royal
birth, and quite unspoiled by praise and flattery.He told his ministers
this, and they shrugged their shoulders.they whispered |
bedroom | Where is John? | 'She shines o'er other women as bright roses do!'he cried, and Otnit
vowed to win her.On the eve of his departure for Syria, where she dwelt with her father
the Soldan, Otnit's mother gave him the ring you held, bidding him take
his horse and ride toward Rome while gazing at the gem in the ring, that
what he saw there might direct his path.The Emperor smiled, but wishing
to humour her, did as she requested, and rode through the silver
starlight thinking of his fair maid.At early dawn, when the welkin rang
with the song of birds, he saw mirrored in the ring a narrow pathway
trodden in the green grass.Making his way by this fragrant road, he
reached a linden tree by a lake.Here he stayed his courser, and sprang
to the ground, peering beneath its boughs.'Never yet from tree came so sweet-breathing a wind,' he laughed; for
lo!an infant lay on the grass, his fair white frock fringed with many
gems.Otnit found it all he could do to lift him, in spite of his
strength, but placing the little creature on the saddle, declared his
intention of taking him to the palace, and putting him in his mother's
care.But this did not please Dwarf Elberich, who for his own purpose had
taken the form of an innocent babe.He offered Otnit such splendid
ransom of sword and shield to set him free, that the Emperor laid him
down again, and even allowed him to hold the magic ring, by the wearing
of which it had been possible for him to see what is usually hidden from
mortal sight.Now it was Elberich's turn, and being once more invisible, he teased
the Emperor to his heart's content, dwelling on the anger of the
Queen-Mother should she find that her gift was lost.Not until the
Emperor was out of patience, and on the point of riding away did
Elberich restore the ring to him.John went to the office.'And now, O Otnit,' he said,'since I see you love well your mother,
whom I loved long ere you saw the light, I will help you to gain your
bride.'And Otnit was glad, for he knew that the word of a Dwarf is ever as good
as his bond.In the spring of the year, 'when all the birds were singing,' the
Emperor called his friends together and bade them embark their troops
with his in the ships at anchor in the harbour.The waters of the bay
gleamed as a field of gold as the stately vessels glided over them, and
for long the carols of the birds on shore went with them on the breeze.Otnit's hopes were high as he paced the deck, though he grieved that the
Dwarf had not come to join him.At length the fleet reached the Eastern coast of the Mediterranean,
and there King Otnit beheld a haven full of ships, far more in number
than his own.'I would that Elberich were here, for he is skilled in
warfare,' he murmured uneasily, for his men looked askance at the fleet
before them.The words had barely left his lips when the sound of a
laugh came from aloft, and straightway the Dwarf displayed himself.He
had been in hiding amongst the rigging, and was now at hand to use his
Fairy powers in Otnit's service.Elberich's gift of a small round stone, which he bade him thrust into
his cheek, conferred upon Otnit the gift of language, and enabled him
to impersonate a rich merchant with so much success that his ship was
allowed to drop anchor in the harbour.When dusk had fallen, and all
was quiet, the Emperor disembarked, encamping with his troops among the
rock-hewn burial places of the ancient Phoenicians, which abounded on
that coast.Here he abode for three whole days, while Elberich sought
the King of Syria, demanding his daughter's hand in marriage for his
royal master.It was refused point blank, and, more than this, the
Soldan ordered his unwelcome visitor to be put to death.But the
flashing blades of the guards cut the empty air, and Elberich jeered at
them finely.[Illustration: Elberich had jeered him finely.][Illustration]
'Your daughter shall go to my lord of her own free will,' he cried to
the Soldan, 'and only so shall your skull be saved!'He then returned to
the Emperor, who bade his troops attack the city of Sidon.A desperate battle with the heathen followed; for awhile the enemy's
numbers triumphed, but not for long.The Emperor's charge swept all
before him, and the Soldan's soldiers fell like corn before the scythe.Then the Dwarf led the army to the Syrian capital; and red as had been
the field of Sidon, it was as nothing to that of Muntabur, where men's
blood flowed as a crimson river.While yet the battle was at its height, Elberich made his way, unseen,
to an inner chamber of the Royal Palace, and though he had come to
rate the Princess for her father's obstinacy, words forsook him in her
presence.So fair a maid he had never seen; her mouth 'flamed like the
rose,' her flowing hair was the colour of rich red gold, and her lovely
eyes had the radiance of the moon.Elberich drew her to the window, and
by the aid of his power over space, showed her King Otnit in the thick
of the fight.The sun fell full on his upturned face, as, seated on his
white charger, he rallied his men for the final onslaught; he looked as
brave a knight as the Princess had ever seen, and she lowered her glance
as Elberich told her how she could save her father.'Death alone can wean King Otnit's desire to wed you,' he said.'His
love for you passes the love of man, and is withal as tender as that of
a woman for her child.'Much more Elberich spake to her to the same purpose, and at close of day
she allowed him to lead her where he would.Together they passed through
a secret passage beneath the Palace, and so through the royal gardens,
to a path which wound down to the field of battle.Fighting had ceased for awhile, for the heathen had been sore smitten;
and since his men had neither eaten nor slept for many long hours,
the Emperor must needs let them rest until dawn.Full of impatience at
the delay which kept him from storming the walls that held the lady of
his love, he paced his tent, and turned to find her standing before him.Her mouth flamed red as the reddest rose; her eyes had the lustre of the
harvest moon, and her red-gold hair framed a snowy brow that was white
as the breast of a swan.Bending his knee, he touched with his lips the
hem of her gown, and when the Princess gave him her exquisite hand, he
could scarce breathe for rapture.[Illustration: "'She is yours, O Otnit!'Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.cried the Dwarf"]
'She is yours, O Otnit!'_Secondlie_ to see that the Churchwardens be careful and
diligent in executinge their office, ioyne with thes in suppressing of
sinne and such as behave the'selves inordinatlie to reprove and
rebuke those who be found offenders, and if they will not amend to
p{e}sent the' to be punished._Thirdlie_ to se that the Church and
Churchy{d} be decentlie repaired and mainteyned.Also we as agreed
y{t} everie p'sonnis beinge found faultie by the Churchwardens and
p'sented to the sworn me' shall paie xij{d.}And
that whosoever doth not come p'sent the'selves lawfull warning being
given either of the xij or Churchwardens to the place appointed shall
lose xij to the poore ma's box without a sufficient cause to the
contrarie whereof thes are to certifie the rest assembled at...
appointed to their meetinge.John travelled to the bedroom.Lastly that the Churchwardes... and take
the sam forfat... p'sent the offenders."Another kind of Parish Council existed at Helton, near Lowther, about a
century ago.A chronicler of seventy years since gives this account of
it:--"At Helton, at the end of the Tythe Barn, was formerly a stone seat,
where the inhabitants met for the purpose of transacting their parochial
affairs.He who came first waited till he was joined by the rest; and it
was considered a mark of great rudeness for anyone to absent himself from
the meeting.After conferring on such matters as related to the parish
they separated, and each returned home."There was a very noteworthy Council at Watermillock, called the Head
Jurie, and Mr.W. Hodgson, a former schoolmaster in the parish, did good
service some years ago by transcribing the records of that body, from 1610
to more than a century later.They performed all the duties--and more--now
delegated to Parish Councils; indeed they seem to have had control of
everything pertaining to the government of the parish.Among the contents
of the book on "Paines and Penalties laid by the Head Jurie" is this entry
concerning a Court held in 1629:--
"We find for a good amongst ourselves that all the inhabitants within
the hamlet of Weathermelock shall amend all the church ways and all
other ways yearly, and every year, upon the first work day in
Christmas, if the day be seasonable, at ye sight of ye Constables and
Churchwardens for the time being upon paine of sixpence of everyone
that maketh default.And alsoe all as aforesaid shall meet and mend
the peat way always upon Whitsun Wednesday, and everyone to meet where
his way lyeth, and everyone to send a sufficient man to the sight of
the Constable for the time being upon paine of sixpence of everyone
that maketh default.And that the Constable be there upon paine of
sixpence to see who make default."In the old manorial halls fools or jesters were frequently to be found
among the members of the households.Taylor suggested that
when Yanwath Hall was a very important link in the chain of Border
defences, such a servant was kept; and Mr.R. S. Ferguson once reminded
the members of the Archaeological Society that, in 1601, both the Mayor of
Carlisle and Sir Wilfred Lawson kept fools, as probably did also the
Bishop of Carlisle.The Mayor's fool got a coat for Christmas, while Sir
Wilfred's appears in the accounts of the Corporation as being "tipped" for
bringing messages to Carlisle.A fool was also kept at Muncaster Castle.John moved to the garden.There was a custom very common in connection with the apprenticeship
system at the beginning of the century.In a pamphlet written by John S.
Lough, a former Penrith printer, appeared this paragraph:--"Burying the
Old Wife is a custom still prevalent among the operatives in the north at
the expiration of the term of apprenticeship.The late apprentice is taken
into a room adjoining that where the party is met to celebrate the
loosening, and after an old woman's cap is put on his head, the body is
enveloped in a white sheet.He is then taken upon the shoulders of his
comrades into the banqueting room, round which he is carried a few times,
in not very solemn procession, and finally placed upon the boards whereon
the figure of a grave is chalked.A kind of funeral service is gone
through, and the old wife is buried.""The simple annals of the poor" in the two counties contain many pathetic
accounts of their condition and treatment ere the public conscience was
awakened to the necessity of a more humane method.Here, as in many other
parts of the country, the poor were often let out to contractors.Among
the churchwardens' accounts at Hayton for 1773 there is a copy of a
contract between the churchwardens and Thomas Wharton, of The Faugh, "for
letting the poor for a year" to the latter.R. W. Dixon, vicar of
the parish, about twenty years ago went into the history of this
transaction.A vestry meeting was called for the purpose, and conditions
were entered into between the churchwardens and the overseers on the one
part, and Thomas Wharton on the other.The parish overseers were to find
bedding and apparel for the paupers, but Wharton was to mend their clothes
and stockings, and be allowed 5s.A child not a year old
was to be counted as one person with the mother, and be fed and clothed by
the parish; and if a pauper died in the house he was to be buried at the
expense of the parish.Wharton was to find sufficient meat, drink,
washing, lodging, and firing for the paupers, to the satisfaction of the
parish officers, who had authority to visit the house as often as they
pleased.He was to receive a yearly salary of L12 10s., and a weekly
allowance of 1s.for each pauper, but if a pauper stayed under a week
a deduction was to be made accordingly.On these terms Wharton was
declared master of the workhouse.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The children who used to attend the ancient Robinson's School at Penrith
were sent out each day to beg, and that there might be no mistake as to
their identity, each was obliged to wear what was locally called "the
badge of poverty."It is decidedly an unfortunate thing, from the point of view of the
antiquary, that so many of the old plague stones which used to be found in
different places should have disappeared.Penrith had two; and one of them
remains, but from observations occasionally heard it is to be feared that
only a small proportion of the townspeople have an idea of the use of the
old font-like erection.It is interesting to quote the account given by a
Penrith land surveyor and innkeeper, who wrote more than a century ago[22]
on this subject:--"Nearly half-way between Eamont Bridge and Penrith
stands an house, called from its situation Half-way House, but formerly
_Mill_ or _Meal Cross_, from the following circumstance.During the
dreadful plague which visited this country in the year 1598, and almost
depopulated Penrith (no less than 2,260 in the town falling victims to
this merciless disease), the Millers and Villagers refused to bring their
commodities into the town to market for fear of infection.The
inhabitants, therefore, were under the necessity of meeting them here, and
performing a kind of quarantine before they were allowed to buy anything.This was said to be almost at the option of the country people.This much
is certain: No man was allowed to touch the money made use of on these
occasions, it being put into a vessel of water, whence they had a method
of taking it without touching it with their fingers.For this purpose they
erected a cross which remains to this day.For greater conveniences they
erected a cross at the town's-head, and erected shambles, etc.; the place
still retains the name of the Cross-green: they built a third cross near
the Carlisle road a little above the second, where black cattle, sheep,
hoggs, and goats were sold; and it retains yet the name of the Nolt-Fair
[Nolt: Oxen, cows, etc.], and continues to be the market for cattle."[Illustration: PLAGUE STONE, PENRITH.]The road was widened and improved in 1834, when the water trough was
found, and afterwards placed where it now stands.There was a somewhat
similar structure in the park at Eden Hall, and is said to mark the site
of the former village.The base is still retained, but some decades ago
there was put a memorial cross upon it.Going over the border of
Westmorland a short distance are other reminders of these old-time
epidemics.In the parish registers of Hawkshead it is stated that in 1721
the sum of 1s.was paid to the apparitor for a book concerning the
plague.John journeyed to the bedroom.Was there |
bedroom | Where is John? | Again, if the book was ever
written, what became of it?The records of the le Flemings, the Earls of
Lonsdale, the Earls of Westmorland, and others published by the Historical
Manuscripts Commission abound in references to the plague.A stone in the remote hamlet of Armboth, above what is now the great
reservoir of the Manchester Corporation, marks the place where the local
commerce was carried on when personal intercourse was dangerous on account
of the plague.John went to the office.The custom existed after the epidemic had passed away, the
people from the fells and dales continuing to take their webs and yarn to
what is still known as "the Webstone."The registers of Dalston are particularly valuable for purposes of local
history, partly owing to the fact that Rose Castle, the residence of the
Bishops of Carlisle, is in that parish.There are also many other ways in
which they are interesting.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.One of the earliest houses mentioned in the
books is Bell Gate or Bellyeat.Miss Kupar, who closely studied the
records of this and some other parishes, wrote a few years ago with regard
to this house: "The people will have it that a bell hung here to announce
the arrival of the pack-horses _en route_ for Keswick, and some maintain
that it served to warn the neighbourhood of the approach of the
moss-troopers."Although the old custom of ringing the curfew is gradually dying out, in
several places in Cumberland and Westmorland the practice is kept up
still.In the hall at Appleby Castle there is an interesting reminder of
the custom.This is the curfew-bell which was found in the tower at the
Castle, and it finds an honoured place now among the family possessions.When swung to and fro the bell is found to have a very sweet tone, but
while it was vigorously rung in the evenings long ago the burgesses would
not have any difficulty in hearing its loud and peculiar warning note.The
inscription is not very easy to decipher, but it appears to run thus:--
"Soli Deo Gloria.Nothing is known at the Castle as to the maker, though it is possible that
experts in bell-lore might be able to trace its record from the
inscription.The chequered histories of the old schools at Appleby, Kirkby Stephen,
Kendal, Crosthwaite, Carlisle, Penrith, and several other towns in the two
counties, would suffice to make a large book of an interesting character.Some of the rules which governed the institutions in bygone days were
decidedly quaint.The nineteen long paragraphs which make up the
"Constitutions, Ordinances, and Statutes for the Free Grammar School at
Kirkby Stephen," as drawn up in 1568 by Lord Wharton, included this
curious stipulation:--
"I will that the said Schoolmaster shall have and receive yearly L12
as his Hire and Wages, at two Terms of the year, if he teach in manner
and form following, viz., At the Feast of Pentecost and St.Martin, by
equal portions, by the hands of my Son, Heir, and Heirs, and the
Governours.And the said Schoolmaster shall, within ten dayes after he
hath taken upon him and be installed in the said Office, before the
said Governours, or two of them, and before my Son and Heir, or Heirs
of my House of Wharton, for the time being, and in presence of the
Churchwardens and Twelve men of Kirkby-Stephen Parish, or six of them,
in the Parish Church there, make this Oath following: 'I do swear by
the holy Contents of this Book that I will freely, without exacting
any money, diligently teach and instruct the Children of this parish,
and all others that resort to me, in Grammar and other Humane
Doctrine, according to the Statutes thereof made; And shall read to
them no corrupt or reprobate Book, or Works set forth at any time
contrary to the Determination of the Universal Catholic Church,
whereby they might be infected in their youth with any kind of Heresy
or corrupt Doctrine, or else be induced to an insolent manner of
Liveing; And further shall observe all the Statutes and Ordinances of
this School, now made or that hereafter shall be made, which concern
me; and shall do nothing in prejudice thereof, but help to maintain
the same, from time to time, dureing my abode herein, to the best of
my power.So Help me God, and the Contents of this book.'"At six o'clock in the morning, and at the same hour in the evening, master
and scholars had to march from school to church, for prayers, afterwards
going to the tomb which Lord Wharton had erected in the quire and sing one
of fifteen psalms.This was the order for working hours:--"And the same
Scholemr., every Work-day at the least, shall begin to teach from Six a
Clock in ye morning in Summer, and from Seven a Clock in Winter; and so
shall continue in teaching until Eleven a Clock.The self same thing shall
he diligently do after Dinner, from One of the Clock till Six in Summer
and five in Winter."The history of Appleby School extends over nearly four and a quarter
centuries.In 1478 Thomas Whinfell, one of the chantry priests, was bound
"to keep yearly a sufficient Grammar School, taking of the scholars of the
said school _scolagia et custumaria secundum antiquam consuetudinem scoloe
praedictae_."Old school-boys living within the present decade remember that
the _scolagia et custumaria_ included a cockpenny, which had to be paid by
each boy on Easter Tuesday, for the purpose of enabling the master to
provide the pupils with a cock-fight.John travelled to the bedroom.One of the regulations for Kendal
School was that it should be "free to all boys resident in the parish of
Kendal, for classics alone, excepting a voluntary payment of a cockpenny
as aforetime at Shrovetide."The "Literary Rambler," who contributed a
series of papers to the _Kendal Chronicle_ in 1812 (when the custom was
commonly observed), remarked:--"A stranger to the customs of the country
will suspect something whimsical in this name, but it has its foundation
in reason; for the boys of every school were divided into parties every
Shrovetide, headed by their respective captains, whom the master chose
from amongst his pupils.This was probably done in imitation of the
Romans, who appointed the _principes pivenum_ on certain occasions.These
juvenile competitors contended in a match at football, and fought a
cock-battle, called the captains' battle, in both which contests the
youthful rivals were not more interested than their parents."Though the
barbarous sport had disappeared, the payment of a cockpenny survived
certainly until the middle of this century.John moved to the garden.W. Sayer,
who, in his History (1847), says that the endowments of Bowness
(Westmorland) School, "together with a cockpenny given by each scholar on
Shrove Tuesday," amounted to about L60 per annum.Smith who became Bishop of London, built
and endowed the school at Asby, and left L10, the interest of which (about
12s.)George's Day yearly for ever in the
following manner: 6s.to the poor of the parish; 5s.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.to be spent in ale by
the feofees of the school; and the remaining shilling to purchase a
football for the scholars.A custom which seems to have been peculiar to
Appleby was for each pupil leaving to pay half-a-guinea towards the
library, and Mr.R. E. Leach, the headmaster, some years ago compiled a
most interesting list of these donations.It was also an occasional
occurrence that "old boys" gave money when they were married.It was by the ancient Parochial Council of Sixteen that the first attempt
to supply elementary education in Torpenhow was made, it being recorded
that on May 12th, 1686, a resolution was passed in favour of founding a
free school for the Bothel district.The "sixteen" from time to time drew
up various rules for the conduct of the school, one of which would greatly
astonish the present generation of certificated masters, because, in 1689,
the master of the institution at Bothel (locally pronounced "Bohl") was
ordered to "keep school from 6 in the morning till 11, and from 1 till 6
from Lady Day till Michaelmas," practically the same rule as was enforced
by Lord Wharton at Kirkby Stephen.An instance of the uncertain position occupied by the village schoolmaster
in former days may be found among the records of Holme Cultram.In 1607
there being some controversy concerning the payment of the parish clerk or
sexton, which previously had been paid in no regular manner, and the clerk
claiming to be paid in meal, though no certain measure of it had been
ascertained, it was agreed and ordered by the sixteen men, with the
consent of the other parishioners, that for the future there should be one
person who should be both parish clerk and schoolmaster, and that he
should have for his wages for every copyhold tenement and lease within the
parish paying above 18d.rent, fourpence, and for every cottager and
under-tenant twopence, to be collected yearly at Easter by the clerk, who
was to be chosen by the sixteen men and approved by the ordinary.In
addition, the schoolmaster was to have a quarterly sum for each scholar as
the sixteen men from time to time directed.That scheme was recorded in
1777 as being still in operation.In another place it has been shown how the sworn men had often a great
share in the selection of the churchwardens and other officials.Their
duties also extended to the procuring of money for educational purposes.It was ordered by Commissioners in the thirteenth year of Elizabeth,
concerning the endowed school at Keswick, "that whereas two pence for
every fire-house hath been paid to the parish clerk yearly, and also
certain ordinary fees for night-watch, burials, weddings, and, moreover,
certain benevolences of lamb wool, eggs, and such like, which seem to grow
up to a greater sum than is competent for a parish clerk; the eight men
shall herafter take up the said two pence a house for the use of a
schoolmaster, paying thereout to the parish clerk yearly 46s.In the
time of King James it was found on inquiry by a Commission of Pious Uses,
"that the eighteen sworn men had from time immemorial laid a tax for the
maintenance of the schoolmaster, and other occasions of the parish, and
appointed the schoolmaster, and made orders for the government of the
school, and that the inhabitants had by a voluntary contribution raised a
school stock of L148 2s.3-1/2d., nevertheless that Dr.Henry Robinson,
Bishop of Carlisle, Henry Woodward, his Chancellor, and Giles Robinson,
brother of the said Bishop, and Vicar of Crosthwaite, had intermeddled,
and that the said Bishop, sometimes by authority of the High Commission
for Ecclesiastical Causes, sometimes as a justice of the peace for the
county, and sometimes by his power as ordinary, had interrupted the orders
of the eighteen men, and had committed thirteen of them to prison.Therefore the commissioners restore the eighteen men to their authority
concerning the appointing of a schoolmaster, and the government of the
school."Among the curious bequests known to have been made at various times by
residents in the two counties, not the least noteworthy was that of the
Vicar of Raughton Head, Mr.Sevithwaite, who, at his death in 1762, left
L20 to the school; and another L20, the interest whereof, after the death
of his widow, was to be laid out yearly in purchasing Bishop Beveridge's
"Thoughts upon Religion," and the Bishop of Man's "Essay for the
Instruction of the Indians," to be given to the poor housekeepers of the
parish.Among the curiosities of tenure in addition to those already mentioned in
a previous chapter, was that of surrendering by the rod.In the summer of
1750 "John Sowerby surrendered to the lord of the manor (of Castle
Sowerby) by the hands of his steward _by the rod_ a messuage at Sowerby
Row... to the use and behoof of Joseph Robinson and his assigns according
to the custom of the manor; conditioned to pay yearly to three trustees L5
for the use of a schoolmaster within the liberty of Row Bound to be chosen
by the trustees."As in most other places, the schoolmaster had to teach
certain children for a very small sum per quarter, and the parents in
better circumstances had to pay 2s.How faithfully some of the clerical schoolmasters performed their duties
during long periods may be proved from numerous sources.One entry, a
burial, will suffice--from the Mardale register of 1799:--
"Richard Hebson, in ye 75th year of his age.He was 53 years master of
the Free School at Measand, and 51 years the pastor of this Chapelry.John journeyed to the bedroom.Singularly remarkable for his faithful, assiduous, and conscientious
discharge of the duties of both these stations."At the beginning of the eighteenth century there were in the diocese of
Carlisle few schools other than those held in the all too frequently
dilapidated parish churches.In most cases the curates were the only
schoolmasters, and it was as an encouragement to those clerics that the
parishioners took it in turn to provide the curate with a "whittlegate."Much interesting information about the old-time schools and schoolmasters
may be found in Bishop Nicolson's Visitation Miscellany.One man, who
afterwards became examining chaplain to Bishop Law, used to keep school at
Sebergham in a mud hut.T. Baxter, who was
incumbent of Arlecdon in the first half of last century, it is recorded,
in Mr.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.W. Dickinson's "Reminiscences of West Cumberland," that he "taught
the parish school in the chancel of the parish church, on an earthern
floor, without fire either in summer or winter."Mary moved to the garden.Bishop Nicolson's
descriptions speak eloquently of the poverty of some parishes:--"The quire
at Warwick, as in many other places, is shamefully abused by the children
that are taught in it.Their present master is Thomas Allanson, a poor
<DW36>, remov'd hither from Rockliff, who has no settled salary, only
12d.per quarter and his diet, and would be thankful for ye commendum of
ye clerk's place; which, he saies, would bring him an addition of about
six shillings p.Of Irthington he wrote:--"The quire is here (as before) miserably spoil'd,
on the floor, by the school boyes; and so vilely out of repair in the roof
that 'tis hazardous comeing in it."Crosby-on-Eden was a little better than the former place:--"Mr.Pearson,
the school master, has no certain and fixed salary.He teaches the
children in the quire; where the boys and girls sit on good Wainscot
Benches, and write on the communion table, too good (were it not appointed
to a higher use) for such a service."Here is a picture with regard to
Cumwhitton, not calculated to make people really wish for the old days
about which some grow enthusiastic:--"The south window is unglazed and
starves the whole congregation as well as the poor children; who are here
taught (for the present) by the parish clerk, a man of very moderate
qualification.Robley, their new curate, is not yet resident among
them; but will shortly come, and take the office of teaching out of this
illiterate man's hand."In a parish not far from the Cumberland border--Allendale--the curates of
West Allen High and St.Peter's Chapels were certainly as recently as
1835, and probably still later, obliged to teach the miners' children for
1s.per quarter each |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | These were five shillings from each miner of one description, and
half-a-crown from those of another, which they, in common with the
incumbent of Allenheads Chapel, received as ministers of the respective
chapels.It was certified in 1717 that while at that time there was no divine
service performed in the parish of Clifton, some three miles from
Workington, "formerly every family in the two hamlets [of Great and Little
Clifton], being about forty in number, paid 6d.each to one that read
prayers, and taught the children to read, and the rector gave L2 a year,
and officiated there every sixth Sunday, but that these payments had then
ceased for above 40 years last past."Reference was made in a previous paragraph to the custom of whittlegate as
applying to schoolmasters.From the former chapter on church curiosities
it will have been noted that the clergy occasionally had recourse to that
method of supplementing their scanty incomes.As it often happened that
the schoolmaster and parson were one and the same individual, difficulties
were thereby removed.John went to the office.At any rate the following extract from Clarke's
"Survey" of over a century ago has an interesting bearing on the subject.Writing of Ambleside, of which the Rev.Isaac Knipe, M.A., was curate and
schoolmaster, he remarks:--
"The chapel is a low, mean building, and stands in the parish of
Grassmere.The inhabitants (who are land owners), as well as those in
the parish of Winandermere, as those in the parish of Grassmere, have
the right of nominating and presenting the curate.The rector of
Grassmere usually nominated the curate, but the inhabitants of this
and many other perpetual curacies in the north have, by custom, gotten
it from the rectors of vicars; the reason is this: before the death
of Queen Anne, many of the chapelries were not worth above three
pounds a year, and the donees could not get persons properly qualified
to serve them, so they left them to the inhabitants, who raised
voluntary contributions for them in addition to their salary, with
clothes yearly and whittlegate.Whittlegate is to have two or three
weeks' victuals at each house, according to the ability of the
inhabitants, which was settled amongst them so as that he should go
his course as regular as the sun, and compleat it as annually."The custom prevailed so late as 1858 in some country parishes; it is not a
little curious that it has not been found to exist in any counties except
Cumberland and Westmorland, though the Rev.J. Wharton, Stainmore, has
informed the writer that it is recognised still in some parts of the
United States.The custom of barring out is probably unknown to the present generation of
Cumbrian and Westmerian school-boys--at any rate in the sense in which it
used to be observed.There exist numerous stories of the thoroughness with
which the boys formerly maintained their supposed rights in this
direction.E. H. Sugden's sketch of the history of Arlecdon and
Frizington shows how the observance was followed there every
Christmas:--"The old men of the parish tell with delight their experiences
and adventures in carrying out this old custom.One says he remembers the
master entering the school by creeping down the chimney.Another tells of
a boy hiding himself in the chimney when the master had forced the door
open.It appears that during this period of expulsion the doors of the
school were strongly barricaded within, and the boys who defended it like
a besieged city were armed in general with elder pop-guns.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.In the meantime
the master would make several efforts, both by force and stratagem, to
regain his lost authority.If he succeeded, heavy tasks were imposed, and
the business of the school went on as usual; but it more commonly happened
