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bedroom | Where is Mary? | And in the end she
gave in, and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of her little boy's
care and companionship during her long weary time of slow recovery.Fergus and his mother did not leave a day too soon.With early January
the winter spirits, chained hitherto, broke forth in fury.Never had
such falls of snow been known even in that wild region, and many a night
Gratian, lying awake, unable to sleep through the rattle and racket,
felt a strange excitement at the thought that all this was the work of
his mysterious protectors."White-wings and Gray-wings seem really going mad," he thought once or
twice.But the sound of laughter, mingling with the whistling and
roaring and shrieking in the chimney, reassured him."No fear, no fear," he seemed to hear; "we must let our spirits out
sometimes.Mary went back to the bedroom.But you'd better not go to school for a day or two, small
Gratian, all the same."And several "days or two" that winter it was impossible for him to go to
school, or for any one to come to the Farm, so heavy and dark even at
mid-day were the storm-clouds, so deep lay the treacherous snow-drifts.Conyfer was
by this time much better."Oh, mother dear, how glad I am that I did not leave you!""How dull and dreary and long the days would have seemed!You
couldn't even have got letters from me."And the lessons he learnt in that winter of patient waiting, of quiet
watching and self-forgetfulness, bore their fruit.There came now and then a soft
breath from the two gentle sisters whose voices were hushed to all
others for a time, and more than once in some mysterious way Gratian
felt himself summoned out to the lonely moorland by the two whose
carnival time it was.And standing out there with the great sweep of open country all around
him, with his hair tossed by White-wings's giant touch, or his cheeks
tingling with a sharp blast from mischievous Gray-wings, Gratian laughed
with pleasure and daring enjoyment."I am your child too--Spirits of the North and East.And the two laughed and shouted with wild glee at their foster-child's
great spirit."He does us credit," they cried, though old Jonas passing by heard
nothing but a shriek of fresh fury up above, and shouted to Gratian to
hasten within shelter.Spring came again--slow and
reluctant--and it was long before Gray-wings consented to take her
yearly nap and let her sister of the west soothe and comfort the
storm-tossed country.And then, as day by day Gratian made his way to
school, he watched with awakened and ever-awaking eyes the exquisite
eternal beauty of the summer's gradual approach, till at last
Golden-wings clasped him in her arms one morning and told him her joy at
being able to return."For I love this country, though no one will believe it," she said."The
scent of the gorse and the heather is delicious and refreshing after the
strong spice perfumes of my own home;" and many a story she told the
child, and many a song she sang to him through the long summer
days--which he loved to spend in his old way, out among the heather with
Jonas and Watch and the browsing sheep.His mother was well, quite well, by now,
and Gratian was free to do as he chose.He was out on the moors one day--a lovely cloudless day, that would have
been sultry anywhere else--when old Jonas startled him by saying
suddenly:
"Did you know, Master Gratian, that the gentry's come back to the Big
House?"Gratian sat straight up in his astonishment."Down in the village, quite sudden-like.It was all got ready for them
last week, but there's been none of us down there much lately."Gratian felt too excited to lie still and dream any more.[Illustration: It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny
rough-coated pony, coming towards him!]"I'll ask mother if I may go and see," he said jumping up.But an unexpected sight met him at a stone's throw from the Farm.It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny rough-coated pony,
coming towards him!And the joy of the meeting who could describe?"We tried to keep it a secret till it was quite sure," said the boy."There was some difficulty about it, but it is all settled now.Father
has taken the Big House from our cousin, and we are to live at it half
the year.We are all there--my sisters--and my big brother comes
sometimes--and mother of course.He was very nice, but he hated lessons--he only wanted to go to sea.So
we want you now, Gratian--my own Gratian.I have a tutor, and you are to
learn with me all the summer and to go away with us in the winter now
your mother is well, so that you will find out what you want to be.It
is for me we have come here.I must always be lame, Gratian.The doctors
can't cure me," and the bright voice faltered."But I shall get strong
all the same if I live here in this beautiful air.And I shall be very
happy, for I can learn to play on the organ--and that makes up for all."The summer and the autumn that followed, Gratian studied with his
friend's tutor.And the winter after, greatly to his mother's joy, he
went away as had been planned before.No
great length of time passed without his returning to his birthplace."I should die," he said sometimes, "if I could not from time to time
stand at the old porch and feel the breath of the four winds about me."This is only the story of the very opening of the life of a boy who
lived to make his mark among men.How he did so, how he found his voice,
it is not for me to tell.But he had early learnt to choose the right,
and so we know he prospered.Besides--was he not the godchild of the Four Winds of Heaven?No
governor-ities!No--'God knows who or what;--but his _ne plus
ultra_ was, 'No nothing!'--and my receipts of your packages amount
to about his meaning.I want the extract from _Moore's_ Italy very