that he was repulsed and defeated.The siege was continued three days,
after which the terms of capitulation were proposed by the master, who
usually pushed them under the door, and as a rule the boys accepted.These
terms stipulated what hours and times should for the ensuing year be
allotted to study, and what to relaxation and play.John travelled to the bedroom.Securities were given
by each side for the due performance of these stipulations, and the paper
was then solemnly signed by both master and pupils.Sibson, of Whitehaven, formerly of this parish, relates the two
following incidents in connection with this custom.C. Mossop endeavoured to enter the school.As soon as he put his hand on
the window sill, intending to enter that way, a boy hit his hand with a
red-hot poker, so that for many days he went about with it in a sling.Hughes, the master, took some slates off the roof,
and succeeded in getting his legs and part of his body past the rafters,
but he could get no further, and the boys with red-hot pokers burnt him
severely before he could be rescued by his friends.In those days many
young men attended the school during the winter time."At Appleby, the "barring out" sometimes lasted for days, and the scholars
slept in the schoolrooms.In most places the mutiny was apt to break out
early on the morning of the day fixed for breaking up for the holidays.They defied the master by means of sundry cries, that at Kendal being:--
"Liberty, liberty, under a pin,
Six weeks' holiday or _nivver_ come in."John moved to the garden.Apparently the custom was killed in the old grey town at the beginning of
this century by the then master, Mr.Towers meeting with a distressing
mishap.He was contending with them, apparently for admittance, when his
eye was accidentally destroyed, and the disaster served to bring about the
abolition of the old custom.Fine warm days of that Indian summer so often experienced in the two
counties in September and October were devoted to "going a nutting," and
the headmaster of Appleby Grammar School never refused a holiday at that
season, provided that each scholar brought him a quart of "leamers"--nuts
sufficiently ripe to leave the husks without compulsory treatment.As
Christmas approached, the schoolmaster was "barred out" in orthodox
fashion, until he agreed (and he only pretended to be loth to make the
contract) to extend the coming holidays as long as his pupils demanded."Yas," said Sir Grantley, bowing slightly.My dear
Lady Barmouth, will you allow me humbly and respectfully, don't you
know, to propose for your charming daughter's hand?"Lady Barmouth sank back in her seat as if struck with horror."Did--did I understand you aright, Sir Grantley?"Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Sorry to be so sudden and upset you, but thought you
expected it, don't you know.""My dear Sir Grantley; my dear young friend," exclaimed her ladyship,
laying her hand in a sympathising fashion upon his arm."Well, suppose it is," said Sir Grantley, calmly."Just lost one
daughter too--charming girl, Diana--but it must come, Lady Barmouth.I've been a bit free and got rid of some money, but there's about nine
thou a year left, and then I shall have the Mellish estates by and by!--
another three thou--might settle that on her, don't you know.""Oh, this is dreadful," panted her ladyship."My dear young friend, I
should have been too happy to give my consent, but dear Maude is as good
as engaged to Mr Melton.""The doose she is," said Sir Grantley, dropping his glass and looking
blankly at his companion."Oh, yes," exclaimed her ladyship, applying her scent bottle to her
delicate nostrils.doosid provoking, don't you know," said Sir Grantley, calmly."Made up my mind at last, and now too late.""I am so--so--sorry," sighed her ladyship.I did mean to propose the week before last, but had
to see my doctor."Oh, really, Sir Grantley, I know nothing about Mr Melton's prospects,
but he is a Mowbray Melton, and a wealthy cousin is childless, and not
likely to many.""To be sure he did, Lady Barmouth; and besides, Charley Melton is one of
the younger branch.He made as if to rise, but her ladyship laid her hand upon his arm."This is a serious matter, Sir
Grantley, and it must be cleared up.""Don't say a word about it, please," he replied, with some trepidation."I shall not say a word," replied her ladyship; "but you are under a
mistake, Sir Grantley.said Sir Grantley, screwing his glass very
tightly into his eye."N-no," said her ladyship."There, I will be frank with you, Sir
Grantley.John journeyed to the bedroom.You are a gentleman, and I can trust you.""I hope so," he replied, stiffly.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen."The fact is," said her ladyship, "seeing that there was a growing
intimacy between my daughter and Mr Melton, who is the son of an old
Eton schoolfellow of Lord Barmouth, I made some inquiries.""And I understood Lord Barmouth to say that he would be a most eligible
_parti_ for our dearest child.""Oh, indeed," said Sir Grantley, carefully examining the sit of one leg
of his trousers.Lady Barmouth stared at the speaker, and then shut her scent bottle with
a loud snap."If she has deceived me--tricked me over this," thought her ladyship, "I
will never forgive her.""But has Mr Melton professed this to you?"said Sir Grantley, staring
at the change which had come over his proposed mother-in-law.For the
sweet smile was gone, and her thin lips were drawn tightly over her
teeth: not a dimple was to be seen, and a couple of dark marks came
beneath her eyes."No," she said, shortly; and there was a great deal of acidity in her
tone.I trusted
implicitly in what my husband, who knew his father intimately, had said.Will you join the croquet party, Sir Grantley?"she continued, forcing
back her sweetest smile."Yas, oh yas, with pleasure.Charmed," said Sir Grantley; and they rose
and walked towards the croquet lawn."Dear Sir Grantley," said her ladyship, speaking once more with her
accustomed sweetness, "this is a private matter between ourselves.You
will not let it influence your visit?""I mean, you will not let it shorten your stay?""Oh, no--not at all," he replied."Charmed to stay, I'm sure.Shan't
break my heart, don't you know.Five minutes later her ladyship had left Sir Grantley on the lawn, and
gone off in the direction of Lord Barmouth, who saw her coming and beat
a retreat, but her ladyship cut him off and met him face to face."Tryphie," said Tom to his little cousin, "there's a row cooking.""Yes," she replied, sending her ball with straight aim through a hoop.I hope it is nothing about Maude; she seems so
happy.""Hang me if I don't think it is," said Tom."I'm going off directly,
for the old girl's started to wig the governor, I'm certain.I shall go
and back him up after giving my mallet to Wilters.Don't make me madly
jealous.""And be careful not to hit his legs," said Tom."They'd break like
reeds.--Wilters, will you take my mallet?"Charmed, I'm shaw," said Sir Grantley, bowing, and being thus
introduced to the game, while Tom lit a cigarette and slipped away.Meanwhile Lady Barmouth had captured her husband as he was moving off,
followed closely by Charley Melton's ugly dog, which no sooner saw her
than he lowered his tail, dropped his head, and walked under a clump of
Portugal laurel out of the way."Barmouth," said her ladyship, taking him into custody, like a plump
social policeman, "I want to speak to you.""Certainly, my dear," he said, mildly."Well, my dear," said the old gentleman, "I don't believe he has any
beyond a little allowance from his father, who is very poor.""And his expectations," said her ladyship, sharply."He has great
expectations, has he not?""I--I--I don't think he has, my love," said the old man; "but he's a
doosed fine, manly young fellow, and I like him very much indeed.""But you told me that he had great prospects.""No, my dear, you said _you_ had heard that he had."Don't be an idiot, Barmouth," exclaimed her ladyship."Yes, my dear," he said, looking at her nervously, and then stooping to
rub his leg, an act she stopped by giving his hand a smart slap."How can you be so offensive," she cried, in a low angry voice; "it is
quite disgusting."I went to see Lady Merritty about this matter, and Lady Rigby.""Do you wish to make me angry, Barmouth?""I went to see her about this young man--this Melton, and Lady Merritty
told me she believed he had most brilliant expectations.But I'll be
even with her for this."Why, evidently to gratify some old
spite, that wretched woman, Lady Merritty, has been palming off upon us
this Mr Melton as a millionaire, and on the strength of it all I have
encouraged him here, and only just now refused an offer made by Sir
Grantley Wilters."So he is, a
contemptible, weak-kneed, supercilious beggar."Why, you always made him your greatest
friend."This Melton," retorted her ladyship."I meant that thin weedy humbug, Wilters.""And I meant that wretched impostor, Melton," cried her ladyship,
angrily."Charley Melton is my friend, and he is
here at your invitation.Let me tell you this: if you insult him, if I
don't go bang out on the croquet lawn and kick Wilters."He's a brave dashing young fellow, my son Tom," said his lordship to
himself."I wish I dared--"
"Barmouth," moaned her ladyship, "help me to the house.My son, to whom
I should look for support, turns upon his own mother.Alas, that I
should live to see such a day!"Mary moved to the garden."Yes, my dear," said Lord Barmouth, in a troubled way, as he offered the
lady his arm.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom."Tom, my boy, don't speak so rudely to your mamma," he
continued, looking back, and they moved slowly towards the open
drawing-room window.As her ladyship left the garden, Joby came slowly up from under the
laurels, and laid his head on Tom's knee, for that gentleman had thrown
himself on a garden seat."Hallo, Joby," he said "you here?Sandra went back to the bedroom.I tell you what, old man, if you
would go and stick your teeth into Wilters' calf--Bah!he hasn't got a
calf!--into his leg, and give him hydrophobia, you'd be doing your
master a good turn."From that hour a gloom came over the scene.Lady Barmouth was
scrupulously polite, but Charley Melton remarked a change.There were
no more rides out with Maude; no more pleasant _tete-a-tetes_: all was
smiles carefully iced, and he turned at last to Tom for an explanation."I can't understand it," he said; "a few days ago my suit seemed to find
favour in her eyes; now her ladyship seems to ridicule the very idea of
my pretentions.""Yes," said Tom savagely; and he bit his cigar right in half."No," said Tom, snappishly; "but I suppose some one |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | "Shan't tell," cried Tom; "but mind your eye, my boy, or she'll throw
you over.""She shall not," cried Melton, firmly, "for though there is no formal
engagement, I hold to your sister, whom I love with all my heart."That evening Charley Melton was called away to see his father, who had
been taken seriously ill."So very sorry," said her ladyship, icily.Poor Mr Melton, I am so grieved.Maude, my darling, Sir
Grantley is waiting to play that game of chess with you."The consequence was, that Charley Melton's farewell to Maude was spoken
with eyes alone, and he left the house feeling that he was doomed never
to enter it again as a staying guest, while the enemy was in the field
ready to sap and mine his dearest hopes.Lady Maude Diphoos sat in her dressing-room in Portland Place with her
long brown hair let down and spread all around her like some beautiful
garment designed by nature to hide her soft white bust and arms, which
were crossed before her as she gazed in the long dressing-glass draped
with pink muslin.For the time being that dressing-glass seemed to be a framed picture in
which could be seen the sweet face of a beautiful woman, whose blue eyes
were pensive and full of trouble.It was the picture of one greatly in
deshabille; but then it was the lady's dressing-room, and there was no
one present but the maid.The chamber was charmingly furnished, enough showing in the glass to
make an effective background to the picture; and to add to the charm
there was a delicious odour of blended scents that seemed to be exhaled
by the principal flower in the room--she whose picture shone in the
muslin-draped frame.There is nothing very new, it may be presumed, for a handsome woman to
be seated before her glass with her long hair down, gazing straight
before her into the reflector; but this was an exceptional case, for
Maude Diphoos was looking right into her mirror and could not see
herself.Sometimes what she saw was Charley Melton, but at the present
moment the face of Dolly Preen, her maid, as that body stood half behind
her chair, brushing away at her mistress' long tresses, which crackled
and sparkled electrically, and dropping upon them certain moist pearls
which she as rapidly brushed away.Dolly Preen was a pretty, plump, dark girl, with a certain rustic beauty
of her own such as was found sometimes in the sunny village by the
Hurst, from which she had been taken to become young ladies' maid, a
sort of moral pincushion, into which Mademoiselle Justine Framboise, her
ladyship's attendant, stuck venomed verbal pins.But Dolly did not look pretty in the glass just now, for her nose was
very red, her eyes were swollen up, and as she sniffed, and choked, and
uttered a low sob from time to time, she had more the air of a severely
punished school-girl than a prim young ladies' maid in an aristocratic
family.Dolly wept and dropped tears on the beautiful soft tangled hair at which
Sir Grantley Wilters had often cast longing glances.Then she brushed
them off again, and took out her handkerchief to blow her nose--a nose
which took a great deal of blowing, as it was becoming overcharged with
tears."Oh, Dolly, Dolly," said her mistress at last, "this is very, very sad."At this moment through the open window, faintly heard, there floated,
softened by distance, that delicious, now forgotten, but once popular
strain--"I'm a young man from the country, but you don't get over me."Dorothy Preen, Sussex yeoman's daughter, was a young woman from the
country, and was it because the air seemed _apropos_ that the maiden
suddenly uttered an ejaculation which sounded like _Ow_!and dropping
the ivory-backed brush, plumped herself down upon the carpet, as if
making a nursery cheese, and began to sob as if her heart would break?"Oh, Dolly, Dolly, I don't know what to say," said Lady Maude gently, as
she gave her hair a whisk and sent it all flying to one side."I don't
want to send you back home.""No, no, no, my lady, please don't do that," blubbered the girl."But her ladyship is thinking very seriously about it, Dolly, and you
see you were found talking to him."Daniel went back to the bedroom."Ye--ye--yes, my lady.""But, you foolish girl, don't you understand that he is little better
than a beggar--an Italian mendicant?""Ye-ye-yes, my lady.""I--I--I don't know, my lady.""You, a respectable farmer's daughter, to think of taking up with a low
man who goes about the streets turning the handle of an organ.Dolly,
Dolly, my poor girl, what does it mean?""I--I--I don't know, my lady."Of course you are, my good girl.There, promise me you'll forget it
all, and I'll speak to her ladyship, and tell her you'll be more
sensible, and get her to let you stay.""I--I can't, my lady.""Be-be-because he is so handsome.""Oh, Dolly, I've no patience with you.""N-n-no, my lady, because you--you ain't--ain't in love," sobbed the
girl with angry vehemence, as she covered her face with her hands and
rocked herself to and fro."For shame, Dolly," cried Maude, with her face flamingly red."If a
woman is in love that is no reason for her degrading herself."Ye-ye-yes, my lady, bu-bu-but you don't know; you--you--you haven't
felt it yet.Wh-wh-when it comes over you some day, you--you--you'll be
as bad as I am."Then rouse yourself and think no more of this fellow."I--I can't, my lady.He--he--he's so handsome, and I've tried ever so
to give him up, but he takes hold of you like.""Takes hold of you, Dolly?"I--I d-d-d-don't mean with his hands, my lady, b-b-but with his great
dark eyes, miss, and--and he fixes you like; and once you're like I am
you're always seeing them, and they're looking right into you, and it
makes you--you--you feel as if you must go where he tells you to, and--
and I can't help it, and I'm a wretched, unhappy girl.""You are indeed," said Maude with spirit."It--it--it don't matter what he is, my lady," sobbed Dolly.And--and some day wh-wh-when you feel as I do, miss,
you'll--"
"Silence," cried Lady Maude.Get up,
you foolish girl, and go on brushing my hair.You shall think no more
of that wretched creature."Just at that moment, after a dead silence, an air from _Trovatore_ rang
out from the pavement below, and Dolly, who had picked up the brush,
dropped it again, and stood gazing toward the window with so comical an
expression of grief and despair upon her face that her mistress rose,
and taking her arm gave her a sharp shake."But--but he's so handsome, my lady, I--I can't help it."Why, the girl's fascinated," thought Maude, whose cheeks were flushed,
and whose heart was increasing its speed as she eagerly twisted up her
hair and confined it behind by a spring band."If--if you could send him away, my lady."Yes: it is disgraceful," cried Maude, and as if moved
by some strange influence she rapidly made herself presentable and
looked angrily from the window.There was an indignant look in her eyes, and her lips parted to speak,
but at that moment the mechanical music ceased, and the bearer of the
green baize draped "kist of whustles" looked up, removed his soft hat,
smiled and displayed his teeth as he exclaimed in a rich, mellow voice--
"Ah, signora--ah, bella signora."Maude Diphoos' head was withdrawn rapidly and her cheeks paled, flushed,
and turned pale again, as she stood gazing at her maid, and wondering
what had possessed her to attempt to do such a thing as dismiss this
man.came again from below; and this
seemed to arouse Maude to action, for now she hastily closed the window
and seated herself before the glass."Undo my hair and finish brushing it," she said austerely; "and, Dolly,
there is to be no more of this wicked folly."Mind, I desire that you never look out at this man,
nor speak to him again.""I shall ask her ladyship to look over your error, and mind that
henceforth you are to be a very good girl.""There: I need say no more; you are very sorry, are you not?""Then mind, I shall expect you to do credit to my interference, for her
ladyship will be exceedingly angry if anything of this kind occurs
again."Ye-yes, my lady," sobbed poor Dolly, "I'll try; but you don't know,
miss, how hard it is.Some day you may feel as I do, and then you'll be
sorry you scolded me so much.""Silence, Dolly; I have not scolded you so much.I have only interfered
to save you from ruin and disgrace."Sandra travelled to the bedroom.You could not marry such a man as that.There,
now go downstairs--no, go to your own room and bathe your eyes before
you go down."Yes, my lady, so do I," sobbed Dolly."I'm afraid I'm a very wicked
girl, and father will never forgive me; but I can't help it, and--Ow--
ow--ow!"There, do go to your room," cried Maude
impatiently, and the poor girl went sobbing away, leaving her mistress
to sit thinking pensively of what she had said.Lady Maude Diphoos should have continued dressing, but she sat down by
her mirror with her head resting upon her hand thinking very deeply of
the weak, love-sick girl who had just left the room.Her thoughts were
strange, and it seemed to her that so soon as she began to picture the
bluff, manly, Saxon countenance of Charley Melton, the dark-eyed,
black-bearded face of the Italian leered at her over his shoulder, and
so surely as she made an effort to drive away the illusion, the face
disappeared from one side to start out again upon the other.So constant was this to the droning of the organ far below that Maude
shivered, and at last started up, feeling more ready now to sympathise
with the girl than to blame as she hurriedly dressed, and prepared to go
downstairs to join her ladyship in her afternoon drive."Are you aware, Maude, that I have been waiting for you some time?""That has nothing whatever to do with it," said her ladyship.And by the way, Maude, I must request that you do not
return Mr Melton's very particular bows.I observed that you did
yesterday in the Park, while directly afterwards, when Sir Grantley
Wilters passed, you turned your head the other way.""Really, mamma, I--"
"That will do, child, I am your mother.""The carriage is at the door, my lady," said Robbins, entering the room;
and soon afterwards the ladies descended to enter the barouche and enjoy
the air, "gravel grinding," in the regular slow procession by the side
of the Serpentine, where it was not long before Maude caught sight of
Charley Melton, with his ugly bull-dog by his legs.He bowed, but Lady Barmouth cut him dead.He bowed again--this time to
Maude, who cut him alive, for her piteous look cut him to the heart; and
as the carriage passed on the remark the young man made concerning her
ladyship was certainly neither refined nor in the best of taste.For Charley Melton's father was better, hence his presence in town,
where he had sped as soon as he found that the Diphoos family had left
the Hurst, where Lady Barmouth hatched matrimony.That cut in the Park was unpleasant, but nothing daunted in his
determination not to be thrown over, the young man made his way next day
to Portland Place, eager, anxious, and wondering whether Maude would be
firm, or allow herself to be influenced by her ladyship to his downfall.Robbins unclosed the door at the great family mansion looking very
severe and uncompromising.So stern was his countenance, and so stiff
the bristles on his head, that any one with bribery in his heart would
have felt that silver would be an insult.He left his card, and called next day.Charley Melton turned away with his brow knit, and then thought over the
past, and determined that, come what might, he would not be beaten.The next day he went again, with his dog trotting closely at his heels.He knocked; the door was opened by Robbins the butler, and to the usual
inquiry, that individual responded as before--
"Not at home, sir."As Melton left his card and turned to go away, Joby quietly walked in,
crossed the hall, and went upstairs, while his master, who was biting
his lips, turned sharply back and slipped half a sovereign into the
butler's hand."Look here, Robbins," he said; "you may trust me; what does this mean?"The butler glanced behind him, and let the door swing nearly to as he
stood upon the step."Fact is, sir, her ladyship said they was never to be at home to you."A curious smile crossed Melton's lip as he nodded shortly and turned
away, going straight back to his chambers in Duke Street, Saint James's,
and walking impatiently up and down till he was fain to cease from utter
exhaustion, when he flung himself impatiently in his chair, and sat
trying to make plans for the future.Meanwhile Joby, feeling himself quite at home in the Portland Place
mansion, had walked straight into the dining-room, where the luncheon
was not yet cleared away.The dog settled himself under the table,
till, hearing a halting step, he had come slowly out to stand watching
Lord Barmouth, who toddled in hastily, and helped himself to three or
four slices of cold ham, which he was in the act of placing in his
pocket as the dog touched him on the leg.I'm very sorry, Robbins--I--eh?Oh dear, how you frightened me,
my good dog," he said; "I thought it was the butler."He was hurrying out when, thinking that perhaps the visitor might also
like a little extra refreshment, he hastily took up a couple of cutlets
and threw them one by one to the dog, who caught them, and seemed to
swallow them with one and the same movement, pill-fashion, for they
disappeared, and Joby waited for more."I dare not take any more, my good dog," said his lordship, stooping
down and patting him; and then, feeling that there was nothing more to
be done here, Joby quietly trotted upstairs into the drawing-room, where
Maude was seated alone, with her head resting upon her hand, and the
tears silently stealing down her cheeks.She uttered a faint cry, for the dog's great blunt muzzle was laid upon
her soft white hand, when, seeing who it was, the poor girl, with a
hysterical sob, threw herself down upon her knees beside the great ugly
brute, flung her arms round his neck, and hugged him to her breast."Oh
Joby, Joby, Joby, you dear good dog," she sobbed, "how did you come
here?"and then, with flushed cheeks, and a faint hope in her breast
that the dog's master might be at hand, she paused with her head thrown
back, listening intently.But there was not a sound to be heard, and she once more caressed the
dog, who, with his head resting upon her shoulder, blinked his great
eyes and licked his black muzzle as if he liked it all amazingly.Maude sobbed bitterly as she knelt by |
office | Where is Mary? | At the end of a few moments she stopped though."I dare not--I dare not," she sighed."It would certainly be found out,
and what would he think of me?"He must believe me not worth a thought.She wrote a few words, folded the paper up small, and was taking some
silk from her work-basket, when a cough on the stairs made her start and
return to her chair."She will see the dog and be so angry," thought Maude, as the rustling
of silk proclaimed the coming of her ladyship, when, to her great joy
Joby uttered a low growl and dived at once beneath the couch, where he
curled himself up completely out of sight."Maude," said her ladyship, in an ill-used tone, "you are not looking so
well as you should.""By no means, child; and as I am speaking to you, I may as well say that
I could not help noticing last night that you were almost rude to Sir
Grantley Wilters.I must beg that it does not occur again.""There, there, there, that will do," said her ladyship, "not a word.I
am going out, and I cannot be made nervous by your silly nonsense.""Indeed, mamma, I--"
"I will not hear excuses," cried her ladyship."I tell you I am going
out.If Sir Grantley Wilters calls, I insist upon your treating him
with proper consideration.As I have told you, and I repeat it once for
all, that silly flirtation with Mr Melton is quite at an end, and now
we must be serious."cried Maude, rising; "I assure you--"
"That will do, child, that will do.You must let older people think for
you, if you please.Lady Barmouth sailed out of the room, and with a flush upon her
countenance Maude returned to her work-basket for the silk, starting as
she did so, for something touched her, and there was Joby's great head
with the prominent eyes staring up at her, as if to say, "Are you
ready?"Folding her note very small, she tied it securely to the inside of the
dog's collar, and then, laying her hands upon his ears, kissed his great
ugly forehead."There, good dog, take that to your master," she said.The dog started up, uttered a low bark, and, as if he understood her
words, made for the door."No, no," cried Maude, who repented now that she had gone so far; "come
back, good dog, come back.She ran to the door, but the dog had disappeared, and to her horror she
heard the front door open as the carriage wheels stopped at the door.Trembling with dread she ran to the window and saw that the carriage was
waiting for Lady Barmouth; but what interested her far more was the
sight of Joby trotting across the wide thoroughfare, and evidently
making his way straight off home, where he arrived in due course, and
set to scratching at the door till Charley Melton got up impatiently and
let him in.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Sandra travelled to the bedroom."Ah, Joby," he said, carelessly; and then, heedless of the dog--"But
I'll never give her up," he said sharply, as he rose and took an old
pipe from the chimney-piece, which he filled and then sat down.As he did so, according to custom, Joby laid his head in his master's
hand, Melton pulling the dog's ears, and patting him with one hand,
thinking of something else the while.His thoughts did not come back,
even when his hand came in contact with the paper which now came off
easily at his touch.Melton's thoughts were with the writer, and he had a pipe in the other
hand; but his brain suggested to him that he might just as well light
the pipe, incited probably thereto by the touch of the paper which he
began to open out, after putting his meerschaum in his mouth; and he was
then dreamily doubling the note, when his eyes fell upon the characters,
his pipe dropped from his lips and broke upon the floor, as he read with
increasing excitement--
"I am driven to communicate with you like this, for I dare not try to
post a note.Pray do not think ill of me; I cannot do as I would, and I
am very, very unhappy."That was all; and Charley Melton read it through again, and then stood
looking puzzled, as if he could not comprehend how he came by the
letter."Why, Joby must have stayed behind to-day," he cried, "and--yes--no--of
course--here are the silken threads attached to his collar, and--and--
oh, you jolly old brute!I'll never repent of giving twenty pounds for
you again."He patted Joby until the caresses grew too forcible to be pleasant, and
the dog slipped under his master's chair, while the note was read over
and over again, and then carefully placed in a pocket-book and
transferred to the owner's breast--a serious proceeding with a comic
side."No, my darling," he said, "I won't think ill of you; and as for you, my
dear Lady Barmouth, all stratagems are good in love and war.You have
thrown down the glove in casting me off in this cool and insolent
manner; I have taken it up.If I cannot win her by fair means, I must
by foul."He walked up and down the room for a few minutes in a state of intense
excitement.Sandra went to the office."I can't help the past," he said, half aloud."I cannot help what I am,
but win her I must.I feel now as if I can stop at nothing to gain my
ends, and here is the way open at all events for a time.Joby, you are
going to prove your master's best friend.""If I had my way," said Mr Robbins, "I'd give orders to the poliss, and
every one of 'em should be took up.They're so fond of turning handles
that I'd put 'em on the crank."You have not the taste for the music, M'sieur Robbins," said
Mademoiselle Justine, looking up from her plate at dinner in the
servants' hall, and then glancing side wise at Dolly Preen, who was
cutting her waxy potato up very small and soaking it in gravy, as she
bent down so as not to show her burning face."Haven't I, ma'amselle?P'r'aps not; but I had a brother who could
a'most make a fiddle speak.I don't call organs music, and I object on
principle to a set of lazy ronies being encouraged about our house."Dolly's face grew more scarlet, and Mademoiselle Justine's mouth more
tight as a couple of curious little curves played about the corners of
her lips."Well, all I can say," said the cook, "is, that he's a very handsome
man."exclaimed Robbins, "I don't call a man handsome as can't
shave, and never cuts his greasy hair.Yah, a low,
macaroni-eating, lazy rony, that's what he is.There's heaps of 'em
always walking about outside the furren church doors, I've seen 'em
myself.""But some of 'em's exiles, Mr Robbins," said the stout, amiable-looking
cook."I have 'eared as some on 'em's princes in disguise."ejaculated Mademoiselle Justine, sardonically."Yes, ma'amselle, I ayve," said cook, defiantly, "I don't mean Frenchy
exiles, with their coats buttoned up to their chins in Leicester Square,
because they ain't got no washing to put out, but Hightalian exiles."ejaculated Mademoiselle Justine, "that for you!"Pr'aps a deal more than some people thinks, and I don't like to sit
still and hear poor people sneered at because they are reduced to
music.""But I don't call that music," said Robbins, contemptuously."Don't you, Mr Robbins?--then I do."At this stage of the proceedings Dolly could bear her feelings no more,
but got up and left the hall to ascend the back stairs to her own room,
and sit down in a corner, and cover her face with her natty apron."Pore gell," exclaimed the cook.Mary went to the office."What is too bad, Madame Downes?""To go on like that before the pore thing.ejaculated the French maid, "it is disgust.The
child is _affreusement stupide_.""I have a heart of my own," sighed the cook."Yais, but you do not go to throw it to a man like that, Madame Downes."said the butler, and there was a chorus of approval."I say it is disgust--disgrace," continued Mademoiselle Justine."The
girl is mad, and should be sent home to the _bon_ papa down in the
country.""I have a heart of my own," said Mrs Downes again."Ah, you needn't
laugh, Mary Ann.The housemaid addressed tossed her head and exclaimed, "Well, I'm sure!""And so am I," replied the cook, regardless of the sneers and smiles of
the rest of the domestics at the table."As I said before, I have a
heart of my own, and if some people follow the example of their
betters,"--here Mrs Downes stared very hard at the contemptuous
countenance of the French maid,--"and like the furren element, it's no
business of nobody's.""Did you make that saying for me, Madame Downes?""Sayings ain't puddens," retorted cook."I say, make you that vairy witty jeer for me?"cried Mademoiselle
Justine viciously."What I say is," continued the cook, who, having a blunter tongue, stood
on her defence, but heaping up dull verbiage round her position as a
guard against the Frenchwoman's sharp attack, "that a man's a man, and
if he's a furrener it ain't no fault of his.I should say he's a count
at least, and he's very handsome.""Counts don't count in this country," said Robbins smiling, and waiting
for the applause of the table."Count you the fork and
spoons, Mr Robbins, and see that these canaille music men come not down
the air--_ree_.As for that green-goose girl Preen--Bah!she is a
little shild for her mamma to vip and send to bed wizout her
soop--_paire_.Madame Downes, you are a vairy foolish woman."Mademoiselle Justine rose from her seat, and made a movement as if to
push back a chair; but she had been seated upon a form which
accommodated half a dozen more domestics, and in consequence she had to
climb out and glide toward the door, through which she passed with a
rustle like that of a cloud of dead leaves swept into a barn."You've put ma'amselle out, Mrs Downes," said Robbins with
condescension."That's easy enough done, Mr Robbins.I don't
like young people to be sneered at if they're a bit tender.I've got a
heart of my own.""And a very good heart too, Mrs Downes," said the butler."Hear, hear," said Joseph the footman."Hear, hear, hear, hear, hear!"cried the page-boy, a young gentleman
who lived in a constant state of suppression, and consequently in his
youthful vivacity was always seeking an opportunity to come to the
surface.His chief had paid a
compliment which had been cheered by the said chief's first-lieutenant
Joseph, so Henry, the bearer of three rows of buttons, every one of
which he longed to annex for purposes of play, cried "hear, hear, hear,"
as the footman's echo, and rapped loudly upon the table with the haft of
his knife.A dead silence fell upon the occupants of the servants' hall, and Henry
longed to take flight; but the butler fixed him as the Ancient Mariner
did the wedding guest, and held him with his glittering eye."There, I knowed you'd do it," whispered the footman."You're always up
to some of your manoeuvres."But Vosmaer's position was, above all, that of a
precursor.He, and he alone, saw that a new thing must be made in Dutch
poetical literature.He, and he alone, was not satisfied with the
stereotyped Batavian tradition.At the same time Vosmaer was not, it may
be admitted, strong enough himself to found a new school; perhaps even,
in his later days, the Olympian calm which he affected, and a certain
elegant indolence which overcame him, may have made him unsympathetic to
the ardent and the juvenile.At all events, this singular phenomenon has
occurred.He who of all living Dutchmen was, ten or fifteen years ago,
fretting under the poverty of thought and imagination in his fatherland
and longing for the new era to arrive, is at this moment the one man of
the last generation who is most exposed to that unseemly _ferocite des
jeunes_ which is the ugliest feature of these esthetic revolutions.I
have just been reading, with real pain, the violent attack on Vosmaer
and his influence which has been published by that very clever young
poet, Mr.Willem Kloos (_De Nieuwe Gids_, December 1890).All that
cheers me is to know that the whirligig of time will not forget its
revenges, and that, if Mr.Kloos only lives long enough, he will find
somebody, now unborn, to call _him_ a "bloodless puppet."Of one other representative of the transitional period, Marcellus
Emants, I need say little.He wrote a poem, _Lilith_, and several short
stories.Much was expected of him, but I know not what has been the
result.The inaugurator of the new school was Jacques Perk, a young poet of
indubitable genius, who was influenced to some degree by Shelley, and by
the _Florence_ of the Dutch Browning, Potgieter.He wrote in 1880 a
_Mathilde_, for which he could find no publisher, presently died, and
began to be famous on the posthumous issue of his poems, edited by
Vosmaer and Kloos, in 1883.The sonnets of Perk, like those of Bowles with us a hundred years ago,
were the heralds of a whole new poetic literature.The resistance made
to the young writers who now began to express themselves, and their
experience that all the doors of periodical publication in Holland were
closed to them, led to the foundation in 1885 of _De Nieuwe Gids_, a
rival to the old Dutch quarterly, _De Gids_.In this new review, which
has steadily maintained and improved its position, most of the
principal productions of the new school have appeared.The first three
numbers contained _De Kleine Johannes_ (Little Johnny), of Dr.Frederik
van Eeden, the first considerable prose-work of the younger generation.This is a charming romance, fantastic and refined, half symbolical, half
realistic, which deserves to be known to English readers.To this followed two powerful books by L.
van Deyssel, _Een Liefde_ ("A Love") and _De Kleine Republiek_ ("The
Little Republic").Van Deyssel has written with great force, but he has
hitherto been the _enfant terrible_ of the school, the one who has
claimed with most insolence to say precisely what has occurred to him to
say.He has been influenced, more than the rest, by the latest French
literature.While speaking of the new school, it is difficult to restrain from
mentioning others of those whose work in _De Nieuwe Gids_ and elsewhere
has raised hopes of high performance in the future.Jacques van Looy, a
painter by profession, has published, among other things, an exquisitely
finished volume of _Proza_ (Prose Essays).Frans Netscher, who
deliber |
garden | Where is Mary? | Ary Prins, under the pseudonym of Coopland, has written
some very good studies of life.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Among the poets are Willem Kloos Albert
Verwey, and Herman Gorter, each of whom deserves a far more careful
critical consideration than can here be given to him.Willem Kloos, indeed, may be considered as the leader of the school
since the death of Perk.It was to Kloos that, in the period from 1880
to 1885, each of the new writers went in secret for encouragement,
criticism and sympathy.He appears to be a man of very remarkable
character.Violent and passionate in his public utterances, he is adored
by his own colleagues and disciples, and one of the most gifted of them
has told me that "Kloos has never made a serious mistake in his estimate
of the force of a man or of a book."His writings, however, are very
few, and his tone in controversy is acrid and uncompromising, as I have
already indicated.He remains the least known and the least liked,
though the most powerful, of the band.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.The member of the new generation
whose verse and prose alike have won most acceptance is, certainly,
Frederik van Eeden.His cycle of lyrical verse, _Ellen_, 1891, is
doubtless the most exquisite product of recent Dutch literature.For the peculiar quality which unites in one movement the varied
elements of the school which I have attempted thus briefly to describe,
the name Sensitivism has been invented by one of themselves, by Van
Deyssel.It is a development of impressionism, grafted upon naturalism,
as a frail and exotic bud may be set in the rough basis of a thorn.It
preserves the delicacy of sensation of the one and strengthens it by the
exactitude and conscientiousness of the other, yet without giving way to
the vagaries of impressionism or to the brutality of mere realism.It
selects and refines, it re-embraces fancy, that maiden so rudely turned
out of house and home by the naturalists; it aims, in fact, at retaining
the best, and nothing but the best, of the experiments of the French
during the last quarter of a century.Van Deyssel greets _L'Argent_ with elaborate courtesy, with the respect
due to a fallen divinity.He calls his friends in Holland to attend the
gorgeous funeral of naturalism, which is dead; but urges them not to
sacrifice their own living Sensitivism to the imitation of what is
absolutely a matter of past history.It will be seen that Dutch
Sensitivism is not by _any_ means unlike French Symbolism, and we might
expect prose like Mallarme's and verse like Moreas'!As a matter of
fact, however, the Dutch seem, in their general attitude of reserve, to
leave their mother-tongue unassailed, and to be as intelligible as their
inspiration allows them to be.To one of these writers, however, and to one of the youngest, it is time
that I should turn.The first member of the new Dutch school to be
presented, in the following pages, to English readers, is Louis Marie
Anne Couperus.Of him, as the author of this book, I must give a fuller
biography, although he is still too young to occupy much space by the
record of his achievements.Louis Couperus was born on the 10th of June,
1863, at the Hague, where he spent the first ten years of his life.He
was then taken in company with his family to Java, and resided five
years in Batavia.Returning to the Hague, where he completed his
education, he began to make teaching his profession, but gradually
drifted into devoting himself entirely to literature.He published a
little volume of verses in 1884, and another, of more importance, called
_Orchideien_ (Orchids), in 1887, Oriental and luscious.But he has
succeeded, as every one allows, much better in prose.His long novel of
modern life in the Hague, called _Eline Vere_, which ran through _De
Gids_, and was published in book form in 1889, is an admirable
performance.Of _Noodlot_ (literally to be translated "Fate" or
"Destiny"), 1890, our readers will now judge for themselves.Couperus is at present engaged, as he tells me, on a novel called
_Extaze_ ("Ecstasy").Such is the brief chronicle of a writer from whom
much is expected by the best critics of his own country.FOOTSTEPS OF FATE
I
His hands in his pockets, and the collar of his fur coat turned up,
Frank was making his way one evening, through squalls of snow, along the
deserted length of Adelaide Road.As he approached the villa where he
lived--White-Rose Cottage, it was called--sunk, buried, wrapped in white
snow, like a nest in cotton wool, he was aware of some one coming to
meet him from Primrose Hill.He looked steadily in the man's face, since
he evidently intended to address him, doubting as to what his purpose
might be this lonely, snowy night, and he was greatly surprised when he
heard said in Dutch:
"Pardon the intrusion.You may perhaps remember--"
"What!And in his amazement there rose up before him, through the driving snow,
a vision of his youth; a pleasing picture of boyish friendship, of
something young and warm."Not altogether by chance," said the other, whose voice had taken a
somewhat more confident tone at the sound of the familiar "Bertie.""I
knew that you lived here, and I have been to your door three times; but
you had not come in.Your maid said that you were expected at home this
evening, so I made so bold as to wait here for you."And again his voice
lost its firmness and assumed the imploring accent of a beggar.I know no one here--"
"Where are you living?"I only arrived here early this morning, and I have--I have no
money."He was shivering from standing in the cold during this short dialogue,
and seemed to shrink into himself, almost fawning, like a cowed dog."Come in with me," said Frank, greatly astonished, but full of sympathy
and of the affectionate reminiscences of his boyhood."Come and spend
the night with me."was the reply, eager and tremulous, as if he feared that
the heaven-inspired words might be retracted.They went together a few steps further; then Frank took a key out of his
pocket, the key of White-Rose Cottage.He opened the door; a hexagonal
Moorish lantern was burning low, and shed a soft light in the hall."Go in," said Frank; And he locked the door and bolted it behind them."That gentleman called here a little while ago, two or three times," she
murmured; with a look of suspicion at Bertie, "And I have seen him
hanging about all the evening, as if he was on the watch.I was
frightened, do you know; it is so lonely in these parts.""Make the fire up as quickly as possible, Annie.Bertie, will you have something to eat?"Sandra went to the office."Gladly, if it gives you no trouble," replied Bertie in English, for the
benefit of the maid, and he looked with an insinuating expression to
meet the surprised, cold blue eyes of the neat, brisk young woman.His
voice was persuasive and low; he tried to take as little room as
possible in the small hall; and to avoid her gaze, he seemed to shrink,
to efface himself in a corner where the shadow fell.Frank led the way into a large back room, cold and dark when they
entered, but soon lighted up, and before long genially warmed by the
huge fire which blazed up in the grate."Lay for two; I will eat something," said Frank, thinking that Bertie
would feel more at his ease.At his friend's invitation the visitor had seated himself in a large
armchair by the fire, and there he sat, bolt upright, without speaking,
feeling shy before the woman, who came and went.And now, in the light,
Frank could see the poverty of his appearance; his thin, shabby coat,
shining with grease and bereft of buttons; his worn, fringed trousers;
his dirty comforter, hiding a lack of underlinen; his ripped and
slipshod shoes.In his confusion and awkwardness he still held his
battered hat.This garb accorded ill with the aristocratic elegance of
his figure; the thin, pale, chiselled features, full of distinction in
spite of the unkempt light hair and unshaven stubble of beard.It was
like a masquerade of rank and culture in the rags of misery, beseeming
it as ill as an unsuitable part in a play.And the actor sat motionless,
staring into the fire, ill at ease in the atmosphere of luxury which
surrounded him in this room, evidently the home of a young man of
fortune, who had no yearnings for domestic society.Mary went to the office.The curtains and
carpets were of handsome quality, so were the furniture and ornaments,
but arranged without any reference to comfort; the chairs and tables
against the wall, stiff and orderly, and shining with polish.But it did
not make this impression on Bertie, for a sense of the blessedness of
warmth and shelter possessed him wholly; of peace and reprieve, as calm
as a lake and as delightful as an oasis--a smiling prospect after the
snow and cold of the last few hours.And when he saw that Frank was
gazing at him in visible wonder at his motionless attitude by the
glorious fire, where the dancing flames flew up like yellow dragon's
tongues, at last he smiled, and said with humble gratitude in the tone
of a beggar:
"Thank you very much--this is good--"
Annie had not much to set before them: the remains from the larder of a
young fellow who lives chiefly away from home--a bit of cold beef steak
and salad, some biscuits and jam; but it bore some resemblance to a
supper, and Bertie did it full honour, eating and drinking with
systematic deliberateness, hardly conscious of what; and imbibing hot
grog, without confessing the hunger which had nipped his very vitals.At
length Frank tried to make him speak, drew him into talk, and into
telling him what had reduced him to such misery.Bertie told his tale in
a fragmentary fashion, very abjectly, every word sounding like a
petition:
"Disputes with his father about his mother's fortune--a trifle of a few
thousand gulden quickly spent; vicissitudes in America, where he had
been by turns a farm-servant, a waiter in a hotel, and a _super_.on the
stage; his return to Europe on board a liner, working out his passage in
every variety of service; his first day in London--without a cent."He
remembered Westhove's address from letters bearing date of some years
back, and had at once made his way to White-Rose Cottage, only fearing
that meanwhile Frank might have moved half a dozen times, and left no
traces--
Oh!his anxiety, that night, waiting in the cold wind, while it grew
darker and darker; the gloom, with no relief but the ghostly whiteness
of the deathly silent snow!And now, the warmth, the shelter, and
food!--And again he thanked his friend, cowering, shrivelled, in his
threadbare clothes."Thank you, thank you--"
Annie, sulky over so much trouble at this hour of the night, and for
such a vagabond brought in from the street, had nevertheless prepared a
bedroom.And Frank led him upstairs, shocked by his exhausted appearance
and ashy paleness.He patted him on the shoulder, promising to help him;
but now he must go to bed--to-morrow they would see what could be done.When Bertie found himself alone he looked about him.The room was very
comfortable; the bed ample, soft, and warm.John journeyed to the garden.He felt himself squalid and
dirty, amid such surroundings of luxury; and by a natural instinct of
decency and cleanliness, though his teeth were chattering with cold, he
first carefully and elaborately washed himself--lathering, rubbing,
brushing--till his whole body was rosy and glowing, and smelling of
soapsuds.He looked in the glass, and only regretted that he had no
razors; he would have shaved.At last, having slipped on a nightshirt
which lay ready for use, he crept in between the blankets.He did not
immediately fall asleep; revelling in the comfort, in his own
purification, in the whiteness of the sheets, the warmth of the quilt;
in the gleam of the nightlight even, which showed discreetly through a
green shade.A smile came into his eyes and parted his lips.--And he was
asleep; without a thought of the morrow.Happy in the respite of to-day,
and the warmth of the bed, his mind almost vacant, indeed, but for the
single recurring thought that Frank was really a good fellow!Next morning there was a hard frost; the snow glittered like crystals.They had breakfasted, and Bertie was relating his disasters in America.He had been trimmed and shaved by Frank's barber, and he was wearing
Frank's clothes, which were "a world too wide" for him, and a pair of
slippers in which his feet were lost.He already felt more at home and
began to bask, like a cat which has found a warm spot of sunshine.He
lounged at his ease in the armchair, smoking comfortably, and was on the
old familiar terms with Frank.His voice was soft and mellow, with a
ring of full content, like an alloy of gold.Westhove was interested,
and let him tell his story in his own way; and he did so very simply,
without making any secret of his poverty; but everything had happened
inevitably, and could not have turned out otherwise.He was no
favourite of Fortune, that was all.But he was tough; many another would
not have pulled through as he had.Frank looked at him in astonishment; he was so frail, so pale, so
delicate, almost devoid of all manly development; he was lost in the
grotesque amplitude of Frank's coat and trousers--a mere stripling as
compared with his own stalwart, angular frame!And he had gone through
days of hunger, nights without a shelter, a depth of poverty which to
Frank--well-fed and ruddy with vigorous health--seemed unendurable; and
he spoke of it so coolly, almost jestingly; without complaining, only
looking with regretful pity at his hands, which were thin, and blue with
the biting cold, and chapped and raw about the knuckles.At the moment
the state of his hands seemed to be the only thing that troubled him.A
very happy nature, thought Frank, while he laughed at him for his
concern about his hands.But Bertie himself was shocked at his own heedlessness, for he suddenly
exclaimed!"But what am I to do--what am I to do?"He gazed into vacancy, helpless and desperate, wringing his hands.Frank
laughed him out of his despair, poured him out a glass of sherry, and
told him that for the present he must stay where he was, to recover.He
himself would be heartily glad of Bertie's company for a few weeks; he
was a little sick of his wealthy bachelor life; he belonged to a circle
of idlers, who went out a great deal, and spent a great deal, and he was
tired of it all--dinners and balls in the world, and suppers and orgies
in the half-world.It was always the same thing; a life like a _Montagne
Russe_, down and then up again, down and then up again, without a moment
for thought; an existence made for you, in the position you made for
yourself.At the moment he had but one anxiety; Bertie himself.Frank
would help him, after a few weeks' rest, to find an appointment, or some
employment; but, above all, he was not to worry himself for the present.Westhove was only glad to have his old friend under his roof.Memories
rose up before him like dissolving views,Mary journeyed to the garden. |
kitchen | Where is John? | Frank could see him still, the slight,
fragile lad, bullied by louts, protected by himself--Frank--whose fists
were always ready to hit out, right and left, in defence of his friend.And, later on, their student days in Delft; Bertie's sudden
disappearance without leaving a trace, even for Frank; then a few
letters at rare intervals, and then years of silence.he was glad
indeed to see his friend at his side once more; he had always had a
great love for Bertie, just because Bertie was so wholly unlike himself,
with something of the cat about him--loving to be petted and made much
of, but now and then irresistibly prompted to flee over roofs and
gutters, to get miry and dirty, and return at last to warm and clean
himself on the hearth.Frank loved his friend as a twin-brother quite
different from himself, imposed upon by Bertie's supercilious and
delicately egoistic fascination.--A cat-like creature altogether.Bertie found it a great luxury to stay indoors the whole of that day,
sitting by the fire, which he kept blazing by feeding it with logs.Frank had some capital port, and they sat after lunch sipping it,
dreaming or talking; Bertie telling a hundred tales of his adventures in
America, of his farmer master, of his hotel, and the theatre where he
had acted; and one anecdote led to another, all garnished with a touch
of singular romance.Frank presently wanted a little fresh air, and said
he would go to his club; but Bertie remained where he was; he could not
go about in rags, but he could not appear anywhere with Frank in the
clothes he had on.Frank was to return to dinner at eight o'clock.And
then suddenly, as if it had come to him like a lightning flash, Bertie
said:
"Say nothing about me, pray, to any of your friends.They need not be
told that you know such a bad lot as I am.Frank promised, laughing; and, holding out his hand, the "bad lot"
added:
"How can I ever repay you?What a happy thing for me that I should have
met you!You are the most generous fellow I ever knew!"Frank escaped from this volley of gratitude, and Bertie remained alone
in front of the hearth; toasting all over in the blaze, or stretching
his legs, with his feet on the shining bars.He poured himself out
another glass of port, and made himself think of nothing, revelling in
the enjoyment of idleness, while he seriously examined his damaged
hands, wondering how best to ensure their rapid recovery.Bertie had been a month at White-Rose Cottage, and was now hardly
recognisable in the young man who sat by Frank's side in a victoria, in
an irreproachable fur-lined coat, a fashionable tall hat; both the men
wrapped about the knees in a handsome plaid.He now mixed quite at his
ease with Frank's other acquaintances, carefully dressed, agreeable, and
entertaining, and lisping English with an affected accent, which he
thought elegant.He dined with Frank every day at the club, to which he
was introduced; criticised game and wines with the most blase air in the
world, and smoked Havanas at two shillings apiece as if they were mere
straw.Frank had in his inmost soul the greatest belief in him, and
watched him with a smile of secret satisfaction, as he calmly went his
own way chatting with men of the world, without ever for a moment
feeling shy; and Frank thought the comedy altogether so amusing that he
introduced his friend wherever he went.Winter yielded to a foggy spring; the London season was upon them, and
Bertie seemed to find great pleasure in assisting at afternoon teas, and
evenings at home; in sitting at a grand dinner between two pairs of fine
shoulders, and flirting with each in turn, never dazzled by the glitter
of jewels, nor bewildered by the sparkle of champagne; in leaning with
languid grace in the stalls or dress circle, his chiselled features full
of distinction and lordly repose, a fragrant white flower gleaming in
his button-hole, and his opera-glass dangling between his now white
fingers, as though not one of the ladies was worthy of his inspection.Frank, for lack of occupation, as a man who takes his pleasure where he
finds it, had pushed Bertie forward in the world, not merely to help
him, but also for the fun of it--a silly amusement, to make a fool of
society!Bertie himself had many scruples, and kept note in a
pocket-book of everything Frank spent upon him--when times were better
he would repay him all--and in a fortnight it had mounted up to a total
of some hundred pounds.Bertie, who had contrived, by a
few kind words, to win the good graces of Annie and her husband,
Westhove's valet and butler, turned all the furniture about in whimsical
disorder, bought statuettes, palms, and oriental stuffs, and changed the
unsociable aspect of the room into one of artistic comfort, which
invited to indolence; a subdued light, wide divans, the atmosphere of an
alcove redolent of Egyptian pastilles and fine cigarettes, in which
thought floated into dreams, and the half-closed eyes rested on the nude
figures of bronze nymphs seen through the greenery of plants.Here, in
the evening, high festivals were held; orgies with a few chosen friends,
and select fair ones; two ladies from a skating-rink, and a figurante
from a theatre, who smoked cigarettes with their vermilion lips and
drank to Bertie's health.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Frank laughed to his heart's content to see
Bertie, a contemner of the fair sex, quite insensible to the three
charmers; making game of them, teasing them, setting them by the ears
till they were almost ready to claw each other, and to conclude the
matter pouring floods of champagne down their _decolletes_ throats.No; Frank had never been so well amused during all his long residence in
London, where he had settled as an engineer in order to give--as he
said--a cosmopolitan character to his knowledge of the world.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.He was thoroughly good-hearted, and too highly prosperous to be a deep
thinker.He had tasted of every pleasure, and had no high opinion of
life, which was after all but a farce, lasting, according to statistics,
on an average six-and-thirty years.He made small pretence of any
philosophical views of existence, beyond a determined avoidance of
everything that was not amusing.Now Bertie was very amusing, not only
in his fun with women, the cruel sport of a panther; but especially in
the farcical part he played in Frank's world, where he figured as a man
of fashion--he, a vagabond, who only a month since had stood shivering
in rags on the pavement.It was a constant secret delight to his
friend, who gave Bertie _carte blanche_ to enable him to keep it up; a
_carte blanche_ which was amply honoured, bringing in heavy tailors'
bills--for Bertie dressed with refined vanity, bought ties by the dozen,
adopted every fancy that came into fashion, and scented himself with all
the waters of Rimmel.It was as though he was fain to plunge into every
extravagant refinement of an exquisite, after having been a squalid
scarecrow.And although at first he kept faithful record of his outlay,
he soon forgot first one item and then another, till at last he forgot
all.Thus weeks slipped by, and Frank never thought of troubling himself to
inquire among his influential acquaintances for employment for his
companion.Their life as wealthy idlers filled their minds entirely;
Frank's at any rate, for Bertie had brought a new charm into it.One day Bertie went out in the
morning alone, and did not come in to lunch.After luncheon, at the
club, no Bertie, nor yet at dinner.He did not come home in the evening;
he had left no clue.Frank, extremely uneasy, sat up half the night--no
one.Frank inquired right and left, and
at last gave information to the police.At last one morning, before Frank was up, Bertie appeared at his bedside
with an apologetic smile; Frank must not be angry with him; he surely
had not been alarmed?You see such a monotonously genteel life had
suddenly been too much for him.Always these elegant ladies, with trains
and diamonds; always clubs full of lords and baronets; and
skating-rinks--the pink of finery!Always a chimney-pot hat, and every
evening full dress, with the regulation button-holer.He could endure it no longer; it had been too much for him."Oh, here and there, among old acquaintance."And you did not know a soul here?""Oh, well, no fashionable folk, like your friends, but a scapegrace or
two.Frank had sat up in bed to talk to him.He saw that he looked pale,
weary, and unkempt.His trousers were deeply bordered with mud; his hat
crushed; there was a three-cornered rent in his great-coat.And he stood
there in evident confusion, like a boy, with his doubting, coaxing
smile."Come, do not be cross with me; take me into favour once more."Provoked beyond measure, he exclaimed:
"But, Bertie, what a cad you look!And he could get no more out of him.Sandra went to the office.Bertie would only say that he had
wanted to disappear; and now he was tired--- he would go to bed.He
slept till three in the afternoon.Frank laughed over it all day, and
Bertie went into fits when he heard of the police.At dinner, at the
club, he related, with a melancholy face, that he had been out of town
for a few days, attending a funeral.Frank had failed to receive a note
through the carelessness of a servant."But where in the world have you really been?"whispered Frank for the
third time, infinitely amused and inquisitive."Here and there, I tell you--first in one place, and then in another,"
answered Bertie, with the most innocent face in the world; and, dapper
as ever, he delicately lifted an oyster, his little finger in the air,
and swallowed down his half-dozen without another word on the subject.Mary went to the office.The season passed away, but Bertie remained.John journeyed to the garden.Sometimes, indeed, he
talked of going to Holland; he had an uncle, a stockbroker, in
Amsterdam.Possibly that uncle.... But Westhove would not hear of it;
and, when his friend's conscience pricked him for sponging on him, he
talked him down.If Bertie had been the rich man,
and he the pauper, Bertie would have done the same by him.A true appreciation of the case began to dawn on him in the now firmly
established habits of their life.Frank's moral sense whispered drowsily
in the ease of their luxurious existence.Now and then indeed, he had
something like a vague suspicion that he was not rich enough for two;
that he had spent more in the last few months than in any former
season.But he was too heedless to dwell long on such unpleasant doubts.He was lulled to sleep by Bertie as if by opium or morphia.Bertie had
become indispensable to him: he consulted his friend on every point, and
allowed himself to be led by him on every occasion, completely
subjugated by the ascendancy held over him by the fragile little man,
with his velvet paws, as though he had him under a yoke.Every now and
then--ere long at frequent intervals of about a fortnight--Bertie
disappeared, stayed away four or five days, and came back one fine
morning, with his insinuating smile, exhausted, pale, and tired out.These were, perhaps, some secret excesses of dissipation--mysterious
adventure-hunting in the sordid purlieus of the lowest
neighbourhoods--of which Frank never heard nor understood the truth; a
depth of depravity into which Frank seemed too precise and dainty to be
initiated; sins in which he was to have no part, and which Bertie, in
his refinement of selfishness, kept for himself as an occasional treat.Then Frank's hours were passed in disgust of life; he missed the
unwholesome stimulant of his existence; in his solitude he sank into
grey melancholy and sadness, verging on despair.He stayed at home all
day, incapable of any exertion, sulking in his lonely house, where
everything--the draping of the handsome curtains, the bronze nudity of
the statues, the careless disarray of the cushions on the divan--had
still, as it were, an odour of Bertie, which haunted him with regret.On
such days as these he was conscious of the futility of his existence,
the odious insignificance of his sinewless, empty life; useless,
aimless, null!Sadly sweet memories would come over him; reminiscences of his parental
home, shining through the magic glass of retrospect, like bright, still
pools of tender domestic harmony, in which the figures of his father and
mother stood forth grand and noble, glorified by child-like affection.He longed for some unspeakable ideal, something pure and chaste, some
high aim in life.He would shake off this torpor of the soul; he would
send away Bertie--
But Bertie came back, and Bertie held him tightly once more in his
silken bonds, and he saw more clearly every day that he could not live
without Bertie.And then, catching sight of himself in a mirror--tall
and brawny and strong, the healthy blood tinging his clear
complexion--he could not forbear smiling at the foolish visions of his
solitude, which struck him now as diseased imaginings, quite out of
keeping with his robust vigour.Life was but a farce, and the better
part was to play it out as a farce, in mere sensual enjoyment.Mary journeyed to the garden.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Nothing
else was worth the pains.... And yet sometimes at night, when his big
body lay tired out after some riotous evening, a gnawing dissatisfaction
would come over him, not to be conquered by this light-hearted
philosophy, and even Bertie himself would lecture him.John moved to the kitchen.Why did not Frank
seek some employment--some sphere of action?Why did not he travel for a
while?asked Bertie one day, for the sake of saying
something.London was beginning to be intolerable to Bertie; and as the notion of
travelling smiled on Frank, both for a change and for economy--since
they could live more cheaply abroad than in the whirl of fashionable
London--he thought it over, and came to a decision to leave White-Rose
Cottage for an indefinite period to the care of Annie and her husband,
and spend a few weeks in Norway.I.