much, and the tooth-powder, and the magnesia; I don't care so much
about the poetry, or the letters, or Mr.Daniel travelled to the office.Maturin's by-Jasus
tragedy.Most of the things sent by the post have come--I mean
proofs and letters; therefore send me Marino Faliero by the post,
in a letter."I was delighted with Rome, and was on horseback all round it many
hours daily, besides in it the rest of my time, bothering over its
marvels.I excursed and skirred the country round to Alba, Tivoli,
Frescati, Licenza, &c.&c.; besides, I visited twice the Fall of
Terni, which beats every thing.On my way back, close to the temple
by its banks, I got some famous trout out of the river
Clitumnus--the prettiest little stream in all poesy, near the first
post from Foligno and Spoletto.--I did not stay at Florence, being
anxious to get home to Venice, and having already seen the
galleries and other sights.I left my commendatory letters the
evening before I went, so I saw nobody."To-day, Pindemonte, the celebrated poet of Verona, called on me;
he is a little thin man, with acute and pleasing features; his
address good and gentle; his appearance altogether very
philosophical; his age about sixty, or more.He is one of their
best going.I gave him _Forsyth_, as he speaks, or reads rather, a
little English, and will find there a favourable account of
himself.He enquired after his old Cruscan friends, Parsons,
Greathead, Mrs.Piozzi, and Merry, all of whom he had known in his
youth.I gave him as bad an account of them as I could, answering,
as the false 'Solomon Lob' does to 'Totterton' in the farce, 'all
gone dead,' and damned by a satire more than twenty years ago; that
the name of their extinguisher was Gifford; that they were but a
sad set of scribes after all, and no great things in any other way.He seemed, as was natural, very much pleased with this account of
his old acquaintances, and went away greatly gratified with that
and Mr.Forsyth's sententious paragraph of applause in his own
(Pindemonte's) favour.After having been a little libertine in his
youth, he is grown devout, and takes prayers, and talks to himself,
to keep off the devil; but for all that, he is a very nice little
old gentleman."I forgot to tell you that at Bologna (which is celebrated for
producing popes, painters, and sausages) I saw an anatomical
gallery, where there is a deal of waxwork, in which * *."I am sorry to hear of your row with Hunt; but suppose him to be
exasperated by the Quarterly and your refusal to _deal_; and when
one is angry and edites a paper, I should think the temptation too
strong for literary nature, which is not always human.I can't
conceive in what, and for what, he abuses you: what have you done?you are not an author, nor a politician, nor a public character; I
know no scrape you have tumbled into.I am the more sorry for this
because I introduced you to Hunt, and because I believe him to be a
good man; but till I know the particulars, I can give no opinion."Let me know about Lalla Rookh, which must be out by this time."I restore the proofs, but the _punctuation_ should be corrected.I
feel too lazy to have at it myself; so beg and pray Mr.Gifford for
me.--Address to Venice.In a few days I go to my _villeggiatura_,
in a cassino near the Brenta, a few miles only on the main land.I
have determined on another year, and _many years_ of residence if I
can compass them.Marianna is with me, hardly recovered of the
fever, which has been attacking all Italy last winter.I am afraid
she is a little hectic; but I hope the best.Torwaltzen has done a bust of me at Rome for Mr.Hobhouse,
which is reckoned very good.He is their best after Canova, and by
some preferred to him.He is very happy, has got a
living, but not a child: if he had stuck to a curacy, babes would
have come of course, because he could not have maintained them."Remember me to all friends, &c."An Austrian officer, the other day, being in love with a Venetian,
was ordered, with his regiment, into Hungary.Distracted between
love and duty, he purchased a deadly drug, which dividing with his
mistress, both swallowed.The ensuing pains were terrific, but the
pills were purgative, and not poisonous, by the contrivance of the
unsentimental apothecary; so that so much suicide was all thrown
away.You may conceive the previous confusion and the final
laughter; but the intention was good on all sides."* * * * *
LETTER 282."The present letter will be delivered to you by two Armenian
friars, on their way, by England, to Madras.They will also convey
some copies of the grammar, which I think you agreed to take.If
you can be of any use to them, either amongst your naval or East
Indian acquaintances, I hope you will so far oblige me, as they and
their order have been remarkably attentive and friendly towards me
since my arrival at Venice.Their names are Father Sukias Somalian
and Father Sarkis Theodorosian.They speak Italian, and probably
French, or a little English.Repeating earnestly my recommendatory
request, believe me, very truly, yours,
"BYRON."Perhaps you can help them to their passage, or give or get them
letters for India."* * * * *
LETTER 283."La Mira, near Venice, June 14."I write to you from the banks of the Brenta, a few miles from
Venice, where I have colonised for six months to come.Address, as
usual, to Venice."Three months after date (17th March),--like the unnegotiable bill
despondingly received by the reluctant tailor,--your despatch has
arrived, containing the extract from Moore's Italy and Mr.It is the absurd work of a clever man.I think it might have done upon the stage, if he had made Manuel
(by some trickery, in a masque or vizor) fight his own battle,
instead of employing Molineux as his champion; and, after the
defeat of Torismond, have made him spare the son of his enemy, by
some revulsion of feeling, not incompatible with a character of