After luncheon at the table d'hote of the Britannia Hotel at Dronthjem,
the friends made their way along the broad, quiet streets with their
low, wooden houses, and they had left the town, going in the direction
of the Gjeitfjeld, when they overtook, in the village of Ihlen, an
elderly gentleman with a young girl, evidently bent on the same
excursion.The pair had sat a few places off at the table d'hote, and as
this much acquaintance justified a recognition in so lonely a spot,
Westhove and his friend lifted their hats.The old gentleman immediately
asked, in English, whether they knew the road to the Gjeitfjeld: he and
his daughter--who, during the colloquy, never looked up from her
"Baedeker"--could not agree on the subject.This difference of opinion
led to a conversation: the two young men begged to be allowed to join
them, Frank being of opinion that "Baedeker" was right."Papa will never believe in 'Baedeker!'"said the young lady with a
quiet smile, as she closed the red volume she had been consulting."Nor
will he ever trust me when I tell him I will guide him safely.""Are you always so sure of knowing your way?"she saucily declared, with a gay laugh.Bertie |
garden | Where is Mary? | During
his residence with his friend he had so spoiled himself, in order to
forget his former wretchedness, that he now knew no greater pleasure
than that of lying on a bench with a cigar, or a glass of port, and,
above all, would avoid every exertion.But now, abroad--when a man is
travelling--he cannot for ever sit dozing in his hotel.Besides, he was
quite stiff with riding in a carriole; all this useless rushing about
was really monstrous folly, and White-Rose Cottage was not such a bad
place.Frank, on the contrary, thoroughly enjoyed the clear,
invigorating air of this brilliant summer day, and he drank in the
sunshine as though it were fine wine cooled by a fresh mountain breeze;
his step was elastic and his voice had a contented ring.Westhove explained that they were Dutch, that they lived in London; and
his tone had the frank briskness which a man instinctively adopts to
fellow-travellers, as sharing his lot for the moment, when the weather
is fine and the landscape pleasing.Their sympathy being thus aroused by
their admiration of Norwegian scenery, they walked on side by side, the
elder man stepping out bravely, the young lady very erect, with her fine
figure moulded in a simple, close-fitting blue cloth dress, to which a
cape with several folds--something like an elegant type of coach-man's
cape--lent a dash of smartness.She wore a sort of jockey-cap, with a
mannish air, on her thick twists of ruddy-gold hair.Bertie alone could not understand how all this could be called pleasure;
but he made no complaint.Daniel went back to the bedroom.He spoke little, not thinking it necessary to
make himself agreeable to people whom he might probably never set eyes
on again after the morrow.So he just kept up with them, wondering at
Frank, who had at once plunged into eager conversation with the young
lady, but perceiving on a sudden that his own politeness and tact were a
mere superficial varnish as compared with Frank's instinctive good
breeding.At that moment, for the first time, notwithstanding his better
features and natty travelling costume, he felt himself so far Frank's
inferior that a surge of fury resembling hate thrilled through him.He
could not bear this sense of inferiority, so he approached the old
gentleman, and walking by his side forced himself to a show of
respectful amiability.And even if we did, what use would that be?The
princess is no bride for you.''Your Majesty must pardon us; but just think for a moment.Should you
send an envoy to the island he will take ten years to get there and ten
more to return--twenty years in all.Will not the princess have grown
old in that time and have lost all her beauty?'Then he thanked the merchants, gave them
leave to trade in his country without paying any duties, and dismissed
them.After they were gone the king remained deep in thought.He felt puzzled
and anxious; so he decided to ride into the country to distract his
mind, and sent for his huntsmen and falconers.The huntsmen blew their
horns, the falconers took their hawks on their wrists, and off they all
set out across country till they came to a green hedge.On the other
side of the hedge stretched a great field of maize as far as the eye
could reach, and the yellow ears swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze
like a rippling sea of gold.'Upon my word,' said he,
'whoever dug and planted it must be good workmen.If all the fields in
my kingdom were as well cared for as this, there would be more bread
than my people could eat.'And he wished to know to whom the field
belonged.Off rushed all his followers at once to do his bidding, and found a
nice, tidy farmhouse, in front of which sat seven peasants, lunching
on rye bread and drinking water.They wore red shirts bound with gold
braid, and were so much alike that one could hardly tell one from
another.The messengers asked: 'Who owns this field of golden maize?'And the
seven brothers answered: 'The field is ours.''We are King Archidej's labourers.'These answers were repeated to the king, who ordered the brothers to
be brought before him at once.On being asked who they were, the eldest
said, bowing low:
'We, King Archidej, are your labourers, children of one father and
mother, and we all have the same name, for each of us is called Simon.Our father taught us to be true to our king, and to till the ground,
and to be kind to our neighbours.He also taught each of us a different
trade which he thought might be useful to us, and he bade us not neglect
our mother earth, which would be sure amply to repay our labour.'The king was pleased with the honest peasant, and said: 'You have done
well, good people, in planting your field, and now you have a golden
harvest.But I should like each of you to tell me what special trades
your father taught you.'said the first Simon, 'is not an easy one.If you
will give me some workmen and materials I will build you a great white
pillar that shall reach far above the clouds.''And you, Simon the second, what is your
trade?''Mine, your Majesty, needs no great cleverness.When my brother has
built the pillar I can mount it, and from the top, far above the clouds,
I can see what is happening: in every country under the sun.''Good,' said the king; 'and Simon the third?''My work is very simple, sire.You have many ships built by learned men,
with all sorts of new and clever improvements.If you wish it I will
build you quite a simple boat--one, two, three, and it's done!But my
plain little home-made ship is not grand enough for a king.Where other
ships take a year, mine makes the voyage in a day, and where they would
require ten years mine will do the distance in a week.''Good,' said the king again; 'and what has Simon the fourth learnt?''My trade, O king, is really of no importance.Should my brother build
you a ship, then let me embark in it.If we should be pursued by an
enemy I can seize our boat by the prow and sink it to the bottom of the
sea.When the enemy has sailed off, I can draw it up to the top again.''That is very clever of you,' answered the king; 'and what does Simon
the fifth do?'Sandra travelled to the bedroom.'My work, your Majesty, is mere smith's work.Order me to build a smithy
and I will make you a cross-bow, but from which neither the eagle in the
sky nor the wild beast in the forest is safe.'That sounds very useful,' said the king.'And now, Simon the sixth,
tell me your trade.''Sire, it is so simple I am almost ashamed to mention it.If my brother
hits any creature I catch it quicker than any dog can.Sandra went to the office.If it falls into
the water I pick it up out of the greatest depths, and if it is in a
dark forest I can find it even at midnight.'The king was much pleased with the trades and talk of the six brothers,
and said: 'Thank you, good people; your father did well to teach you all
these things.Now follow me to the town, as I want to see what you can
do.I need such people as you about me; but when harvest time comes I
will send you home with royal presents.'The brothers bowed and said: 'As the king wills.'Suddenly the king
remembered that he had not questioned the seventh Simon, so he turned to
him and said: 'Why are you silent?And the seventh Simon answered: 'I have no handicraft, O king; I have
learnt nothing.And if I do know how to do
anything it is not what might properly be called a real trade--it is
rather a sort of performance; but it is one which no one--not the king
himself--must watch me doing, and I doubt whether this performance of
mine would please your Majesty.''Come, come,' cried the king; 'I will have no excuses, what is this
trade?''First, sire, give me your royal word that you will not kill me when I
have told you.'So be it, then; I give you my royal word.'Then the seventh Simon stepped back a little, cleared his throat, and
said: 'My trade, King Archidej, is of such a kind that the man who
follows it in your kingdom generally loses his life and has no hopes of
pardon.There is only one thing I can do really well, and that is--to
steal, and to hide the smallest scrap of anything I have stolen.Not
the deepest vault, even if its lock were enchanted, could prevent my
stealing anything out of it that I wished to have.'When the king heard this he fell into a passion.'I will not pardon
you, you rascal,' he cried; 'I will shut you up in my deepest dungeon on
bread and water till you have forgotten such a trade.Indeed, it would
be better to put you to death at once, and I've a good mind to do so.'I am really not as bad as you think.Why, had I
chosen, I could have robbed the royal treasury, have bribed your judges
to let me off, and built a white marble palace with what was left.But though I know how to steal I don't do it.Mary went to the office.If you kill me you will break your royal word.''Very well,' said the king, 'I will not kill you.But from
this hour you shall be shut up in a dark dungeon.But you six Simons follow me and be assured of
my royal favour.'The seventh Simon was seized by the
guards, who put him in chains and threw him in prison with only bread
and water for food.Next day the king gave the first Simon carpenters,
masons, smiths and labourers, with great stores of iron, mortar, and the
like, and Simon began to build.And he built his great white pillar
far, far up into the clouds, as high as the nearest stars; but the other
stars were higher still.Then the second Simon climbed up the pillar and saw and heard all that
was going on through the whole world.When he came down he had all sorts
of wonderful things to tell.How one king was marching in battle against
another, and which was likely to be the victor.How, in another place,
great rejoicings were going on, while in a third people were dying of
famine.John journeyed to the garden.In fact there was not the smallest event going on over the earth
that was hidden from him.He stretched out his arms, once, twice,
thrice, and the wonder-ship was ready.At a sign from the king it was
launched, and floated proudly and safely like a bird on the waves.Instead of ropes it had wires for rigging, and musicians played on them
with fiddle bows and made lovely music.As the ship swam about, the
fourth Simon seized the prow with his strong hand, and in a moment it
was gone--sunk to the bottom of the sea.An hour passed, and then the
ship floated again, drawn up by Simon's left hand, while in his right he
brought a gigantic fish from the depth of the ocean for the royal table.Whilst this was going on the fifth Simon had built his forge and
hammered out his iron, and when the king returned from the harbour the
magic cross-bow was made.His Majesty went out into an open field at once, looked up into the sky
and saw, far, far away, an eagle flying up towards the sun and looking
like a little speck.Mary journeyed to the garden.'Now,' said the king, 'if you can shoot that bird I will reward you.'Simon only smiled; he lifted his cross-bow, took aim, fired, and the
eagle fell.As it was falling the sixth Simon ran with a dish, caught
the bird before it fell to earth and brought it to the king.'Many thanks, my brave lads,' said the king; 'I see that each of you is
indeed a master of his trade.The six Simons bowed and went to dinner.But they had hardly begun
before a messenger came to say that the king wanted to see them.They
obeyed at once and found him surrounded by all his court and men of
state.'Listen, my good fellows,' cried the king, as soon as he saw them.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.'Hear
what my wise counsellors have thought of.As you, Simon the second,
can see the whole world from the top of the great pillar, I want you to
climb up and to see and hear.For I am told that, far away, across many
seas, is the great kingdom of the Island of Busan, and that the daughter
of the king is the beautiful Princess Helena.'John moved to the kitchen.Off ran the second Simon and clambered quickly up the pillar.He gazed
around, listened on all sides, and then slid down to report to the king.'Sire, I have obeyed your orders.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Far away I saw the Island of Busan.The king is a mighty monarch, but full of pride, harsh and cruel.He
sits on his throne and declares that no prince or king on earth is good
enough for his lovely daughter, that he will give her to none, and
that if any king asks for her hand he will declare war against him and
destroy his kingdom.''Has the king of Busan a great army?'Daniel journeyed to the hallway.asked King Archidej; 'is his
country far off?''As far as I could judge,' replied Simon, 'it would take you nearly ten
years in fair weather to sail there.But if the weather were stormy
we might say twelve.It is not so very
large--a hundred thousand men at arms and a hundred thousand knights.Besides these, he has a strong bodyguard and a good many cross-bowmen.Altogether you may say another hundred thousand, and there is a picked
body of heroes who reserve themselves for great occasions requiring
particular courage.'The king sat for some time lost in thought.At last he said to the
nobles and courtiers standing round: 'I am determined to marry the
Princess Helena, but how shall I do it?'The nobles, courtiers and counsellors said nothing, but tried to hide
behind each other.Then the third Simon said:
'Pardon me, your Majesty, if I offer my advice.You wish to go to the
Island of Busan?In my ship you will get there in a
week instead of in ten years.But ask your council to advise you what
to do when you arrive--in one word, whether you will win the princess
peacefully or by war?'But the wise men were as silent as ever.The king frowned, and was about to say something sharp, when the Court
Fool pushed his way to the front and said: 'Dear me, what are all you
clever people so puzzled about?As it seems
it will not take long to reach the island why not send the seventh
Simon?He will steal the fair maiden fast enough, and then the king,
her father, may consider how he is going to bring his army over here--it
will take him ten years to do it!---no less!Why, that your idea is capital, and you shall be
rewarded for it.Come, guards, hurry as fast as you can and bring the
seventh Simon before me.'Not many minutes later, Simon the seventh stood before the king, who
explained to him what he wished done, and also that to steal for the
benefit of his king and country was by no means a wrong thing, though it
was very wrong to steal for his own advantage.The youngest Simon, who looked very pale and hungry, only nodded his
head.'Come,' said the king, 'tell me truly.Do you think you could steal the
Princess Helena?''Why should I not steal her, sire?Let my
brother's ship be laden with rich stuffs, brocades, Persian carpets,
pearls and jewels.Give me my four middle brothers
as companions, and keep the two others as hostages.'When the king heard these words his heart became filled with longing,
and he ordered all to be done as Simon wished.Every one ran about to do
his bidding; and in next to no time the wonder-ship was laden and ready
to start.The five Simons took leave of the king, went on board, and had no sooner
set sail than they were almost out of sight.The ship cut through the
waters like a falcon through the air, and just a |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | The coast appeared to be strongly guarded,
and from afar the watchman on a high tower called out: 'Halt and anchor!Where do you come from, and what do you want?'The seventh Simon answered from the ship: 'We are peaceful people.We
come from the country of the great and good King Archidej, and we bring
foreign wares--rich brocades, carpets, and costly jewels, which we wish
to show to your king and the princess.We desire to trade--to sell, to
buy, and to exchange.'The brothers launched a small boat, took some of their valuable goods
with them, rowed to shore and went up to the palace.The princess sat
in a rose-red room, and when she saw the brothers coming near she called
her nurse and other women, and told them to inquire who and what these
people were, and what they wanted.The seventh Simon answered the nurse: 'We come from the country of the
wise and good King Archidej,' said he, 'and we have brought all sorts
of goods for sale.We trust the king of this country may condescend
to welcome us, and to let his servants take charge of our wares.If he
considers them worthy to adorn his followers we shall be content.'This speech was repeated to the princess, who ordered the brothers to
be brought to the red-room at once.They bowed respectfully to her and
displayed some splendid velvets and brocades, and opened cases of pearls
and precious stones.Such beautiful things had never been seen in the
island, and the nurse and waiting women stood bewildered by all the
magnificence.They whispered together that they had never beheld
anything like it.The princess too saw and wondered, and her eyes could
not weary of looking at the lovely things, or her fingers of stroking
the rich soft stuffs, and of holding up the sparkling jewels to the
light.'Fairest of princesses,' said Simon.'Be pleased to order your
waiting-maids to accept the silks and velvets, and let your women trim
their head-dresses with the jewels; these are no special treasures.But permit me to say that they are as nothing to the many coloured
tapestries, the gorgeous stones and ropes of pearls in our ship.We did
not like to bring more with us, not knowing what your royal taste might
be; but if it seems good to you to honour our ship with a visit, you
might condescend to choose such things as were pleasing in your eyes.'She went to the
king and said: 'Dear father, some merchants have arrived with the most
splendid wares.Pray allow me to go to their ship and choose out what I
like.'The king thought and thought, frowned hard and rubbed his ear.At last
he gave consent, and ordered out his royal yacht, with 100 cross-bows,
100 knights, and 1,000 soldiers, to escort the Princess Helena.Off sailed the yacht with the princess and her escort.The brothers
Simon came on board to conduct the princess to their ship, and, led by
the brothers and followed by her nurse and other women, she crossed the
crystal plank from one vessel to another.The seventh Simon spread out his goods, and had so many curious
and interesting tales to tell about them, that the princess forgot
everything else in looking and listening, so that she did not know that
the fourth Simon had seized the prow of the ship, and that all of a
sudden it had vanished from sight, and was racing along in the depths of
the sea.The crew of the royal yacht shouted aloud, the knights stood still with
terror, the soldiers were struck dumb and hung their heads.There was
nothing to be done but to sail back and tell the king of his loss.'Oh, light of my eyes,' he sobbed; 'I am indeed
punished for my pride.I thought no one good enough to be your husband,
and now you are lost in the depths of the sea, and have left me alone!As for all of you who saw this thing--away with you!Let them be put in
irons and lock them up in prison, whilst I think how I can best put them
to death!'Whilst the King of Busan was raging and lamenting in this fashion,
Simon's ship was swimming like any fish under the sea, and when the
island was well out of sight he brought it up to the surface again.At
that moment the princess recollected herself.'Nurse,' said she, 'we
have been gazing at these wonders only too long.I hope my father won't
be vexed at our delay.'Neither the yacht nor the
island was in sight!Helena wrung her hands and beat her breast.Then
she changed herself into a white swan and flew off.But the fifth Simon
seized his bow and shot the swan, and the sixth Simon did not let it
fall into the water but caught it in the ship, and the swan turned into
a silver fish, but Simon lost no time and caught the fish, when, quick
as thought, the fish turned into a black mouse and ran about the ship.It darted towards a hole, but before it could reach it Simon sprang upon
it more swiftly than any cat, and then the little mouse turned once more
into the beautiful Princess Helena.Early one morning King Archidej sat thoughtfully at his window gazing
out to sea.His heart was sad and he would neither eat nor drink.His
thoughts were full of the Princess Helena, who was as lovely as a dream.Is that a white gull he sees flying towards the shore, or is it a sail?Daniel moved to the bathroom.No, it is no gull, it is the wonder-ship flying along with billowing
sails.Its flags wave, the fiddlers play on the wire rigging, the anchor
is thrown out and the crystal plank laid from the ship to the pier.The
lovely Helena steps across the plank.She shines like the sun, and the
stars of heaven seem to sparkle in her eyes.Up sprang King Archidej in haste: 'Hurry, hurry,' he cried.'Let us
hasten to meet her!Let the bugles sound and the joy bells be rung!'And the whole Court swarmed with courtiers and servants.Golden carpets
were laid down and the great gates thrown open to welcome the princess.King Archidej went out himself, took her by the hand and led her into
the royal apartments.'Madam,' said he, 'the fame of your beauty had reached me, but I had not
dared to expect such loveliness.Still I will not keep you here against
your will.If you wish it, the wonder-ship shall take you back to your
father and your own country; but if you will consent to stay here, then
reign over me and my country as our queen.'It is not hard to guess that the princess
listened to the king's wooing, and their betrothal took place with great
pomp and rejoicings.The brothers Simon were sent again to the Island of Busan with a letter
to the king from his daughter to invite him to their wedding.And the
wonder-ship arrived at the Island of Busan just as all the knights and
soldiers who had escorted the princess were being led out to execution.Then the seventh Simon cried out from the ship: 'Stop!I bring a
letter from the Princess Helena!'The King of Busan read the letter over and over again, and ordered the
knights and soldiers to be set free.He entertained King Archidej's
ambassadors hospitably, and sent his blessing to his daughter, but he
could not be brought to attend the wedding.When the wonder-ship got home King Archidej and Princess Helena were
enchanted with the news it brought.'A thousand thanks to you, my brave
fellows,' he cried.'Take what gold, silver, and precious stones you
will out of my treasury.Tell me if there is anything else you wish for
and I will give it you, my good friends.Do you wish to be made nobles,
or to govern towns?Then the eldest Simon bowed and said: 'We are plain folk, your Majesty,
and understand simple things best.What figures should we cut as nobles
or governors?We have our fields which give us
food, and as much money as we need.If you wish to reward us then grant
that our land may be free of taxes, and of your goodness pardon the
seventh Simon.He is not the first who has been a thief by trade and he
will certainly not be the last.''So be it,' said the king; 'your land shall be free of all taxes, and
Simon the seventh is pardoned.'Then the king gave each brother a goblet of wine and invited them to the
wedding feast.[From Ungarischen Mahrchen.]The Language of Beasts
Once upon a time a man had a shepherd who served him many years
faithfully and honestly.One day, whilst herding his flock, this
shepherd heard a hissing sound, coming out of the forest near by, which
he could not account for.So he went into the wood in the direction of
the noise to try to discover the cause.When he approached the place
he found that the dry grass and leaves were on fire, and on a tree,
surrounded by flames, a snake was coiled, hissing with terror.The shepherd stood wondering how the poor snake could escape, for
the wind was blowing the flames that way, and soon that tree would be
burning like the rest.for the
love of heaven save me from this fire!'Then the shepherd stretched his staff out over the flames and the snake
wound itself round the staff and up to his hand, and from his hand
it crept up his arm, and twined itself about his neck.The shepherd
trembled with fright, expecting every instant to be stung to death, and
said: 'What an unlucky man I am!Did I rescue you only to be destroyed
myself?'But the snake answered: 'Have no fear; only carry me home to my
father who is the King of the Snakes.'The shepherd, however, was much
too frightened to listen, and said that he could not go away and leave
his flock alone; but the snake said: 'You need not be afraid to leave
your flock, no evil shall befall them; but make all the haste you can.'So he set off through the wood carrying the snake, and after a time he
came to a great gateway, made entirely of snakes intertwined one with
another.The shepherd stood still with surprise, but the snake round his
neck whistled, and immediately all the arch unwound itself.'When we are come to my father's house,' said his own snake to him, 'he
will reward you with anything you like to ask--silver, gold, jewels,
or whatever on this earth is most precious; but take none of all these
things, ask rather to understand the language of beasts.He will refuse
it to you a long time, but in the end he will grant it to you.'Soon after that they arrived at the house of the King of the Snakes, who
burst into tears of joy at the sight of his daughter, as he had given
her up for dead.he asked, directly
he could speak, and she told him that she had been caught in a forest
fire, and had been rescued from the flames by the shepherd.The King of
the Snakes, then turning to the shepherd, said to him: 'What reward will
you choose for saving my child?''Make me to know the language of beasts,' answered the shepherd, 'that
is all I desire.'The king replied: 'Such knowledge would be of no benefit to you, for if
I granted it to you and you told any one of it, you would immediately
die; ask me rather for whatever else you would most like to possess, and
it shall be yours.'But the shepherd answered him: 'Sir, if you wish to reward me for saving
your daughter, grant me, I pray you, to know the language of beasts.I
desire nothing else'; and he turned as if to depart.Then the king called him back, saying: 'If nothing else will satisfy
you, open your mouth.'The man obeyed, and the king spat into it, and
said: 'Now spit into my mouth.'The shepherd did as he was told, then
the King of the Snakes spat again into the shepherd's mouth.When they
had spat into each other's mouths three times, the king said:
'Now you know the language of beasts, go in peace; but, if you value
your life, beware lest you tell any one of it, else you will immediately
die.'So the shepherd set out for home, and on his way through the wood he
heard and understood all that was said by the birds, and by every living
creature.When he got back to his sheep he found the flock grazing
peacefully, and as he was very tired he laid himself down by them to
rest a little.Hardly had he done so when two ravens flew down and
perched on a tree near by, and began to talk to each other in their own
language: 'If that shepherd only knew that there is a vault full of gold
and silver beneath where that lamb is lying, what would he not do?'When
the shepherd heard these words he went straight to his master and told
him, and the master at once took a waggon, and broke open the door of
the vault, and they carried off the treasure.But instead of keeping it
for himself, the master, who was an honourable man, gave it all up to
the shepherd, saying: 'Take it, it is yours.So the shepherd took the treasure and built himself a house.He
married a wife, and they lived in great peace and happiness, and he was
acknowledged to be the richest man, not only of his native village, but
of all the country-side.He had flocks of sheep, and cattle, and horses
without end, as well as beautiful clothes and jewels.One day, just before Christmas, he said to his wife: 'Prepare everything
for a great feast, to-morrow we will take things with us to the farm
that the shepherds there may make merry.'The wife obeyed, and all was
prepared as he desired.Next day they both went to the farm, and in the
evening the master said to the shepherds: 'Now come, all of you, eat,
drink, and make merry.I will watch the flocks myself to-night in your
stead.'Then he went out to spend the night with the flocks.When midnight struck the wolves howled and the dogs barked, and the
wolves spoke in their own tongue, saying:
'Shall we come in and work havoc, and you too shall eat flesh?'John moved to the office.And
the dogs answered in their tongue: 'Come in, and for once we shall have
enough to eat.'Now amongst the dogs there was one so old that he had only two teeth
left in his head, and he spoke to the wolves, saying: 'So long as I have
my two teeth still in my head, I will let no harm be done to my master.'All this the master heard and understood, and as soon as morning dawned
he ordered all the dogs to be killed excepting the old dog.The farm
servants wondered at this order, and exclaimed: 'But surely, sir, that
would be a pity?'The master answered: 'Do as I bid you'; and made ready to return home
with his wife, and they mounted their horses, her steed being a mare.As they went on their way, it happened that the husband rode on ahead,
while the wife was a little way behind.The husband's horse, seeing
this, neighed, and said to the mare: 'Come along, make haste; why are
you so slow?'And the mare answered: 'It is very easy for you, you carry
only your master, who is a thin man, but I carry my mistress, who is so
fat that she weights as much as three.'When the husband heard that he
looked back and laughed, which the wife perceiving, she urged on the
mare till she caught up with her husband, and asked him why he laughed.'For nothing at all,' he answered; 'just because it came into my head.'She would not be satisfied with this answer, and urged him more and more
to tell her why he had laughed.But he controlled himself and said: 'Let
me be, wife; what ails you?But the
more he put her off, the more she tormented him to tell her the cause of
his laughter.At length he said to her: 'Know, then, that if I tell it
you I shall immediately and surely die.'But even this did not quiet
her; she only besought him the more to tell her.Meanwhile they had reached home, and before getting down from his horse
the man called for a coffin to be brought; and when it was there he
placed it in front of the house, and said to his wife:
'See, I will lay myself down in this coffin, and will then tell you why |
office | Where is Mary? | So he lay
down in the coffin, and while he took a last look around him, his old
dog came out from the farm and sat down by him, and whined.When the
master saw this, he called to his wife: 'Bring a piece of bread to give
to the dog.'The wife brought some bread and threw it to the dog, but he
would not look at it.Then the farm cock came and pecked at the bread;
but the dog said to it: 'Wretched glutton, you can eat like that when
you see that your master is dying?'The cock answered: 'Let him die, if
he is so stupid.I have a hundred wives, which I call together when I
find a grain of corn, and as soon as they are there I swallow it myself;
should one of them dare to be angry, I would give her a lesson with my
beak.He has only one wife, and he cannot keep her in order.'As soon as the man understood this, he got up out of the coffin, seized
a stick, and called his wife into the room, saying: 'Come, and I will
tell you what you so much want to know'; and then he began to beat her
with the stick, saying with each blow: 'It is that, wife, it is that!'And in this way he taught her never again to ask why he had laughed.The Boy Who Could Keep A Secret
Once upon a time there lived a poor widow who had one little boy.At
first sight you would not have thought that he was different from a
thousand other little boys; but then you noticed that by his side hung
the scabbard of a sword, and as the boy grew bigger the scabbard grew
bigger too.The sword which belonged to the scabbard was found by the
little boy sticking out of the ground in the garden, and every day he
pulled it up to see if it would go into the scabbard.But though it
was plainly becoming longer and longer, it was some time before the two
would fit.However, there came a day at last when it slipped in quite easily.The
child was so delighted that he could hardly believe his eyes, so he
tried it seven times, and each time it slipped in more easily than
before.But pleased though the boy was, he determined not to tell anyone
about it, particularly not his mother, who never could keep anything
from her neighbours.Still, in spite of his resolutions, he could not hide altogether that
something had happened, and when he went in to breakfast his mother
asked him what was the matter.'Oh, mother, I had such a nice dream last night,' said he; 'but I can't
tell it to anybody.''You can tell it to me,' she answered.'It must have been a nice dream,
or you wouldn't look so happy.''No, mother; I can't tell it to anybody,' returned the boy, 'till it
comes true.''I want to know what it was, and know it I will,' cried she, 'and I will
beat you till you tell me.'But it was no use, neither words nor blows would get the secret out of
the boy; and when her arm was quite tired and she had to leave off, the
child, sore and aching, ran into the garden and knelt weeping beside his
little sword.It was working round and round in its hole all by itself,
and if anyone except the boy had tried to catch hold of it, he would
have been badly cut.But the moment he stretched out his hand it stopped
and slid quietly into the scabbard.For a long time the child sat sobbing, and the noise was heard by the
king as he was driving by.'Go and see who it is that is crying so,'
said he to one of his servants, and the man went.In a few minutes he
returned saying: 'Your Majesty, it is a little boy who is kneeling there
sobbing because his mother has beaten him.''Bring him to me at once,' commanded the monarch, 'and tell him that it
is the king who sends for him, and that he has never cried in all his
life and cannot bear anyone else to do so.'On receiving this message
the boy dried his tears and went with the servant to the royal carriage.'Yes, if my mother will let me,' answered the boy.And the king bade the
servant go back to the mother and say that if she would give her boy to
him, he should live in the palace and marry his prettiest daughter as
soon as he was a man.The widow's anger now turned into joy, and she came running to the
splendid coach and kissed the king's hand.'I hope you will be more
obedient to his Majesty than you were to me,' she said; and the boy
shrank away half-frightened.But when she had gone back to her cottage,
he asked the king if he might fetch something that he had left in the
garden, and when he was given permission, he pulled up his little sword,
which he slid into the scabbard.Then he climbed into the coach and was driven away.After they had gone some distance the king said: 'Why were you crying so
bitterly in the garden just now?''Because my mother had been beating me,' replied the boy.'Because I would not tell her my dream.''And why wouldn't you tell it to her?''Because I will never tell it to anyone till it comes true,' answered
the boy.'And won't you tell it to me either?''No, not even to you, your Majesty,' replied he.Daniel moved to the bathroom.'Oh, I am sure you will when we get home,' said the king smiling, and he
talked to him about other things till they came to the palace.'I have brought you such a nice present,' he said to his daughters, and
as the boy was very pretty they were delighted to have him and gave him
all their best toys.'You must not spoil him,' observed the king one day, when he had been
watching them playing together.He has a secret which he won't tell to
anyone.''He will tell me,' answered the eldest princess; but the boy only shook
his head.'He will tell me,' said the second girl.'He will tell me,' cried the youngest, who was the prettiest too.'I will tell nobody till it comes true,' said the boy, as he had said
before; 'and I will beat anybody who asks me.'The king was very sorry when he heard this, for he loved the boy dearly;
but he thought it would never do to keep anyone near him who would not
do as he was bid.So he commanded his servants to take him away and not
to let him enter the palace again until he had come to his right senses.The sword clanked loudly as the boy was led away, but the child said
nothing, though he was very unhappy at being treated so badly when he
had done nothing.However, the servants were very kind to him, and their
children brought him fruit and all sorts of nice things, and he soon
grew merry again, and lived amongst them for many years till his
seventeenth birthday.Meanwhile the two eldest princesses had become women, and had married
two powerful kings who ruled over great countries across the sea.The youngest one was old enough to be married too, but she was very
particular, and turned up her nose at all the young princes who had
sought her hand.One day she was sitting in the palace feeling rather dull and lonely,
and suddenly she began to wonder what the servants were doing, and
whether it was not more amusing down in their quarters.The king was at
his council and the queen was ill in bed, so there was no one to stop
the princess, and she hastily ran across the gardens to the houses where
the servants lived.Outside she noticed a youth who was handsomer than
any prince she had ever seen, and in a moment she knew him to be the
little boy she had once played with.'Tell me your secret and I will marry you,' she said to him; but the boy
only gave her the beating he had promised her long ago, when she asked
him the same question.The girl was very angry, besides being hurt, and
ran home to complain to her father.John moved to the office.'If he had a thousand souls, I would kill them all,' swore the king.That very day a gallows was built outside the town, and all the people
crowded round to see the execution of the young man who had dared to
beat the king's daughter.Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the
room, and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but
away from Mr.Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at
him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door.Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was accompanied
by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with their own
affairs.Of course Traill must be got rid of--one couldn't possibly have
anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one.Sometimes it was
curiously confused, because there were two Traills--a Traill who moved
about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and the Traill who
stood always by the door and never moved at all except to slip away.Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very
much indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons.There had been something once about an umbrella, and there was something
else about Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden
Minimus; but none of these things were fixed very resolutely in his
mind, and his thoughts slipped about like goldfish in a pond.It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go
on like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long
hours whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and
what he could do.There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two
figures at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him.He
saw suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it
was like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at
it, frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again,
and the world would once more grow dark.At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to
realize then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous
it was.Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy
figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden
Minimus passed him.Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's
round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth
quivering a little, he had nothing to say.At last he said, "Oh!--Ah!--Garden--I haven't seen much of you lately.Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to
be kind to him.But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and
his eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for
help.very well, sir, thank you, sir--I--I couldn't do the geography
this morning, sir."Garden gave frightened glances up and down the
road."When do you go for--um, ah,--your holidays, Garden?"Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he
was, felt that Mr.Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, "awfully sick
about something--not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing."He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was "jolly odd" during
these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of every
other feeling.He had a sudden desire to help--after all, Old Pompous
had been beastly decent to him--and then there came an overwhelming
sensation of shyness, as though his feminine relations had suddenly
appeared and claimed him in the company of his contemporaries.He looked
down, rubbed one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a
murmured word about "having to meet some fellows--beastly late," was
off.Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school
buildings.He walked stealthily, a little as a cat
prowls....
About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom.He had
never been inside it--he knew only that plain brown door with marks near
the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched.But he sat now in his room and thought about it.He sat in a chair by
the windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square
black lock and the shining brass handle.It was of course very easy
to turn, and then he would be inside.It would be interesting to be
inside--he would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and
the chairs... it might be useful to know.He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down
the passage; there was no one there--it was all very silent.The sun of
the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the
shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds.He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands
behind his back.He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened
again--he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very loudly
indeed.The bed was near the
window--the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver hair-brushes
and the china basin and jug.It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one
photograph.He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss
Desart--Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress.He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it.Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him.And the week wore away, and Monday came round.Thursday was Speech-Day,
and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in
the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine.Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected
no papers at all.They lay about his room now in stacks--none of them
were corrected.Some masters posted results as they corrected the
papers; other masters left all the results until the end.Mary went back to the office.It was not
considered strange that Perrin had posted no results.But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have
done something with them.He stood in the middle of the room with his
hands to his head and wondered what he ought to have done.Why, of
course, he ought to correct them--he ought to say what was good and what
was bad.He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his
fingers because there were so many.He found that it was a paper on
French Grammar."I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of _donner,
recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir_..."
Ah!s'asseoir was a hard one--he had always found that that was
difficult.He turned over the page:
J'eu, tu eus, il eut--that looked wrong...Again, here was Simpson Minor--"Je fus, tu fus, il fut"--surely that was
confused in some way.The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and
all of them tipped over.They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud,
flying into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under
the table and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered
wildly on the floor.John went back to the hallway.The silly papers stared at him:
"Je dors tous..."
"Il faut que..."
"I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt..."
"Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns..."
And then, Simpson Minor: "Je fus, tu fus..."
He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces.They lay there on the
floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move.He was
maddened by their impassivity.He began to stamp on them, and then to
trample on them--he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and
wildly stamping....And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped
still.He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could
not collect them.He sat down at his table with his head in his hands.After all, they were not the
important thing--the important thing was between himself and Traill;
that |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away.He would go away,
he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother.Traill
would go away with Miss Desart... would he?Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear.Perrin came to the definite decision
that something must be done before Friday.He made five black marks with
a pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack
on his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered
on the chair at his side.Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...
Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark that
he had already made.Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched out.Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday
morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday.He gave out the Old Testament questions:
"1.Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram;
its cause and effects.Write briefly a life of Aaron..."
He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear.To-day was
Wednesday--before Friday he would kill Traill.The determination came to
him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions:
"6.Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found
favor in thy sight.'"'Let us make a captain and let us return into
Egypt.'"'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'"He did not mind at all what happened to him
afterwards.He was
a complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been
there for people to laugh at and mock him.If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use--he might have
married Miss Desart.Traill had been against him in every way, and now
the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill.He hated
Traill--of course he hated Traill; but it was not really because of that
that he was going to kill Traill--it was only because he wanted to show
all these people that he could do something: he was not useless, after
all.They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, after all, the
laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not be able to
kiss Miss Desart very much longer--another day, and he would never be
able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought.Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and
easier in his mind.There was no longer any self-pity.He had given God His opportunity--he had prayed to God and besought Him;
he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and to
be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr.Perrin in the distance,
but everything had been very hard, and that was God's fault for making
it so hard.He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill.Still more would he surprise the place--Moffatt's--that place that had
treated him so cruelly all these years.It would be a grand, big thing
to kill his enemy!On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked
slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long
dining-hall.The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside
every round, shining plate there lay two knives.These knives made a
long, glittering line right down the table, and the sun caught their
gleaming steel and flashed from knife to knife.The sight of them
fascinated Mr.Perrin--it was with a knife that he would kill Traill--he
would cut Traill's throat.He picked them up, one after the other, and
felt their edges--they were all wonderfully sharp.There were a great
many of them--you could cut a great many throats with all those knives,
but he did not want to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's--Traill
was his enemy.At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful.He joked with the boys
on either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays.Cromer--um--yes, very pleasant.Our little friend will amuse
himself hugely at Cromer, no doubt.Um, yes--and you, Larkin, where do you go?...Yes,
able to read your holiday task in the train."He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was
brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering
the gravy over the cloth.After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail
across the sky.It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light
of the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a
transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors
behind it.Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious
shapes--perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of the
sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that could
see the other Mr.There were birds with long, bending necks, and
fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular creatures
with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were splendid
galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and
mountain ranges--they were all very strange and beautiful, and perhaps
this was the last time that he would see them.Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the
direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they
were Miss Desart and Traill--there was no doubt at all that that was
Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was
Traill.The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be
amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart.He did not know
how he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from
behind and strangle him with his hands.Daniel moved to the bathroom.Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the
path.It was a day of ghosts--even the brown color of the earth of the hill
that so seldom left it was gone to-day.It was not a cold day, and one
felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring
place, but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked
hedges, and, at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the
cottages of the village.The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like
the rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily,
with his hands behind his back.Their heads were very close together,
and he could see that they were talking very eagerly.They were
discussing, probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him
to think that he would make all their plans of no avail.They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path
to the road that led along the top of the cliffs.At the top of the path
the mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of
the sea by gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges
piercing the sky.Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the
other figures had preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden
by boulders.He hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight,
and then he hung back a little lest he should be too close to them.They
were still talking very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led
to a sheltered cove.At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand,
and Perrin hid behind a rock and watched them.The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that
made the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the
water made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded
away into the mist again.Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down
behind his stone and peered out at them.They sat very close together on
the sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it
and sat there with her head against his shoulder.And when Perrin saw
that, he knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss
Desart was there.A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and
his eyes filled with tears.If only there
had been someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there
had ever been anyone in his life!...John moved to the office.but he dashed the tears from his
eyes.He had not come there to cry--he had come there for vengeance, and
then, at that thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor
a creature that he would never be able to kill anyone.Supposing he
were to miss even this chance of achievement!There, behind his rock,
he tried to gather together all his reasons for hating Traill; but he
couldn't think properly, and the pebbles on which he was sitting were
pressing into his trousers, and his neck was hurting because he craned
it so.Mary went back to the office.At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do
nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away.And so he
got up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly
up the path again.And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the
last time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear
determination of settling things up.His head had not been so clear for weeks.He saw at once that he had
corrected no papers and that something must be done about that.He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out imaginary
examination lists.Of course it was all very wrong, but it was for the
last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in which
they would probably; occur.Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up.This
took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to
overflowing.Then he sat down to write to his mother._Dear Old Lady:_
_This is the last time that you will see or hear from me.Do not regret
it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a
failure.There is L100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will get
things with it.Sell my things: they will bring a little.I love you
very much, old lady, but I am no good.--Your loving son,_
_Vincent Perrin._
He fastened up the letter and addressed it to--
Mrs.Perrin,
Holly Cottage,
Bubblewick,
Bucks.Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike.He waited until
the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the
passage.He walked quietly down the stairs, down
the lower passage, and so to the dining-room.He paused at one of the
tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and
he tried others on the hack of his hand.At last he had selected one and
put it under his coat.He returned to his room and closed his door.John went back to the hallway.When
he got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly
at the knife.There was Traill next door... of
course.He had fancied that when one had got
the knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with
it.But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he
was, and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague.The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a
chair.What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all!There
was nothing fine about him--there was nothing fine about anyone at
Moffatt's--they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there would be
speeches and prizes and cheering!But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor.It
was quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night--he might
just as well go to bed.His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was
shivering all over.He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his
lamp.Mary moved to the hallway.He hated the dark--he had always hated it--and so he hurried into his
bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking so that
it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed the
matches feebly and felt inclined to cry.He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his
shirt and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the
black marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At
last he blew out the candle and got into bed.He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was
asleep--but after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was
conscious of someone watching him.He opened his eyes and saw that the
other Mr.Perrin was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the
room was quite dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that
he could see that he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were
exactly the same as his own.He was forced against his will to get out
of bed and to follow the other Mr.Perrin out of the house, down the
long, white road, down to the sea.Here they were in that little cove
where Traill and Miss Desart had been that afternoon.They sat with
their backs against the rocks, and in all the air there was a strange,
uncertain light, and the sea came over the shore in sullen, dreamy
movements, as a tired woman's fingers move when she is sewing.Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession
of gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs.Their faces
were white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung
at their sides.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice--that this must not
be allowed--and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was all
wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens--but he could
not move nor utter any sound.Then suddenly he recognized faces that he
knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and then--his
own.He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back
up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into
his room.He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold.To his
surprise he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although
there had been no moon on the beach.The room was so bright that he
could distinguish every object perfectly--and then he realized slowly
that things were different.Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not
his, his bed was not there--that photograph....
Someone was in the bed.There was a draught between
the window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been
walking in his sleep; he was in Traill's room.He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the
counterpane, his head on an arm.He was fast asleep, and his month was
smiling.Here was his opportunity--here was
his enemy fast asleep... now.He stepped nearer to the bed--he bent over
the face.Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... it would be
very easy.Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept
from the room.PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES
I.|THE next day, its brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its
train great things.The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the
last day of the summer term, because it was a more private family
affair.One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, one
fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, but it was
in the midst of the family that it was done.Parents--mothers and fathers and cousins--were indeed there, but they,
too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual
Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great
worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface.Sir Marmaduke |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred
years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone
mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last
into a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom of
the Brown Hill--a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other
things the founder of Moffatt's.It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had
been perhaps but vaguely recognized--perchance, perchance, the surest
foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our
tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it.But this Marmadukery--a hideous word, but it serves--spread far beyond
that stout originator.It was the spirit of the public school, the
_esprit de corps_ signified by the School song (it began "Procul in
Cornubia," and was violently shouted at stated intervals during the
year), the splendid appeal "to our fathers who have played in these
fields before us"--this was the cry that these banners and orations
signified.Moffatt's was not a very old school, true--but shout enough
about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have tears in his
eyes and a proud swelling at his breast.Sir Marmaduke becomes medieval,
mystic, "the great, good man" of history, and Moffatt's is "one of our
good old schools.There's nothing like our public school system, you
know--has its faults, of course; but tradition--that's the Thing."The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day.Everyone
feels it--everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir
Marmaduke is the Thing.He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs.Comber, so that
he kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she
treated anxious parents on the morning of this great day.Mothers
arrived in great numbers on these occasions, and these three great days
of the three terms were to Mrs.Comber the happiest and most confused
events in the year.They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the
immediate return of her own children, and they marked an amazing number
of things that ought to be done at once, with the confusing feeling
about Sir Marmaduke also in the air.Daniel moved to the bathroom.But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over.She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and
nothing dreadful had happened, after all.They were safe--or almost
safe--and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out of the
place before they knew where they were.Then her own Freddie had last
night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and kissed
her as he had never kissed her before.things were going to be all
right... they were escaping for a time at any rate.In the thought of
the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened during
the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant.Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one
very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all
sat very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say.She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and
happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of
talking to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at
a pool, flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured
no attention.Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke.But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at
the advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand:
"My dear!--no, we've only got a minute, because lunch is early--one
o'clock, and cold--you don't mind, do you, dear; but there's to be
_such_ a dinner to-night, and I've just had four mothers, and wise is
n't the word for what I've been, although I confused all their children
as I always do, bless their hearts.the term's over, and I
could go on my knees and thank Heaven that it is, because I've never
hated anything so much, and if it had lasted another week I should have
struck off Mrs.Dormer's head for the way she's treating you, for dead
sure certain--"
"Archie's not coming back, you know," Isabel interrupted.He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of
course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as young
and we'd be off from here tomorrow."She stopped and sighed a little and
looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, the stiff, bare
trees, the sharp outline of the buildings."But it's no use wishing,"
she went on cheerfully enough, "and we won't any of us think of next
term at all but only of the blessed month of freedom that's in front
of us."Her voice softened; she put her hand on Isabel's arm."All the
same, my dear, I'm glad you and Archie are getting away from it all."Yes, I saw it," the girl answered."And I don't want him to
schoolmaster again if he can help it.I think with father's help he 'll
be able to get a Government office of some sort."She hesitated, then
said, smiling a little, "Are you and Mr.Comber bruskily, "we are--and there's no doubt
that things are better than they have been.I suppose marriage is always
like that: there's the thrilling time at first, and then you find it
isn't there any longer and you've got to make up your mind to getting
along.John moved to the office.Things rub you up, you know, and I'm sure I've been as tiresome
as anything, and then there's a good big row and the air's cleared--and
shall I wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?""The black one fits the day better," said Isabel absent-mindedly.She
was wondering whether the time would ever come when she and Archie would
feel ordinary about each other."But isn't it funny," she went on, "that here we are at the end of the
term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all our quarrels and
fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming impossible?Mary went back to the office.It
was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone."Comber, "of our living too close.Now that
we're going to spread out over the holidays, we're as friendly as
anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs.Dormer as much as
ever"--which was difficult to believe when that lady arrived at a
quarter-past two to pick up Mrs.Comber and Isabel and to go with them
to the prize-giving.Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black
neck to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of
this she spoke and smiled.John went back to the hallway.The two ladies were very pleasant to one
another as they walked down the path to the school hall."And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs.It depends so much on the boys and the housemaid.I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I had to speak
to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and she gave
notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and unless I
can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able to get away."Dormer was struggling with
her collar like a dog.Mary moved to the hallway.Comber, I am _so_ sorry--of course
management's the thing, but we haven't all the gift and can't expect to
have it."Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over
Christmas, so that we can keep each other company.It would be _so_ nice
if you and Mr.Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I have
n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs.Rose
yesterday--quite a nice girl she sounded--who's been under-parlormaid at
Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, and never a fault to find
with her except a tendency to catching cold, which made her sniff at
times."Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to
spend a few days in London about that time.Otherwise we should have
loved--"
For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface
responsible.Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible
for clearing the air in other directions.Young Traill found, on this
morning, that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had
hitherto been.The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as
he was not returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was
concerned.The events of the term
had shown him that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought
himself.His pride, his temper, his irritation--all these things were
lions with which he had never fought before: now they must always, for
the future, be consciously kept in check.He was tired, exhausted, worn-out.He was very glad that he was going
away--now he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might,
together, forget this horrible nightmare of a term.He looked on the
buildings of Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream.He
could not sleep for the thought of it.Last night he had had some bad
dream... he could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened
suddenly in a great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door.Of course it had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep
properly to-night.At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on
this last day of the term.The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton--they
all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble
that he had made.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.He did not think of Perrin....
Then he suddenly remembered Birkland.He would go and say good-by to
him.He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing.The
floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the
air was full of dust.said Traill, coughing in the doorway, "what's all this?"I was coming
round to see you, if you hadn't.The things that have happened this term have
finally screwed me up to a last attempt.One more struggle before I
die--nothing can be worse than this--I gave notice last week.""I don't know--it's mad enough, I expect.But I've saved a tiny hit of
money that will keep me for a time.Nothing can he as bad as this--nothing!"He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with
dust on his cheeks and his hair on end."Well, after all, I'm on the same game.I don't know what I'm going to do either.said Birkland, "you've got youth and a beautiful lady to help you.I'm alone, and most of the spirit's knocked out of me after twenty years
of this; but I'm going to have a shot--so wish me luck!""Why, of course I do," said Traill, coming up to him."We 'll do it
together--we 'll see heaps of each other.""No, I'm too dry and dusty
a stick by this time for young fellows like you.But I 'll come and see you one day.""You were quite right," said Traill suddenly, "in what you said about
the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I came in to see
you."Poor boy," said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, "you had a
hard dose of it.Perhaps it was all for the best, really.If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the beginning,
I mightn't have been here twenty years.And, after all, you met Miss
Desart here.""Yes," said Traill, "that makes it worth it fifty times over.""And now," went on Birkland grimly, "this afternoon you shall see the
closing scene of our pageant.You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with the
term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that pervades
the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, maker of
strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which we all,
from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share."To get out of it!--to get out of it!And
now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going.If it hadn't been for you,
Traill, I believe I'd be here still.Well, perhaps it's to breaking
stones on a road that I'm going... at any rate, it won't be this."Daniel went to the office.And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his
influence.But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly
feeling, with all this preparation for a great event, Mr.This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling
or a triumph at approaching freedom.After some three or four hours'
troubled and confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening
consciousness that he had again, now for the second time, missed his
chance.This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more;
not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good.The HAWFINCH (_Coccothraustes vulgaris_) is easily distinguishable from
the true Finches on account of the unusual heaviness of its shape: its
length is seven inches, and breadth across the wings twelve inches; its
tail two and a half inches long, and the wing three and three-quarter
inches from the shoulder to the tip.The
plumage is greyish yellow upon the fore-part of the head, and brownish
yellow at the back and on the cheeks; the neck and throat ash-grey, the
back light brown; the lower part of the body brownish grey, and the
throat black; the wings black, with a white spot in their centre; the
beak a dark blue in winter, and in summer grey, somewhat darker towards
the tip.Daniel moved to the bedroom.The eye is light grey, the foot light red.In the female all
these colours are paler, and the black patch upon the throat smaller than
in the male.In the young birds the feathers on the head are greyish
yellow, those on the nape of the neck dirty brownish yellow, the back
greyish brown, the lower part of the body greyish white, shading into
reddish grey upon the throat and sides, and marked with blackish brown.The middle tail-feathers are very peculiar, becoming broader towards
their ends, which are slightly forked.These birds inhabit all the temperate portions of Europe and Asia, and
are found in Sweden, also in the southern and western parts of Russia,
and are amongst the summer visitors to Siberia.They fly about in large
flocks, often reaching Algiers and Morocco in the course of their
migrations; and generally prefer such mountainous or hilly countries
as are well wooded, occasionally frequenting fruit and vegetable
gardens.During the summer each little pair settles in a retired spot,
selecting such districts as are at no great distance from a cherry
orchard, and passing the night perched close together upon the twigs
of some thickly-foliaged tree.The Hawfinch, as its shape would lead
us to suppose, is very heavy and inactive, every change of place being
apparently the subject of lengthy consideration; even if alarmed, it
only flies a few paces, immediately returning to the same spot; its
movements among the branches are rather more active, but its little legs
seem hardly able to support its body when upon the ground.Its flight is
swift, undulatory, and noisy, owing to the rapid motion of its wings;
it usually hovers before perching.Despite the clumsy appearance of
this bird, it is extremely cunning and prudent, easily distinguishing
a friend from a foe, and taking every precaution for its own safety.At the approach of danger it conceals itself so artfully among the
foliage as to render discovery almost impossible; at other times it will |
garden | Where is Daniel? | These birds are
fond of beech-nuts and cherries, preferring the latter solely on account
of the kernels; in order to obtain which, the cherry is bitten off and
its stone separated from the fleshy part, the latter being rejected.Daniel moved to the bathroom.The
fruit stones are cracked with such force and noise that the process may
be heard at thirty paces from the tree, and the kernel is then extracted
and swallowed.When fruit is scarce the Hawfinch is compelled to seek its
food upon the ground, occasionally doing great damage amongst our seeds.In winter it subsists almost entirely upon the fruit of the hawthorn and
other stone fruits and berries, from the latter of which it extracts
the seeds as its favourite portion; it also consumes various kinds of
insects, such as beetles and their larvæ, in great numbers, and will even
catch Cockchafers (_Melolontha_) when upon the wing, and devour them
after throwing away the legs and elytra.One or two broods are produced
during the year, from about May to July, each pair taking possession
of a little district which no other bird is permitted to approach, the
male keeping constant watch for intruders from the top of his tree, or
detecting them by short flights in the vicinity of his nest.His song
is a disagreeable, sharp, whirring noise, which we may hope affords
greater pleasure to his mate than it does to us, for her little partner
is most indefatigable in his efforts to entertain her with his voice,
often singing for hours together, accompanying his notes with rapid and
varied gesticulations.The nest, which is easily recognised from its
unusual width, is built of twigs and straws, lined with softer materials,
firmly bound together with hair, and though by no means elaborately
constructed, may be classed amongst the number of well-built nests; it
is usually placed upon a thin branch, extreme care being taken to ensure
its concealment.The eggs, three or five in number, are an inch long, of
a dirty greenish or yellowish colour, marked with various shades of brown
or grey.John moved to the office.The female sits during the greatest part of the day, but is
relieved for a short time about noon, when her mate takes his place upon
the eggs.The young are tended by both parents for many weeks after they
are hatched, as it is long before their beaks are capable of cracking the
cherry-stones from which they derive the principal part of their food.The serious injury done by this species in orchards explains the extreme
aversion in which it is held; one family alone will completely clear a
tree of its fruit in an incredibly short time, and as long as a single
cherry is left the destroyers will return, in despite of all the noises
made in the hope of driving them from the spot.The gun affords the only
means of scaring them, and even to its sound they soon become accustomed.Few birds are so pertinaciously and constantly pursued, and yet, thanks
to their cunning, they are more than a match for their numerous enemies.Attempts to domesticate the Cherry Hawfinch usually prove unsuccessful,
as its formidable beak and quarrelsome habits render it dangerous to its
companions; it has even been known to eat its own young when in captivity.THE EVENING CHERRY HAWFINCH.The EVENING CHERRY HAWFINCH or SUGAR-BIRD (_Hesperiphona vespertina_),
(so called on the authority of Cooper, who tells us that its song is only
heard in the evening twilight), is the most beautiful species belonging
to this family.It inhabits the almost unexplored northern parts of North
America.The SUGAR-BIRD, as it is called by the Indians, is from eight
to eight and a half inches long, three inches of which belong to the
tail; the wing measures four and two-third inches from the shoulder to
the tip.In the male bird the top of the head, wings, and tail are deep
black, the line over the eyes, the middle of the back, lower part of
the body, and under wing and tail covers, being of a bright yellow.The
nape of the neck, sides of head, throat, and back of the neck, together
with a portion of the back and breast, are dark olive brown, the sides
of the shoulders yellow, with a greenish gloss, the quills of a dazzling
whiteness at the tip--all these various colours being so blended as
greatly to enhance the beauty of the whole coat.The female is without
the yellow line upon the head and the white spot upon the hinder quills;
the other feathers are paler and greyer in their tints; some of the
wing-feathers are tipped with white.We learn from Townsend that the Evening Hawfinches are very numerous in
the pine forests of Columbia, and so tame as to become an easy prey.Their song, which is popularly supposed to be only heard in the twilight,
may in favourable localities be distinguished during the entire day, but
as soon as night approaches they withdraw to the tree tops, and do not
stir again till morning dawns.They seem to be of a social disposition,
and are rarely seen living alone.They feed principally upon the seeds of
pine cones, but likewise consume the larvæ of large black ants in great
quantities.Their cry when in search of food has a somewhat screeching
sound; the actual song commences about noon; this latter is a most dismal
performance, and its tones are so pitiful that the bird itself seems to
feel their influence, and pauses from time to time as though overcome by
its own melancholy music, recommencing, however, very shortly, but with
the same result as before.Nothing further is known as to the habits of
this beautiful bird, which may be reckoned among the greatest rarities in
our collections.THE LARGE-BEAKED HAWFINCH.The LARGE-BEAKED HAWFINCH (_Geospiza magnirostris_) is a very remarkable
species, inhabiting the Galapagos Islands, and is at once distinguishable
by its enormous beak and short tail.The plumage of the old male is raven
black, that of the female brown; the head is horn colour, and the feet
dusky.These birds spend the greatest part of the day in searching for
food upon the ground, and Darwin mentions having seen one of them riding
fearlessly upon the back of a lizard.* * * * *
The PARROT FINCHES (_Pityli_) are now generally included amongst the
_Conirostres_, and associated with the Hawfinches.They are known by
their short wings, long tail, and peculiar beak, which is very strong,
thick, and bulging, the edge being more or less compressed, and slightly
angular.Mary went back to the office.The first quill is always very short, and the third and fourth
usually the longest.The wings are powerful, the tarsus high, and the
toes of moderate length.The plumage is thick, soft, and entirely without
metallic brilliancy.In colour it is usually grey or greenish grey,
occasionally, but very rarely, marked with reddish yellow, black, or
some bright colour.South America is the true habitat of these birds,
which are seldom found in the northern parts of the Western Hemisphere.They are for the most part incapable of song, although some few are
highly gifted in this respect.In their general habits they resemble the
Hawfinches, and, like them, subsist upon seeds, berries, and insects.THE ROSE-BREASTED HAWFINCH.John went back to the hallway.The ROSE-BREASTED HAWFINCH (_Coccoborus ludovicianus_) is an American
bird, equally remarkable for its beauty of plumage and sweetness of song.It is about seven inches long and eleven inches across; the wing measures
three inches, and the tail rather more than two.Mary moved to the hallway.The body is compact,
the wings broad and of moderate length; the tail comparatively short and
somewhat rounded; the beak short, strong, pointed, and almost conical;
the upper mandible slightly hooked.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.The plumage is soft, brilliant, and
very striking in its colours.The entire head, as well as the upper part
and nape of the neck, back, wings, and tail is glossy black; the first
row of feathers on the wing-covers and the tips of those on the second
row are white, as are the roots of the primary quills, the wings being
thus bordered by a double band of white.The inner web of the three
exterior tail-feathers is also white, and the sides of the breast, under
part of the body, lower portion of the neck, and middle of the breast,
of a magnificent carmine red, the latter colour being also visible upon
the lower wing-covers.The beak is whitish, the eyes are brown, and the
feet greyish brown.Daniel went to the office.The plumage of the female is olive grey, spotted
with dark brown, each individual feather being marked in the middle with
the same colour.Over the head runs a yellow stripe, spotted and edged
with dark brown; the eyes are surrounded by a white line; the wings and
tail are brown, the lower portions of both having a yellowish shade; the
former are bordered by two light lines, which are much narrower than in
the male.The neck, breast, and sides are marked with dark brown, and the
lower wing-covers shaded with rose colour.[Illustration: THE ROSE-BREASTED HAWFINCH (_Coccoborus ludovicianus_).]Audubon tells us that he frequently observed these magnificent birds in
some parts of Louisiana, Kentucky, and Cincinnati, during the month of
March, as they passed over the country in the course of their migrations.Pennsylvania, New York, and other States lying eastward, are likewise
often visited by them; but they are rarely seen in Labrador or on the
coasts of Georgia, or Carolina, although they inhabit the mountains of
those regions.They are generally numerous near the banks of a river,
and large parties of them frequent the neighbourhood of Lakes Ontario
and Erie.When in flight, these beautiful Finches rise high into the
air with violent and very decided strokes of the wings.The call-note
is uttered whilst flying, and ceases as soon as the bird has alighted
upon a tree-top, where it remains perched erect and motionless for a few
minutes, and then seeks shelter in some retired and shady spot.Many
varieties of seeds, buds, and tender shoots form their principal food,
and they are in the habit of seizing insects while on the wing.The nest,
which is built chiefly of twigs and leaves, lined with hair or delicate
fibres, is placed at variable distances from the ground, such localities
being preferred as are in the vicinity of water.There is but one brood
during the year, and both parents co-operate in the duties of incubation.The young are at first fed upon insects, and at a later period on seeds,
softened in the crops of the parent birds; they do not attain their full
beauty of plumage until three years old.The song of the Rose-breasted
Hawfinch is rich and pleasing.Nuttall tells us that in fine weather it
will sing during the whole night, pouring out floods of song as varied
and enchanting as those of the Nightingale, the little songster appearing
to manifest the greatest delight at its own performance of strains that
are alternately plaintive, gay, and tender.The Mocking-bird is the only
American species that can bear comparison with it, so that its vocal
powers, combined with its great beauty and the ease with which it is
tamed, render it one of the most valuable birds of its size for purposes
of domestication.The CARDINAL or TUFTED GROSBEAK (_Cardinalis Virginianus_) is closely
allied to the species we have just described, as is plainly indicated by
its compact body, short wings, graduated tail, and upright attitude.The
length of the Cardinal is about eight inches, its breadth rather more
than eleven inches, the wing, from shoulder to tip, three inches, and the
tail three and a half inches.The soft and glossy plumage of the male is
very beautiful, though almost uniform in its tints, the prevailing colour
being dark red; the head is scarlet, and the face and throat deep black;
the inner web of the wing is light brown, the shafts being of a darker
shade, the beak bright red, the eyes dark greyish brown, the feet pale
brown, shaded with greyish blue.In the female the tints are paler than
those of her mate, and the tuft shorter; the back of the head, nape of
the neck, and upper part of the back are greyish brown; the forehead,
eyebrows, and tuft deep red; the wings dark brownish red.The individual
quills are bordered with greyish brown, the lower part of the body is
greenish brown, the breast and middle of the body of a reddish hue, and
the beak pale red.The Cardinal is found in nearly all parts of North America, inhabiting
the Southern States in large numbers; but, we believe, is entirely
unknown in the extreme north of that continent.It prefers such districts
as are near the coast, and during mild seasons will remain for years
together in the same locality; but should extreme cold set in, it at once
changes its abode for a more southern region.Daniel moved to the bedroom.Its life is passed upon
the trees, from which it makes short excursions over the neighbouring
country.Should food be scarce in its favourite woods, it visits fields
and gardens, and is occasionally met with in the villages, where it
receives a hearty welcome on account of its brilliant plumage and
delightful song.In the summer time these birds may be seen in pairs;
in winter they associate in small parties, living on very friendly
terms with many other species, and constantly frequenting farmyards,
where their strong beaks are of the greatest service to them, enabling
them to feed upon the various kinds of corn scattered over the ground;
at night they sleep upon a thickly-foliaged tree, and thus survive the
winter months.They are remarkably restless, and rarely remain longer
than a minute in one position; their flight is abrupt, rapid, and noisy,
the movements of their wings being accompanied by a constant opening
and closing of the tail; they seldom fly to any great distance, and hop
nimbly, either upon the ground or in the trees.Should the winter prove
severe, the Cardinal journeys southward in search of a milder climate,
returning about March, in company with other migratory birds.Audubon
tells us that these journeys are accomplished in some measure _on foot_,
the little creature hopping from one bush to another, and flying over
more considerable distances.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.The males return some days previous to their
female companions; shortly after their re-appearance the pairing season
commences, and is always inaugurated by violent disputes and battles
between the males, who chase each other from place to place with bitter
animosity, and then return to pour forth a song of triumph in the ear of
their mates, to whom they are most tenderly attached; bushes or trees
in the vicinity of a river or farmyard are the localities generally
preferred for building purposes, and the nest is frequently placed within
a few yards of that of a Mocking-bird.In the Northern States the female
lays but once during the year, but further south three broods are by no
means unusual, each consisting of from four to six eggs of a dirty white
colour, marked with olive brown.The food of the Cardinal consists of
corn, seed, and various berries; during spring it devours the berries
of the sugar-maple in large quantities, and in summer wages continual
war against beetles, butterflies, and caterpillars, committing great
depredations in the gardens, attacking the fruit and destroying the bees.American naturalists are loud in their praises of the song of this bird,
to which they give the name of "the Virginian Nightingale," asserting
that its notes are fully equal to those of its European namesake, both
in purity and variety of tone.Audubon describes its song as resembling
the sound of a flageolet, commencing in a loud clear key, and gradually
sinking until scarcely audible.It is during the breeding season that
these notes are heard in their greatest perfection, the little songster
appearing to feel the full beauty of its own performance, as it inflates
its breast, spreads its tail, and opens itsDaniel travelled to the garden. |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Again and again these strains are renewed, the pretty vocalist
only pausing from sheer exhaustion, sometimes continuing its song almost
without intermission from sunrise to sunset, occasionally accompanied by
the less pretentious effort of its mate.European naturalists are by no
means so enthusiastic in their notices of this bird, and pronounce its
song to be more striking than beautiful.The Cardinal is easily reared in
captivity, but it is so quarrelsome as to be dangerous to any companions
confined in the same cage.The DOMINICAN FINCH (_Paroaria dominicana_) is the species we shall
select as the type of the group Paroaria, or Grey Finches, so called from
the leaden colour of a portion of their plumage, the entire back being
grey, the sides of the belly white, and the head usually red.This bird
is slender in shape, with pointed wings that reach almost to the middle
of the rounded tail; the beak is straight and thick, but slightly hooked
at its tip, the edge somewhat compressed, with a slight ridge near the
centre; the legs are powerful and of moderate length.The Dominican Finch
is about six and a half inches long and ten and a half inches across; the
wing about three and a half inches long and the tail three inches.The
plumage of the nape of the neck, back, wings, and tail is of a dark slate
colour; the lower part of the body white, marked upon the sides of the
breast with a greyish shade; the head, gorge, and fore part of the neck
are, with the exception of the black ear-covers, of a deep blood red, the
back of the neck being separated from the grey nape by a white band.The
upper mandible is of a blackish grey, the lower one of a whitish tint;
the eye is brown, and the legs a brownish flesh colour.There is but
little difference between the plumage of the male and female.These beautiful birds inhabit the northern part of Brazil, and are found
principally about Bahia, Para, and the river Amazon, where, like most of
their tribe, they live in pairs, on bushes that border the large forests;
but are by no means numerous.They are very quiet and simple in their
habits, and will live for a considerable time in a cage.Their song is
short and twittering, and the call-note clear.The TINY FINCH, or LITTLE PARSON (_Gyrinorhyncha_, or _Sporophila
minuta_), is a small species, measuring not more than five inches in its
entire length.The upper part of the body of the male is black, and the
lower portion a rusty red.The back of the female resembles that of her
mate, but the breast is reddish brown, and the belly a rusty yellow; the
young are like their mother.Like its congeners, this bird is found principally upon the grassy plains
of Brazil, where it lives upon various kinds of seeds.It is a smart,
pleasing little creature, with an agreeable voice, and on these accounts
is much valued by the Brazilians, in spite of the damage it occasionally
does to their crops.The Tiny Finch is distinguished by its small
beak, hooked at the tip, resembling that of the Bullfinch in shape; by
its comparatively long wings, short tail, and by the black shades that
predominate in the upper portion of the plumage of the male bird.The DIADEM GROSBEAK (_Catamblyrhynchus diadematus_), another member of
this family, inhabits Santa Fé de Bogota.Its length is five and a half
inches, and the wing measures two inches and a half.The beak of this
bird is very thick, and not unlike that of the Bullfinch in shape, the
upper mandible being but slightly hooked; the wings are rounded, the tail
somewhat shortened at its sides, and the feet very strong.The bridles,
cheeks, sides of the neck, and whole of the lower part of the body, are
of a chestnut brown; the brow and front of the head orange colour; the
back of the head and nape black, and the remainder of the upper part of
the body blueish grey; the wings and tail are brownish, the former being
edged with blueish grey.The beak is black, as is a narrow streak upon
the cheeks, and the feet are brown.We are totally unacquainted with the
habits of this species.THE ASHY-BLUE PARROT FINCH.The ASHY-BLUE PARROT FINCH (_Pitylus cœrulescens_) is a large bird,
about nine inches long and twelve in breadth, the wings and tail
measuring about four inches.Its beak is thick, arched, and compressed
at the margins, terminating at its tip in an abrupt hook.The wings
are short, and when closed do not extend beyond the upper tail-covers;
the two first quills are considerably shorter than the third; the tail
is very long, and its three exterior quills much shorter than the
six that form the middle portion; the small delicate legs seem quite
disproportioned to the size of the beak.The plumage of both sexes is
soft, but by no means thick; that of the male being a deep blackish slate
colour shaded with indigo blue, and the mantle and wings of a blueish
green.The face stripes, region of the eyes, ear-covers, front and sides
of neck, chin, throat, and upper part of the breast, are deep black, the
wing and tail feathers black, the former white on the anterior border;
the lower wing-covers are pure white, the eye is greyish brown, the beak
of a reddish colour, and of a deeper shade at its tip; the legs are
brownish black.In the plumage of the female the bright colours are not
so vivid on the upper part of the body; the black portion of the throat
is not so deep in its hue, and the entire coat appears duller; the beak
is of a pale red.The young male is known by the light yellow
beak, and by the inferior purity of its tints.It inhabits South America, and
usually lives in pairs, avoiding the interior of forests, and delighting
to disport itself in the sunny meadows of its native land.When perched
in the brushwood, the contrast between its bright red beak and dark coat
and the green foliage renders it a conspicuous object in the landscape.The call is a chirping note, not unlike that of the Hawfinch.THE MASKED PARROT FINCH.The MASKED PARROT FINCH (_Caryothraustes Brasiliensis_) is closely
related to the last-mentioned bird.The formation of the beak is very
similar to that above described, but it is somewhat less arched, and
not quite so thick.The wings, which are comparatively long, reach when
folded half way down the remarkably short tail; the latter is slightly
rounded, and its exterior quills but little shorter than the rest; the
legs are weak, and the very thick plumage beautifully.In size
this species resembles the common Hawfinch, being from six and a half
to seven inches long; the wings measure rather more than three inches,
and the tail three inches.The entire face is coal black; the brow,
region of the eye, top of the head, sides of the neck, lower part of the
throat, and middle of the belly, bright green; the breast and sides of
the body are shaded with a darker tint.The mantle is olive green, the
wing-feathers greyish brown, with a border of green edged with yellow.The two middle feathers of the tail are almost entirely olive green,
the rest greyish green, with a yellowish shade upon the inner web; the
outer web is olive green.The eye is brown, the beak a brilliant black,
somewhat paler towards the base, which in the old birds is of a leaden
hue; the legs are reddish brown.[Illustration: THE DOMINICAN FINCH (_Paroaria dominicana_).]We know little or nothing of this bird beyond the fact that it inhabits
some parts of Brazil, and is generally found in small flocks in the
vicinity of woods and forests, or occasionally living solitarily or in
pairs.* * * * *
THE HABIAS.Under the name of HABIAS (_Saltator_) we shall include a group of South
American Parrot Finches that are distinguished by their thick beaks,
short wings, and long tails, the latter being rounded at the tip, as are
the wings.The first quill of the latter is much shorter than the rest,
the legs are very powerful, and the beak, which is black, high, and
compressed at its edge, is almost straight at the tip.The upper part of
the back and wings are of an olive green.The CAPI (_Saltator cœrulescens_) is nearly of the same size as our
English Blackbird, being about eight inches long and twelve broad; the
wing measures four inches from the shoulder to the tip, and the tail
three and a half inches.Mary travelled to the hallway.Sandra went to the garden.The plumage upon the nape, back, and wings
is blueish grey, shaded with yellowish brown; the bridles and a line
over the eyes and throat are white, the latter being divided from the
chin by a black streak; the upper part of the breast is grey, and the
lower portion of the body of a paler shade; the wings and inner web of
the wings are a rusty yellow, spotted with grey; the tail a dark slate
colour, the beak brownish grey, and the feet a dusky black.[Illustration: THE RARITA, OR RARA (_Phytotoma Rara_).]These birds are found in considerable numbers in the southern parts
of Brazil, where they frequent the trees, avoiding deep forests, and
at times do considerable damage in the gardens; they are usually seen
in pairs or small parties, and are by no means afraid of man, in the
vicinity of whose dwellings they are constantly to be met with.They fly
slowly and with difficulty, rarely coming to the ground, on which their
movements are neither animated nor easy; their life is spent principally
in the midst of the trees or bushes, from whence they fly forth to
procure the seeds, buds, snails, or insects that constitute their
principal food, though they occasionally eat the strips of meat that
have been laid to dry in the fields.The song of the Capi is extremely
insignificant, and except during the breeding season scarcely deserves to
be called by that name.The nest is built about the month of November; it
is carelessly formed of moss, roots and twigs of various sizes, a high
thick branch affording the favourite locality for its construction.The
eggs, two or three in number, are greenish blue, marked at the broad end
with a variety of spots and lines.Little is known of the habits of these
birds beyond what we are told by Azara, who kept one of them caged for
some time in order to observe its conduct; it would take almost any food
that was given to it, but, strangely enough, ate like a quadruped, taking
large pieces into its beak and chewing them.* * * * *
The PLANT CUTTERS (_Phytotoma_) are a very remarkable race of birds,
closely resembling the Habias in their general appearance and habits,
but differing from them in the construction of their beaks, which are
furnished at their edge with a saw-like apparatus, that enables them
to cut down the various plants upon which they feed.Most marvellous
tales have been told by early writers of the habits of these destroyers,
and although much has been proved to be fabulous, still there can be no
question that the damage done by them to the crops in their native land
is both extensive and serious, so that they are proportionably dreaded
and persecuted by its inhabitants.The RARITA, or RARA (_Phytotoma Rara_), the most redoubtable species,
has been fully described by Molina, who named it from the sound of its
cry.Its length is six and a half inches, its breadth eleven inches,
the wing measures three and one-third, and the tail two and a quarter
inches.The plumage of both sexes is very similar: the upper part of the
body is of a dark olive green, each feather having a black shaft and a
greenish yellow border; the lower part of the body is of a paler shade,
with the same dark markings along the shafts of the feathers; the brow
is rust colour, becoming darker towards the top of the head; the throat
and lower part of the body yellow; the feathers on the upper part of the
breast and tail are of a rusty red at the upper portion, becoming darker
towards the roots; the wings almost black, edged with two white borders;
the tail-feathers are dark at the tip and on the outer web, and the
inner web rust red.The colours of the female are paler and greyer than
those of her mate; the beak and feet a blackish grey, and the eye bright
red.D'Orbigny mentions two other species, one of which he has called
the AZARA, in honour of that naturalist, and the other the BOLIVIAN
PLANT-MOWER.From the above-mentioned writer we learn that these birds inhabit the
temperate zone, and are rarely found beyond such parts of the country as
are cultivated by man; they constantly frequent vineyards, fields, and
gardens in company with Habias, doing terrible damage by breaking the
plants, cutting off the young shoots, and eating the fruits, continuing
this work of destruction throughout the whole year.They are rarely or
never seen upon the ground, but fly very low when in search of food,
seldom passing any length of time upon the wing.Their cry is extremely
disagreeable, resembling the grating sound of a saw.Another author from
whom we quote, bears testimony to the terrible mischief wrought by these
bold and formidable marauders, who are all the more to be feared as they
carry on their devastations in the twilight of the early morning and
evening, at which times they are constantly occupied in sawing down young
plants close to the ground, working until their beaks are green from
the sap that flows from the stalks at which they labour; indeed, were
this species as numerous as other Finches, no field could escape their
destructive propensities.The capture of these birds is attended with but
little difficulty, as they perch during the day upon trees or fences, and
testify but little alarm at the approach of man.The only information we
have as to their breeding is that the eggs are white, spotted with red.* * * * *
The TANGARAS are a very peculiar and numerous race of Finches, inhabiting
America, and distinguished by the variety and beauty of their plumage.In
size they resemble our Sparrows; their beak is always conical, and the
upper mandible furnished with a kind of notch near its extremity, which
terminates in a slight hook.The wings and tail are of moderate length,
and the thick plumage of the male brilliantly dyed with blue, green, or
red, intermixed with black and white.The coat of the female is much less
brightly.The tropics must be regarded as the real habitat of these glowing
birds, though we find them spread over the greater part of the American
continent; some species frequenting woods, whilst others prefer to perch
nearer the ground, upon low trees or bushes.Despite the great beauty
of their plumage, they are by no means favourites in the countries they
inhabit, owing to the damage done by them to fields and plantations;
indeed, their exquisite colouring is their only merit, as their
disposition is very uninteresting, and they are almost without any kind
of song.Berries and various kinds of fruit constitute their principal
food, many eat insects, and some species subsist entirely upon dry seeds.* * * * *
As our space only permits us to mention a few of these birds, we will
first select the TANGARAS PROPER, as being the largest of this family.The beak of the True Tangaras is compressed and slightly bent, con |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | The ORNATE TANGARA (_Tangara ornata_) is four inches long, the tail
measuring about three inches more, and the wing three inches from the
shoulder to the tip.Mary travelled to the hallway.The plumage of the male is bright blue upon the
head, neck, breast, and lower part of the body, with a greyish shade
where the roots of the feathers are visible; the middle of the belly,
legs, and rump are greenish grey; the back is of a dirty greenish grey,
shaded with blue; the lesser wing-covers are blue at the shoulder; the
smallest feathers of these parts are lemon yellow, and the remainder
of the wing greyish brown, each feather being bordered with green.The
tail is a greyish brown, its middle portion shaded with green, the rest
only edged with that colour.All such parts as are blue in that of her
mate are in the plumage of the female greyish green, shaded with blue;
the green and yellow markings of the wings being much paler and more
indistinct.All the countries from the Amazon to Guiana, and the woods upon the
coast of Brazil, afford a home to these birds; they seem to prefer the
shelter of the plantations that abound in these districts to the sombre
retreat of large forests, and pass their active, cheerful little lives
in the immediate neighbourhood of man, to whose orange and lemon trees
they are at once ornaments and formidable enemies.Except during the
pairing season these Tangaras have no song, but merely utter a simple and
monotonous call-note.The nest is built upon a tree, and resembles that
of a Greenfinch.* * * * *
Our knowledge of the North American Tangaras is much more extensive.We
shall confine ourselves, however, to the mention of two species belonging
to the group denominated.* * * * *
FIRE TANGARAS (_Pyranga_).The members of this group are slender, their
wings long, pointed, and reaching almost to the middle of the rounded
tail.Their beak is strong, conical, vaulted, and strongly compressed at
the margins; the edges of the upper mandible are somewhat bent outwards,
and jagged towards the middle portion, but straight near its extremity,
where there is a scarcely perceptible notch.The plumage of these birds
is thick and smooth, that of the male being generally red, that of the
female yellow.The FLAX BIRD (_Pyranga rubra_) is the most numerous and best known of
the two species we shall describe.Its length is six and a half inches,
its breadth ten and a half inches, the wing being four inches long,
and the tail two and a half inches.Rogala was in a state of great excitement; he
wanted to land and walk along the banks of the river and have a shot
at the elephants."No," said I, "each of these elephants has a little
one to care for."Further on we saw in the distance, near the other bank of the river,
two canoes descending the stream.They were full of men in war-paint
and armed with spears and war-axes.They were singing their war-songs
and beating their tomtoms fiercely."I do not know, Oguizi," he replied.Instantly we laid hands upon our guns ready to fight, but when we were
near enough to hear the warriors' song of victory, Rogala recognized
that they belonged to the clan of Rotembo.But we were paddling so near
the banks of the river that they did not see us.Towards evening Rogala, pointing to a spot near the river, said:
"Oguizi, this is a place where I camp for the night when I am on the
river.Sandra went to the garden.Close by is a beautiful little spring of clear water coming out
of the earth, cool and delicious to drink.We never drink the water
from running rivers when we can help it."I answered: "All right, Rogala; we will camp where you say."Accordingly we made camp here and passed the night.The following
afternoon we entered a narrow river and left the large Ogobai.We had
not been two hours on our way up the river when Ndova began to utter
loud and peculiar sounds."Ndova is calling the monkeys to come to him," said Rogala."If they
come we shall have monkey meat for our evening meal."As he spoke, he grinned with delight; but there were no monkeys within
the sound of Ndova's voice.After a while, however, the call of Ndova was answered by a troop of
monkeys, and they seemed to have quite a conversation together, though
the voices of the monkeys did not seem to come nearer."The monkeys are trying to make Ndova come to them," Rogala said.Then came a pause, and the forest became still again.But soon Rogala's
quick ears heard the noise made by the shaking of the branches of
trees.The monkeys were travelling towards us, leaping from branch to
branch, bending them by their weight as they alighted upon them.Ndova was making an awful noise and was very excited.The monkeys
answered him, and he kept on calling them.We were paddling silently
along the banks of the river, and as soon as we saw the monkeys on a
tree above our canoe we stopped.They were many in number, and looked
at Ndova without uttering a sound, they seemed so astonished.We
raised our guns and aimed at the two biggest white-nosed ones and
fired.One fell into our canoe, the other dropped dead by the shore.The rest scuttled away in a trice."Good for you, Ndova," I said to him.Ndova was in a great state of excitement.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.Rogala, holding his cord,
took him towards the two dead monkeys.When he came near them he
uttered other sounds, quite unlike those he had made when he called
the monkeys to us.What he meant neither Rogala nor I could tell.But I said to myself: "Rotembo is right.Ndova will be the cause of
our having food and we shall feed often on monkey meat.We shall not
starve as long as Ndova is with us.Great, indeed, is the gift of Chief
Rotembo!"Mary went to the bedroom.In a short time we were seated by a
bright fire, and when it had been reduced to a great mass of charcoal
we roasted one of the monkeys and with our roasted plantains made a
delicious meal.Andekko fed on some of the bones, and Ndova on a ripe
plantain.At dawn of day we left our encampment.About two hours afterwards we
came upon three little houses surrounded by plantain trees.The houses
were in a dilapidated state and had been abandoned.The large bunches
of plantain that were hanging from the trees were untouched, for the
elephants and the big apes, the "men of the woods," had not found the
plantation.Some time before we had reached the place Rogala's face had become
uneasy.He took to the opposite bank of the river.I could see fear on
his countenance.He paddled faster than ever, and his mind seemed quite
relieved when we had left the spot far behind us.Then he stopped,
tied the canoe to a tree to rest a while, and said: "Two dry seasons
ago there lived on the plantation we have passed a man by the name of
Igala.Both were sorcerers, and had been
so for a long time, though the people did not know it.One day one of the men of the village was trampled to death
by a bull elephant, and there was great sorrow among the people.The
day after a leopard came into the village at night and carried away a
woman.The people began to think it was strange that those two deaths
should occur one immediately after the other, and they became much
alarmed, and believed that witchcraft was the cause of the trouble,
but no one suspected who the sorcerers were.Some time afterwards a
man disappeared and never came back.After this the people were so
much excited that they sent a messenger to a celebrated'medicine
man' who was known all over the country for his skill in discovering
sorcerers.They promised to pay him two slaves if he would come.The
name of this great 'ooganga,' or medicine man, was Makoonga; he is
living now.He sent word by the messenger that he would come after his
return from another village where he was going to find out who had
killed by witchcraft the brother of the chief.[Illustration: "_We raised our guns and aimed at the two biggest
white-nosed ones and fired._"]
"There was great joy in the village when the messenger brought back
word that Makoonga was coming.Three days after the return of the
messenger another man disappeared, and remains of his body were
discovered, showing that he had been devoured by a leopard.Then all
the people said that some one among them had changed his shape and
turned into a leopard, that he had eaten up the three persons who had
disappeared, and had also taken the shape of an elephant and trodden
upon the man who had been killed in that way."There was no more sleep in the village.The people danced all night,
and called upon the spirits of their ancestors to protect them from
witchcraft.They made invocation to their idol and to the spirits Mburu
and Abambo."Then Makoonga came, and the following day the people met, and he
drank the'mboundou' before them, and after drinking it he became
possessed of the power of divination, and told them that Igala and
Yienoo through witchcraft had taken the shape of leopards and eaten up
the three people, and that Igala had taken the shape of an elephant and
trampled the man."There was a great uproar amongst the people when they heard this.They went to the home of Igala and Yienoo and brought them to the
village.They had to drink the'mboundou' to prove their innocence in
the presence of all the people.Makoonga made the potation, drank part
of it first, and then handed the bowl to Igala and Yienoo.They had
hardly tasted it when they fell on the ground.That was the proof that
they were guilty, and the people surrounded them and cut their bodies
into a hundred pieces and then threw them into the river.Oh, Oguizi,"
exclaimed Rogala, in concluding his story, "often witchcraft comes into
people without their wishing it and against their will."After this narrative he untied our canoe and we continued our ascent
of the river.After a long pull he suddenly headed our canoe towards
the shore, and after passing under the branches of trees that almost
touched the water we came to a path which no one coming up or down
the river could detect.Ndova uttered
grunt-like sounds of satisfaction; Andekko barked to show his joy.They
knew they had come home; they were well acquainted with this spot.CHAPTER IV
THE HOME OF ROGALA--HIS HUNTING-TROPHIES--A WEIRD SPOT--ASPECT OF THE
SURROUNDING FOREST--SHINSHOOKO AND ALAPAI--LEOPARDS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD
AFTER a few minutes' walk we came to a grove of plantain trees,
and there saw the home of Rogala, which was composed of four small
structures.The dwelling-house had a veranda in front.It was built of
bark with a roof thatched with palm leaves, and was about eighteen feet
long and twelve wide.Under the veranda hung the tails of nearly all the elephants he had
killed.Some of the tails he had got
went to Chief Rotembo.All along the roof were skulls of antelopes with
the graceful spiral horns, two skulls of male gorillas, several skulls
of nshiegos or chimpanzees, of wild boars, of buffaloes, of leopards
and other wild animals.Four elephant skulls stood at each corner of the house.These elephants
had been killed near the plantations.Rogala was the greatest elephant
hunter of his day.One building was composed of a single roof merely, under which cooking
was done.Here also people were received, and the space it covered was
the dining-room.A small house near by was for Mburu, a spirit, who sometimes came
to rest there during the night.His bed lay on the ground, and was
composed of dry leaves covered with a mat.His pillow was a smooth
round piece of wood.There were
also a chicken-coop and a goat-house."We have chosen this spot," said Rogala, "because at a certain time of
the year the country is full of elephants.They come to eat the leaves
of a tree that is more plentiful around here than in other parts of the
forest."A little further on I saw several other small houses; those belonged to
Shinshooko and Alapai.The place was entirely deserted, for all the people had gone into the
forest,--the men to cut trees for new plantations, and the women to
attend to the crops that had been planted and bring back bunches of
plantain or cassava roots.What a weird spot the hunters had chosen for their home!The little
houses of bark looked small indeed compared with the tall trees that
surrounded them.The plantain trees and the cassava grew in the midst
of branches of the trees that had been felled and burned afterwards.Not far off was the river, flowing in the midst of the dark silent
forest, which was only disturbed now and then by the shrill cries
of parrots, or the chatter of a troop of monkeys or the tap of the
woodpecker.In the forest surrounding the houses hung huge lianas which
looked like gigantic swinging snakes.Some of the trees had gorgeous
flowers, and orchids grew on the bark of many.On the border of the clearing stood a gigantic elimi tree; along its
trunk came out a soft sticky whitish gum, which the people use to make
torches with.The forest seemed to be made of three or four layers of
trees growing on the top of each other, while here and there, towering
above all, rose an immense one that seemed to look down on the great
forest from its own lofty height.Under all the trees was the thick
jungle, in which roamed wild and often ferocious beasts.Rogala brought a stool and invited me to a seat under the veranda of
his house.Towards sunset Rogala's wife returned with three boys, their
children.She carried an infant in a sling on her back.She looked at
me in fear and trembling, and she and the children ran to hide.This
annoyed Rogala very much, and he called her back in an angry tone.Then
he became milder, and told her and the children not to be afraid of his
friend the Oguizi.[Illustration: "_She looked at me in fear and trembling, and she and
the children ran to hide._"]
Soon after two men and their wives, loaded with two large bunches of
plantain, and their children made their appearance.These men were
Shinshooko and Alapai.Shinshooko was over six feet two in height,
very thin, and brown in color.Alapai was short, thickset, and very black.He came from a tribe called
Apono.Shinshooko and Alapai
looked at me constantly, but avoided the glance of my eyes, of which
they were afraid.But Rogala allayed their fears by telling them that I
was a good Oguizi and a great friend of their master Rotembo, who sent
word by him that they must go and hunt with me in the forest.The three then went away to our canoe and brought back my things with
them.Shinshooko and Alapai were eager to hear what had occurred since
Rogala had left them, and how it happened that I came with him.Rogala told all that had taken place, how his master Rotembo had given
him to me, that I was a great hunter, and that I came to hunt with them.Shinshooko and Alapai and their families listened in profound silence
to the wonderful story of Rogala, and when he had finished it was
the turn of Shinshooko and Alapai to tell what had happened during
the absence of Rogala.Shinshooko was the speaker, and began thus:
"Leopards have made their appearance in the neighborhood since you
left |
garden | Where is Sandra? | What has brought the leopards so suddenly into our
neighborhood we cannot tell, but it must be that the bashikouay ants
have invaded and scoured a great part of the forest and driven them
away, and they have fled towards us.We have seen many tracks of their
big paws.We must look out for these leopards and make traps and catch
them and hunt them.Mary travelled to the hallway.Fortunately our goat-house is so strong and so
secure that leopards cannot break through.But we must do all we can
to kill them, for fear that some one of them might be a man-eater and
devour some of us or some of our children."That night numerous fires were lighted to scare away the leopards.I
went into my little hut, but kept awake with "Bulldog" by my side, for
I thought a leopard might easily come through the thin roof of palm
leaves over my head.We all hoped that there was no man-eater among
the leopards, for if there were we were sure that he would lie in wait
for some one.When once they have tasted human flesh, they like it
better than anything else.But no leopard paid us a visit during the
night.CHAPTER V
WE BUILD A LEOPARD TRAP--A NIGHT ON THE WATCH--THE BEAST APPEARS AT
LAST--CAUGHT IN THE TRAP AND SOON DESPATCHED--HER MATE KILLED THE
FOLLOWING NIGHT--EXCITEMENT OF ANDEKKO AND NDOVA
EARLY the next morning the men went into the forest to cut poles, and
after we had a sufficient number we built a trap to catch the leopard.We constructed the trap in the following manner according to the plan
of Shinshooko, who had the reputation of great skill and ingenuity in
making all sorts of traps.We built with the poles a long narrow funnel-like alley, which
became gradually smaller and smaller towards the end, so that it was
impossible for the leopard to go entirely through.At the entrance
Shinshooko constructed a trap-door which was to fall after the leopard
was fairly in.The end of this funnel-like structure communicated with
the goat-house, which we surrounded with a double row of poles, so that
the leopard could not get through.The roof was made entirely of poles
strongly fastened together.I said to Rogala, Shinshooko, and Alapai: "Tonight I shall not sleep,
but will watch for leopards near the goat-house.Perhaps some of them
will come when they scent the goats; so do not be afraid if you hear
the detonation of a gun.I want all the dogs to be shut up indoors."When evening came, I took a nap, for I knew that it was the habit of
the leopards not to prowl before midnight, unless famished.Towards eleven o'clock I awoke, and then made ready for the leopards.I took up a position opposite the goat-house under the veranda of a
little house, where I was partly hidden from view.I surrounded myself
with branches of trees I had gathered during the day.The moon, that was on the wane, rose and threw a dim light all around.It was an ideal night for lying in wait for a leopard.One o'clock came and no leopard had made his appearance.I began to think that they would
not call, when suddenly the goats began to bleat.Sandra went to the garden.They had scented
the approach of a beast of prey and become terrified.Suddenly I saw
from behind one of the houses and among three or four plantain trees
something moving.His eyes shone as
if they were burning coals.I did not wonder that Rogala had admonished me to make no noise.The
leopard was slowly crawling near, his belly almost touching the ground.I watched him carefully to see what he was going to do.He sniffed at the goat, and finding that he could not
reach the frightened creature, he went round the trap.Then he came to the opening, and entered.Soon after I heard the
trap-door close behind him.That did not disturb him, for all he
thought of was the goat.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.He went on until he got so jammed in that
he could not advance further.Then he became excited as he tried to
extricate himself, and roared with anger.He could not turn back, and I
fired and killed him.In an instant Rogala, Shinshooko, and Alapai were out of their cabins,
guns in hand, running towards the goat-house.We lighted torches
to frighten other leopards, and came out with them.The men gave a
terrific war-cry, and shouted: "Leopard, you will not eat more of our
goats!"In a short time everybody was around the leopard, looking at
him.I opened his mouth and looked at his terrible-looking canines.Mary went to the bedroom."These
four canines," I said, "I will send to Rotembo.I hope we shall kill
leopards enough to have canines for a big necklace for him."[Illustration: "_The leopard was slowly crawling near._"]
"Yes," they all shouted, "let us kill all the leopards in the country."Then all the people danced around the leopard, singing at the same
time: "You wicked leopard, your days are over, you will not make any
one now fear you.The antelopes and gazelles of the forest would be
glad if they knew that you have been killed by the great Oguizi."The dance lasted until daylight, when we skinned the beast."Let us
make a belt of his skin for Chief Rotembo," I said; and we accordingly
did so.Later in the day Rogala, Shinshooko, and I went into the forest with
Andekko in search of the lair of the leopard, which was a female,
hoping to take the young ones.But we were not successful, and were
obliged finally to return without accomplishing our object."When night comes," I said to my hunters, "I will lie in wait for the
male leopard; perhaps he will come here in search of his mate."To this the man replied: "Yes, a male leopard is more likely to come
and seek for his mate than a female is."That night as I was watching I suddenly saw a dark spot moving not
far from where I stood.Suddenly I saw the eyes of a leopard looking
like burning coals.But he had not
advanced far towards the houses when I fired and killed him.Andekko, who had been fastened inside Rogala's house, was let loose and
came bounding towards us.He had heard the sound of the gun, and knew
that something was up.At the sight of the dead leopard his hair stood
straight up, and then before we knew it he was on the body of the beast
with his teeth fastened in its throat.In the morning I said to Rogala, "Bring Ndova to look at the leopard."He went after the monkey and soon came back with Ndova in his arms.At the sight of the leopard Ndova sprang from Rogala's arms, and in
an instant was up a young tree, the hair all over his body standing
upright.He glared at the dead leopard, uttering at the same time
sounds of rage.We could not make him come down from the tree until we
had taken away the leopard from the place.Then he descended and hid
away in the house of Rogala.CHAPTER VI
MY HUNTERS AND I BECOME GREAT FRIENDS--ANDEKKO AND NDOVA GROW
FOND OF ME--WE TAKE NDOVA INTO THE FOREST--HE CALLS MONKEYS TO US
AGAIN--ANDEKKO'S PROWESS AS A HUNTER--A FEMALE GORILLA AND HER BABY--WE
KILL THE MAMMA AND ANDEKKO KILLS THE BABY
AFTER a few days of constant companionship with Rogala, Shinshooko,
and Alapai, their fears of me had been allayed and we had become great
friends.The women had also become accustomed to me and had grown to like me,
for I had given them beads, looking-glasses, and some other trinkets.They also showed much pleasure when they brought to my feet bunches of
plantain, peanuts, or other food.They would fish in the river, and all
the fish they caught they would bring to me, so that I might choose
what I wanted.The children would snare birds and bring them to me.They were always delighted to follow me when I went out to shoot birds.Andekko and Ndova, who were always fed by me, had also become
accustomed to the color of my face and my long hair; they knew I was
their friend, for when they were hungry I gave them food.Ndova from his perch always watched for my return, and when he saw me
he uttered peculiar sounds of joy, which were always the same, so that
when he uttered them I always knew that he was glad.He knew that I
generally brought to him nuts, berries, or fruits which he liked.When
I was eating with Rogala, Shinshooko, and Alapai, Andekko was always by
me, for he had learned that he fared much better by my side, as I had
directed them not to feed him.One day I said to Rogala: "Meat is getting scarce.Let us take Ndova
with us into the forest to-morrow morning; perhaps he will succeed, if
we meet monkeys belonging to his species, in making them come to him.Then, if we kill two or three, we shall have monkey meat to eat."The following morning Rogala, with Ndova tied by a rope, and I set out
for the forest.Once in a while Ndova would call for his friends, the
monkeys of his species; but there came no answer to his call,--there
were no ndovas in that part of the forest.We kept on further and further; but though Ndova called for those of
his species, there came no answer back, and finally we deemed it time
to return home, as otherwise we should have to sleep in the forest.On our way back Ndova began to chatter in his own language.What he
meant we of course could not tell at first, but soon we found out that
through some peculiar gifts only belonging to monkeys, perhaps with his
keen sense of smell, he knew that there were monkeys of his own tribe
near.His voice or utterances were answered by other sounds made by a
troop of monkeys which Rogala and I knew to be ndovas, and before we
realized their presence, they were all upon a tree above our heads.Daniel moved to the hallway.I took aim at the biggest monkey,
fired, and he fell on the ground with a great crash.The others gave a
cry of alarm, and in less than twenty seconds were out of sight.The next day I said to Rogala: "Let us go into the forest with Andekko.I want to see how he hunts, and if he drives the game within gunshot of
the place where we are waiting for it.""He will surely do that," replied Rogala.The next morning, at dawn of day, we started for the forest, Andekko
ahead of us.Once in a while Rogala shouted to
let the dog know where we stood.Then we waited and waited, Rogala now
and then calling Andekko at the top of his voice.After a few hours we
heard the barking of Andekko.The barking became louder, and Rogala
said: "Oguizi, let us make ready, for Andekko is probably driving an
antelope towards us."In another instant a large antelope with long spiral horns passed near
us, but not near enough for us to fire.Then the barking of Andekko
died away in the distance, and Rogala said: "We must not go away.I think Andekko will bring back the antelope towards us."A short time afterwards we heard Andekko again in the
distance; the barking became louder and louder, and at last seemed very
near.We returned home with our spoil, and the following afternoon I said to
Rogala: "Where is Andekko?Has he perhaps
been devoured by a prowling leopard?"Rogala smiled at my question, and replied: "Andekko is a wide-awake
dog, and seeing that we did not go into the forest with him, he has
gone to hunt by himself, and I should not wonder if we heard his
barking soon, telling us that he is pursuing game towards our little
settlement and warning us to be ready for it."Rogala was right; a short time afterwards we heard the barking of
Andekko.He was running after some animal and giving us warning.But
the barking soon became fainter, then could not be heard at all.[Illustration: "_We fired and brought him down_."]I said to Rogala, "The animal has escaped from Andekko.""It is perhaps so," he replied; "but the dog will not give up the chase
so easily."A little while after we heard Andekko again far away; then the
barking gradually became louder.I had my
smooth-bore loaded with buckshot.Soon after a gazelle passed by us,
closely pursued by Andekko.We had great trouble in preventing Andekko from tearing the animal in
pieces until I cut off the foreleg and threw it to him, exclaiming:
"Great indeed is the gift of Chief Rotembo to me.We shall not starve
while Andekko is with us."The following day we went again with Andekko into the forest.This
time Shinshooko, Alapai, and Rogala were all with me.They had seen
footmarks of a gorilla and of her baby.So we took a net with us to
throw over the little one and capture him in case we succeeded in
killing the mother.After a tramp of three hours we heard the fierce barking of Andekko on
the right of the path, not very far from us.There followed loud, short
yells of an ngina.We immediately left the path and entered the forest,
being guided by the barking of Andekko and the yells of the ngina.We
soon found ourselves in the presence of a mamma ngina on a tree, with
a tiny baby holding to her and uttering sounds of fright.Andekko was
in a perfect rage; his hair stood up, bristling like the quills of a
porcupine.Rogala, Shinshooko, and Alapai were by my side.The ngina was looking
fiercely at us.Her big black face, wrinkled all over, was savagely
wicked.The little fellow was hiding his face against her breast.She
uttered sharp, piercing yells of anger, then a shout of "Whoa, whoa."She dropped, but held on for an instant to
the branch upon which she was seated with a firm hand, while the little
one clung fast to her shoulders.Then she let go and fell down some
twenty feet to the ground with a great crash.She was dead, and before
we had time to rescue the little ngina, Andekko had strangled him, to
my infinite sorrow.Rogala and Shinshooko said: "We must look out for her mate; the big
'man ngina' may come upon us in a moment.John travelled to the bathroom.Perhaps he is already coming
silently to her rescue."We were glad we had Andekko with us, for we were sure to be warned by
him of the approach of the big beast.We cut off the heads of the ngina
and of the little one as trophies, and then retraced our steps towards
Rogala's and Shinshooko's home.On our way back we heard, several miles away, the mighty voice of the
male ngina calling upon his mate to let her know where he was; but no
answer came back to him, and I found myself wondering what his feelings
would be when he came to where she had been killed.We would have gone
after him, but it was too late in the day.The following day Rogala
warned me to take no other gun but "Bulldog" if I went into the forest,
saying: "The'man ngina' is probably around looking for the slayer of
his wife."How I wished I could have been present when the big beast
came before the dead body of his mate and saw her and her baby ngina
headless!How fiercely he would
have come to the attack if some one had been near!How I wished I
could face him with "Bulldog" in my hand!We expected to hear his roar
that day, then |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | Mary travelled to the hallway.He had gone
wandering in search of another mate.The next day we heard Andekko barking in the forest not very far off.He seemed to bark at the same spot all the time, and Rogala said: "Let
us go where he is and find out what is the matter."So we went towards the spot where he was barking, and at last came
to it.He was barking at a
porcupine, that had rolled himself into a ball and had all his quills
standing erect.Andekko was in a perfect rage, his hair was erect on his back, but
I knew that it was impossible for him to bite the porcupine, and he
feared his terrible quills.He would not leave the porcupine until we
called him away, and the porcupine as long as Andekko was near him kept
his quills erect.In the evening he
returned with a scar on his back and with a bloody muzzle.He had had
an encounter with some wild animal.Evidently some sharp teeth had
bitten him.But in the end he had had the best of the conflict, as his
muzzle testified; it was clear he had fed on his victim.Rogala put some balsam on his wounds.The dog was manifestly very
tired, for in a short time he was stretched full length near the
fire, and after a while he was dreaming.His legs moved as if he were
running, and he barked softly.The following morning Andekko was
nowhere to be seen.The punishment he had received the day before had
not scared him in the least.CHAPTER VII
FIGHT BETWEEN MONKEY TRIBES, NKAGOS AND MONDIS--MY GUN PUTS BOTH SIDES
TO FLIGHT--A VISIT FROM THE BASHIKOUAY ANTS--EVERYTHING FLIES BEFORE
THEM--WE DRIVE THEM OFF WITH FIREBRANDS AND BOILING WATER
I LOVED to walk by myself in the great forest, taking my smooth-bore
gun for birds, with which I always took a few bullets in case I should
meet some large animals.One day as I walked along looking at the butterflies that were very
plentiful on both sides of the path, I thought I heard, at some
distance, a noise among the trees ahead as if monkeys were feeding.Sandra went to the garden.Cautiously I went in the direction of the noise.I had to leave the
path and go through the jungle.I had to walk slowly, with my body
bent, in order to be hidden from the monkeys and not to frighten them.When I got near the trees, I found that they were nkagos feeding
and uttering grunts of satisfaction, so pleased were they.I could
recognize the leader of the troop on the lookout.Suddenly he gave a
peculiar cry or sound.Their hair
became erect on their backs; the sounds or words they uttered were
quick and showed anger.They seemed as if getting ready for a fight.What was the cause of this sudden change in their conduct?I heard in the distance a noise as if a
troop of monkeys were coming in our direction, the noise made by the
bending of the branches as the monkeys leaped from one to another.Soon this noise was responded to by the loud cries of the troop of
nkagos near me.The monkeys that were approaching answered them, and I
recognized their cries to be those of the mondis.They knew the tree
and had come to feed upon its fruits.The best had
been eaten by the nkagos, who also knew the time when the fruits were
to be ripe and had come ahead of the mondis.The mondis were furious, and advanced boldly towards the tree, led by
their old and trusted chiefs.The nkagos had made up their minds to
fight and finish the repast they had begun.They had not yet filled
their pouches.The mondis jumped on the tree, and a fight ensued among
all the monkeys.There were terrible shrieks and some pretty hard
bitings.The nkagos were getting the worst of the fight, when I raised
my gun, aiming at a mondi that had just finished a fight with a nkago.There were general cries of fright among the mondis
and the nkagos, and both sides fled with the greatest precipitation,
each troop, however, going in a different direction.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.In the meantime the mondi I had fired at had fallen to the ground with
a great crash, dead.It was a very fine big one, covered with long
black glossy hair as it was.I thought I would remain hidden and see if
the monkeys would come back.After about two hours I heard a noise through the branches.I looked up
and saw a solitary mondi.He uttered a cry of distress, calling upon
his mate that had been killed.Spying her dead body lying on the ground, he came to her, and uttered
low mutterings of distress as he saw that she was dead.I carried the dead mondi to our camp, and as it weighed I
judged about forty pounds, I was glad when I arrived and laid it on the
ground.Several days after this, being in the forest but not far away from the
camp, I saw a leopard running quickly in front of me with one of her
cubs in her mouth.I wondered at this, for it was so unusual to see a
leopard out of her lair in the daytime.She was evidently taking her
cubs away for some reason.I had not walked a hundred feet further
when I saw the leopard's mate running in front of me with a cub in his
mouth also.I wondered again why the leopards were moving away from their lair.Other animals, and even snakes, were all fleeing in
the same direction as the leopards.This, and the flight of insects
themselves, told me that an army of bashikouay ants was advancing,
attacking every living thing before them.Mary went to the bedroom.I ran towards the plantation
as fast as I could.Soon Andekko, who had gone into the forest by himself, made his
appearance.The poor dog was crying, moaning,
and rolling himself on the ground to scratch his body, on which were
numbers of the ants biting him.During the night we were awakened
by the bites of the advance guard of the bashikouays.Daniel moved to the hallway.There was a great commotion among the mice, rats, and
cockroaches.They were surrounded by the bashikouays.Wherever they
fled, there were the bashikouays to attack them.The scorpions,
centipedes, and spiders could not help themselves, and were eaten up in
a short time.Meanwhile all the inhabitants of the plantation were up and out of
their houses, the babies in the arms of their mothers.Boiling water and hot ashes were thrown
upon the ants and we put brands across their paths.[Illustration: "_Boiling water and hot ashes were thrown upon the ants
and we put brands across their path_."]It took us the rest of the night to drive them away and disorganize
them.The men could not
find words bad enough for the bashikouays."Oh," said Shinshooko,
"these horrid bashikouays will drive all the game away, and it will be
a long time before it will return."CHAPTER VIII
ROGALA'S WIFE'S PARROT--I USE IT AS A DECOY--PARROTS PROVE TOUGH
EATING--THE NGOZOS GROW WARY--SHINSHOOKO DISCOVERS ELEPHANTS IN THE
NEIGHBORHOOD--WE GO AFTER THEM AND KILL TWO.ROGALA'S wife had a beautiful gray parrot with a bright red tail.The
parrot could talk well and say many things.Every morning he would
perch on a tree and call upon the flocks of parrots that were flying
in every direction in search of food.Once in a while a flock of these
parrots, attracted by his cries or rather speech to them, would come
and alight close by, and they would hold a conversation together for
quite a while.John travelled to the bathroom.Poor Ngozo--such was his name--seemed then to regret
much that his wings were clipped, for he wanted to go and fly with his
wild comrades.One day I said to myself: "Andekko drives game to me;
Ndova brings monkeys and finds fruits.Suppose I use Ngozo as a decoy.Old parrots are about as tough birds as one can taste, but young ones
taste like pigeons."Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.So one morning I lay under a tree waiting for parrots to come.A few
flocks passed over us, uttering peculiar sounds.What these meant I
could not tell, but they were afraid to alight.Evidently they did not
like the look of the house.At some distance from Rogala's house near a grove of plantain trees
was a tree bearing a red fruit which I knew parrots liked very much.I
told Rogala to carry his wife's parrot under that tree and I would lie
in wait there.So Ngozo was taken there by his master, and he began to
talk.Soon I heard above our heads a flock of parrots.They came down upon
our tree and began to talk to our parrot and feed.When I saw three or
four in such a position as to enable me to kill them all, I fired, and
they fell, and the others, shrieking with all their might, flew away in
affright.I went after the parrots, which had deep yellow rings round their eyes.I saw that they were very old, but nevertheless I was glad, for I would
have some meat to eat.John journeyed to the office.When he was cooked,
he was so tough that I thought he must be over one hundred years old.It seemed as if I were biting an old piece of India rubber or a piece
of leather.In the evening, thinking that the others were as tough as their
companions, I boiled them, and I thought that I was going to have a
good parrot soup.The soup was not bad, but the parrots were so tough
that I gave up trying to eat them.90 is from an
early and probably Tuscan plateau.The leading characteristics of the Caffaggiolo wares are a glaze of rich
and even quality, and purely white; and the use of a very dark cobalt
blue of great intensity but brilliant as that of lapis lazuli,
frequently in masses as a grounding to the subject: and it would seem
laid on purposely with a coarse brush, the strokes of which are very
apparent.91 of a curiously decorated tazza of
early date.A bright yellow, an
orange of brilliant but opaque quality, a peculiarly liquid and
semi-transparent copper green are also found, and another characteristic
pigment is an opaque bright Indian red.This pottery has a nearer
affinity to that of Siena than to any other fabrique, and it is not
unreasonable to suppose that they had a like origin or that the
establishment at Siena emanated from Caffaggiolo.Both resemble in
general style the pieces produced at Faenza and Forlì more than those of
other fabriques of the northern duchies, or of the Umbrian centres of
the art; and it becomes a question as to which can claim the earliest
origin, as also the earliest use of the stanniferous enamel glaze.The
dates inscribed upon pieces begin in 1507-9, but undated examples,
assignable to this locality and of an earlier period, exist in
collections.[Illustration]
The use of the metallic lustre seems to have been tried at Caffaggiolo,
but from the extreme rarity of examples bearing the mark of or fairly
ascribable to that establishment, we may
[Illustration]
perhaps infer that only a few experimental pieces were made, and that
this method of enrichment was but little used.A small
[Illustration]
plateau at South Kensington, no.7154, represented in the woodcut is an
important example, having the mark.As might be expected, the arms,
emblems, and mottoes of the Medici family frequently occur, and
occasionally the letters S. P. Q. F. are introduced on labels for
“_Senatus populusque Florentinus_.” M. Jacquemart considers that some of
the early groups, &c. in relievo and in the round and early plaques with
the sacred emblem, the majority of which are generally ascribed to
Faenza, may be of this botega.We quite concur with him in this opinion.The South Kensington museum is rich in fine specimens of this ware of
various date and great variety, some of which are among the most
admirable examples of the potter’s art.It is remarkable that we have no
recorded names of the artists who painted these beautiful pieces, and it
is only at the latter end of the sixteenth century that we find mention
of Giacomo and Loys Ridolfi of Caffaggiolo, who emigrated with other
potters from the then less encouraged manufactories of Italy to try
their fortune in France.M. Jacquemart tells us that these potters or
painters founded a “_faïencerie_” in 1590 at Marchecoul, in Bretagne.Some confusion has arisen among connoisseurs in France and elsewhere as
to the wares of Caffaggiolo and those of Faenza, and indeed it is
frequently difficult to draw the line of distinction; but we can hardly
follow M. Jacquemart in his historical classification, believing that
some of the pieces assigned by him to this fabrique do not really
support their claim.A similar remark may apply to many of those in the
Louvre ascribed to this pottery by Mons.Two large and finely painted early dishes (presented by Mr.Franks) are
in the British museum; they were probably made about 1480-1500.On one
is a group of saints, after an engraving by Benedetto Montana, on red
ground, with a border of leafage moulding and peacock’s feather
ornament.On the other is the subject of the Judgment of Solomon.The
colours on these pieces are very rich, with much of the characteristic
red pigment; the bold and firm drawing has an archaic tendency which
points to an early period.The earliest dated piece having a mark and
with reason believed to be of this fabrique, is a plate in the style
[Illustration]
of Faenza with border of grotesques and central shields of arms, in the
painting of which the characteristic red is used and on which is the
date 1507 with the mark; that curious combination of letters P.L and O.
Another is dated 1509.The letters S. P. Q. F. occur among the
ornaments.M. Jacquemart considers as of the first period, those pieces
having letters allusive to the Florentine republic, or the Medici arms
and emblems; or the motto of Giuliano di Medici.“Glovis” also occurs,
which has been ingeniously deciphered as meaning “Si volg,” “it
(fortune) turns,” if read backwards: referring to the favour shown to
Giuliano when appointed Gonfalonier to the Church.A noble pitcher at
South Kensington no.93) has the Medici arms; and, beneath,
also the motto _Glovis_.A large carelessly painted dish, in the British
museum, the subject Abel’s sacrifice, has the word “GLOVIS” and the
letters S. P. Q. R. on the altar, and on the reverse the name, curiously
spelt, “In Chafaggilolo” between the ordinary mark twice repeated.The
name seems to have been spelt in various ways, as “Cáffagiulo,”
“Cafagiol,” “Caffaggiolo,” “Chaffaggiolo,” “Chafaggilolo,”
“Gafagizotto,” &c.
Some of the specimens at South Kensington are of extraordinary beauty.Of the more interesting may be instanced no.7154, lustred, having the
Caffaggiolo mark painted on the reverse in the yellow pigment.8928 on which is represented a procession of Leo X. is
curious as a contemporary work and for the costume.George after
the statue by Donatello, no.1726, is of great excellence, as is the
interesting plate engraved above, p.44, on which a ceramic painter is
represented at work in the presence of a gentleman and lady, probably
portraits of personages |
kitchen | Where is John? | It is to be regretted that he refrained from recording their
names and was content with affixing only the monogram of the fabrique at
the back of the piece.The beautiful plate with central subject of
Vulcan forging a wing and elegant border of grotesques, masks, cupids,
&c., no.2990, is probably by the same hand as the two last referred to
and is a fine example.The large jug already referred to having the
Medici arms on the front and other devices of that family, no.1715, is
remarkable for its excellence of glaze and colour, as well as for
[Illustration]
its historical associations.So, again, is the vase no.321 made for the
Medici at a somewhat later date; and which we also engrave.Well-nigh all the history we have of the early artistic pottery of SIENA
may be read upon the specimens of her produce, preserved in our museums
and private collections.A considerable number of pieces, evidently the
work of one able hand, has been variously assigned to the furnaces of
Faenza, of Caffaggiolo, and of Pesaro; to the first two from a general
similarity in the character of their design.On the other hand, the
initials I. P. occurring in large characters on the reverse of some of
the pieces were presumed to be those of the words “In Pesaro,” and led
to a confusion of them with others really painted at the Lanfranchi
works at Pesaro and marked with the same initials but in a smaller form;
standing for the signature of the artist, “_jiacomo pinsit_.” These
last, then unknown to collectors, were cited by Passeri who was supposed
to refer to the far more beautiful works now under consideration.The acquisition, however, of a pavement of tiles from the Petrucci
palace at Siena, dated 1509, and the knowledge of the existence of
others of a similar stamp in the church of San Francesco in that city,
the style of handling as well as the design and colouring upon which
agreed closely with these works; a fine dish in the British museum in
the same manner, and on which occurs one of the same coats of arms as
those upon the pavement of the Petrucci; and the further acquisition of
a small plate, the painting of which in blue camaïeu is assuredly in the
manner of the finer examples above referred to, and which is signed on
the reverse “_fata i Siena da mº benedetto_;” form together a chain of
evidence conclusive as to the existence of this fabrique, and the origin
of the various pieces in question.Mary travelled to the hallway.The South Kensington museum possesses very important specimens of this
master’s work; and the connexion of the
[Illustration]
several examples is very minutely traced in the large catalogue of
Maiolica.We need only, therefore, generally observe that they are
worthy of being ranked among the most excellent productions of the
potter’s skill in Italy during the earlier years of the 16th century;
and that in respect of their technical characteristics, and the tone and
manner of their colouring and design, they are more nearly allied to the
productions of the Caffaggiolo furnaces, from which in all probability
the inspiration of them was derived.We give woodcuts of three of these
beautiful pieces: nos.1569, 1792, and 4487.The last of these is very
interesting on account of the mark and inscription upon the reverse
(also engraved p.99), showing that the painter was probably Benedetto
himself, who was then the head of the establishment.The drawing of the
central figure is masterly and finished with the utmost care.Sandra went to the garden.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
One of the finest specimens of this master belongs to Mr.Henderson; the
central subject is that of Mutius Scævola before Porsenna; it is painted
with great care and is surrounded by a border of grotesques on orange
ground.On the reverse is the mark in the accompanying woodcut.The
grotesques upon the border of a large dish in the British museum are
painted upon a black ground, an unusual style which also occurs on some
of the tiles of the Petrucci pavement, and is we believe almost peculiar
to this botega.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
We lose sight of the Sienese pottery for two centuries, when it again
appears under the then best ceramic painter in Italy, Ferdinando Maria
Campani who is said, but we do not know on what exact authority, to
have worked also at Castelli and at San Quirico.A piece signed by him
is at South Kensington.His subjects, as in this instance, were
frequently taken from the Bible series of Raffaelle as rendered by Marc
Antonio’s engravings, and from the works of the Caracci.Some extremely
well executed tiles, plates, &c. copied and adapted from the old, have
also been produced within the last few years at Siena under the
superintendence of signor Pepi, a druggist, opposite the Prefecture.We
have occasionally met with some of these, scratched and chipped by other
_artists_ to suit the modern-antique market.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.The small town of MONTE LUPO, nestling under its “rocca” on the southern
bank of the river at the opening of the Val d’ Arno inferiore, is on the
road from Florence and near to Empoli.Its pottery is distinguished (or
we should rather say notorious) for having produced the ugliest and most
inferior painted pieces that bear the signature of their maker and the
place where they were made.But a ware of a different kind formed of a red clay and glazed with a
rich treacle-brown or black glaze, the forms of the pieces being
sometimes extremely elegant, has been also assigned to this locality.Some of them are enriched with gilding and with subjects painted in oil
colours, not by a ceramic artist.We are informed, however, by signor
Giuseppe Raffaelli that wares of this description were made at Castel
Durante, and that a fine example of them, with portraits of a count
Maldini and his wife, is preserved in the library at Urbania.He
describes them as made of a red earth covered with an intensely black
glaze, on which the oil painting and gilding were executed.It is
nevertheless probable that Monte Lupo produced a similar ware, and
pieces occur ornamented with reliefs and with raised work, _engobé_,
with a white or yellow clay on the brown ground, by the process known as
_pâte sur pâte_.Mary went to the bedroom.Certain pieces marbled on the surface to imitate
tortoiseshell, agate, &c. are ascribed to this pottery.At Sèvres is a tazza with ill painted subject on white ground and
inscribed,--
“_Dipinta, Giovinale Tereni_
“_da Montelupo._”
and a dish in the hôtel Cluny at Paris, painted with the subject of the
rape of Helen somewhat in the manner of the Urbino wares, has at the
back,
“_Vrate délina_
“_fate in Monte._”
[Illustration]
This, we think, more likely to have been the production of Monte Lupo
than of Monte Feltro, to which it has been ascribed.There can be little doubt that potteries existed in the neighbourhood of
the important commercial city of PISA, and it is more than probable that
the painted and incised _bacini_, which are encrusted into her church
towers and façades, are mostly of local manufacture during the 12th,
13th, and 14th centuries.On this subject we must refer the reader to
the remarks in the chapter on Persian and Hispano-moresque wares.Among
the latter, references will be found to two writers who stated that a
commerce existed between Valencia and Pisa, from whence faïence was
imported into Spain in exchange for the wares of that country.It does
not however follow that this faïence was entirely of Pisan production,
although exported thence; but it is not improbable that a considerable
quantity was made there for exportation.Daniel moved to the hallway.Antonio Beuter, praising the wares of Spain, says that they are equal in
beauty to those of Pisa and other places.John travelled to the bathroom.Early in
the next century Escolano says, speaking of the wares of Manises, “that
in exchange for the faïences that Italy sends us from Pisa, we export to
that country cargoes of that of Manises.”
In the collection of baron Alphonse de Rothschild, of Paris, is a large
and well formed vase with serpent handles, under which the name PISA is
inscribed on tablets.It is much in the manner of the later Urbino
wares, having grotesques on a white ground, but more nearly approaching
those examples at South Kensington (nos.321 and 323) having the arms of
the Medici, which we have ascribed in the large catalogue to Caffaggiolo
or Florence.It has been suggested that this vase may be of the Pesaro
fabrique, and that the word upon it was merely a variation in spelling
the first half of the name Pisa_ro_; but we see no reason for accepting
such an explanation or that Pisa should be denied the small honour of
having produced this example, the only one inscribed with her name.There can be very little doubt that a manufactory of glazed earthenware
existed at PESARO or in its immediate outskirts from a very early
period, and that it probably succeeded to the works established there in
Roman times, the remains of which have occasionally been brought to
light; but with the exception of the recorded names of certain potters,
occurring in deeds and records which are preserved among the public
archives of the city, we are uninformed, and unable to recognize the
produce of these potteries or to know their characteristics.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Anterior to 1540 we have no signed and dated example, and should
therefore be reduced to the position of entire ignorance as to their
previous productions but for the work of the indefatigable archæologist
Giambattista Passeri.John journeyed to the office.Born in 1694 at Farnese in the Campagna di Roma
(where his father, of a patrician family of Pesaro, practised as a
physician) and educated at Rome, he subsequently settled in his parental
city and published the “Istoria delle pitture in Maiolica fatte in
Pesaro e in luoghi circonvicini,” in 1758.To him we are indebted for
the notice of the potters above alluded to, and in his work he gives us
an account of the mode pursued in the manufacture, much of which however
he appears to have derived from the earlier manuscript of Piccolpasso.He tells us that the large early bacili enriched with a _madreperla_
lustre were the produce of Pesaro; and in corroboration states that many
of them are painted with the coats of arms and portraits of the members
of noble Pesarese families, instancing one with the arms of the
“Bergnana” family then preserved in the Casa Olivieri.It has been
objected that Passeri was influenced by local partiality in favour of
the native city of his family, and that he ascribed to her furnaces what
may in equal likelihood have been produced at Gubbio or Diruta; and the
discovery of a few pieces of lustred ware, marked as the produce of the
latter _Castello_ in the middle of the 16th century, was hailed by
several critics as conclusive evidence against his assertion.It appears to the writer that such evidence is equally unsatisfactory,
inasmuch as the works in question were produced some century and a half
anterior to the earliest dated piece of Diruta ware.Mary went back to the garden.Passeri wrote in
the middle of the last century, when the art was no longer in existence
and its specimens only preserved in the cabinets of the curious; but he
was a man of erudition and research and probably had means of obtaining
information with which we are unacquainted; we think therefore that as
his statements have not yet been met by proofs of their incorrectness,
or by counter-statements of greater weight, we are bound to accept them
until additional light be thrown upon the subject.He tells us that
remains of antique furnaces and ruins of a vase shop of classic times,
with fragments of red and black wares and lamps marked with the letter
G, were found in the locality known as the “Gabbice” where the
Lanfranchi works were afterwards established in the 16th century, and
where the earth is of fine quality.He traces the use of this earth in
the time of the Goths, and states that it again revived under the
government of the Malatesta; and that soon afterwards a mode of adorning
churches was adopted by the insertion of discs of earthenware at first
simply glazed with the oxide of lead, but that ones were
subsequently used.The wares were made by covering the crude baked clay with a slip or
_engobe_ of white earth, the “_terra di San Giovanni_” from Siena, or
with that of Verona, and glazing it with “_marzacotto_,” a mixture of
oxide of lead, sand and potash.The colours, used were yellow, green,
manganese black, and cobalt blue (from the “_zaffara_” of the Levant).During the government of the Sforza the manufacture greatly developed
and was protected, for on 1st April 1486 a decree was made prohibiting
the introduction of earthenwares for sale from other parts, except the
jars for oil and water.In 1510 a document
enumerates “_Maiolica_” as one of the trades of Pesaro, naming also
“_figoli_,” “_vasai_,” and “_boccalari_;” and we must bear in mind that
there is good reason for believing that at that period “Maiolica” was a
name technically understood as applying only to the lustred wares.Passeri states that about 1450 the “_invetriatura_” or glazing had
already begun to perfect itself under the Sforza, when those early
pieces were produced decorated with “arabesque” borders encircling coats
of arms, portraits, and ideal heads outlined with manganese and
with the “_madreperla_” lustre, leaving the flesh white.He
ascribes the improvement in the manufacture by the use of the
stanniferous glaze to the discovery of the Della Robbia, and adds that,
although the art of making it was known
[Illustration]
earlier at Florence, the fine ware was only introduced at Pesaro about
1500: near which period the beautiful portrait dish which we engrave
(no.4078 at Kensington) was probably made.Here he again says that the
lustred ware derived its name from the pottery of Maiolica, and that the
earlier and coarser varieties were known as “_Mezza-maiolica_.” Guid’
Ubaldo II.greatly encouraged the art, and in 1552 granted to Bernardin
Gagliardino, Girolamo Lanfranchi, Ranaldo and others an edict
prohibiting the importation of other wares for sale, thus confirming the
former acts, which would appear to have fallen into neglect: and in the
year 1562, on the 1st of June, he granted another, confirming to Giacomo
Lanfranco a protection of his art or patent for applying real gold to
his wares.John went to the kitchen.Passeri then (after some further historical details) describes examples
of the glazed and enamelled pottery of Pesaro which he had seen, and the
earliest he refers to are floorings of tiles existing in his time, upon
one of which, brought to him by a workman, was inscribed
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