extravagant and distempered emotions.But as it is, what with the
Justiza, and the ridiculous conduct of the whole _dram.pers._ (for
they are all as mad as Manuel, who surely must have had more
interest with a corrupt bench than a distant relation and heir
presumptive, somewhat suspect of homicide,) I do not wonder at its
failure.As a play, it is impracticable; as a poem, no great
things.Who was the 'Greek that grappled with glory naked?'or Alexander the Great, when he ran stark round
the tomb of t'other fellow?or the Spartan who was fined by the
Ephori for fighting without his armour?And as to 'flaying
off life like a garment,' helas!that's in Tom Thumb--see king
Arthur's soliloquy:
"'Life's a mere rag, not worth a prince's wearing;
I'll cast it off.'And the stage-directions--'Staggers among the bodies;'--the slain
are too numerous, as well as the blackamoor knights-penitent being
one too many: and De Zelos is such a shabby Monmouth Street
villain, without any redeeming quality--Stap my vitals!Maturin
seems to be declining into Nat.But let him try again; he has
talent, but not much taste.I 'gin to fear, or to hope, that
Sotheby, |
office | Where is Daniel? | The more I see of the stage,
the less I would wish to have any thing to do with it; as a proof
of which, I hope you have received the third Act of Manfred, which
will at least prove that I wish to steer very clear of the
possibility of being put into scenery.By the way, have you never received
a translation of St.Paul which I sent you, _not_ for publication,
before I went to Rome?"I am at present on the Brenta.Mary went back to the bedroom.Opposite is a Spanish marquis,
ninety years old; next his casino is a Frenchman's,--besides the
natives; so that, as somebody said the other day, we are exactly
one of Goldoni's comedies (La Vedova Scaltra), where a Spaniard,
English, and Frenchman are introduced: but we are all very good
neighbours, Venetians, &c."I am just getting on horseback for my evening ride, and a visit to
a physician, who has an agreeable family, of a wife and four
unmarried daughters, all under eighteen, who are friends of Signora
S * *, and enemies to nobody.There are, and are to be, besides,
conversaziones and I know not what, a Countess Labbia's and I know
not whom.The weather is mild; the thermometer 110 in the _sun_
this day, and 80 odd in the shade.* * * * *
LETTER 284."La Mira, near Venice, June 17."It gives me great pleasure to hear of Moore's success, and the
more so that I never doubted that it would be complete.Whatever
good you can tell me of him and his poem will be most acceptable: I
feel very anxious indeed to receive it.Daniel travelled to the office.I hope that he is as happy
in his fame and reward as I wish him to be; for I know no one who
deserves both more--if any so much."Now to business; * * * * * * I say unto you, verily, it is not so;
or, as the foreigner said to the waiter, after asking him to bring
a glass of water, to which the man answered, 'I will, sir,'--'You
will!--G----d d----n,--I say, you _mush_!'And I will submit this
to the decision of any person or persons to be appointed by both,
on a fair examination of the circumstances of this as compared
with the preceding publications.There is
always some row or other previously to all our publications: it
should seem that, on approximating, we can never quite get over the
natural antipathy of author and bookseller, and that more
particularly the ferine nature of the latter must break forth."You are out about the third Canto: I have not done, nor designed,
a line of continuation to that poem.I was too short a time at Rome
for it, and have no thought of recommencing."I cannot well explain to you by letter what I conceive to be the
origin of Mrs.Leigh's notion about 'Tales of my Landlord;' but it
is some points of the characters of Sir E. Manley and Burley, as
well as one or two of the jocular portions, on which it is founded,
probably.Polidori as well as a parcel of books,
and you can be of use to him, be so.I never was much more
disgusted with any human production than with the eternal nonsense,
and tracasseries, and emptiness, and ill humour, and vanity of that
young person; but he has some talent, and is a man of honour, and
has dispositions of amendment, in which he has been aided by a
little subsequent experience, and may turn out well.Therefore, use
your government interest for him, for he is improved and
improvable.* * * * *
LETTER 285."La Mira, near Venice, June 18.Mary journeyed to the hallway."Enclosed is a letter to _Dr._ Holland from Pindemonte.Not knowing
the Doctor's address, I am desired to enquire, and, perhaps, being
a literary man, you will know or discover his haunt near some
populous churchyard.I have written to you a scolding letter--I
believe, upon a misapprehended passage in your letter--but never
mind: it will do for next time, and you will surely deserve it.Talking of doctors reminds me once more to recommend to you one who
will not recommend himself,--the Doctor Polidori.If you can help
him to a publisher, do; or, if you have any sick relation, I would
advise his advice: all the patients he had in Italy are dead--Mr.*
*'s son, Mr.Horner, and Lord G * *, whom he embowelled with great
success at Pisa."Remember me to Moore, whom I congratulate.and what
is become of Campbell and all t'other fellows of the Druid order?I
got Maturin's Bedlam at last, but no other parcel; I am in fits for
the tooth-powder, and the magnesia.I want some of Burkitt's
_soda_-powders.Kinnaird that I have written him
two letters on pressing business, (about Newstead, &c.)to which I
humbly solicit his attendance.I am just returned from a gallop
along the banks of the Brenta--time, sunset.Yours,
"B."* * * * *
LETTER 286."La Mira, near Venice, July 1."Since my former letter, I have been working up my impressions into
a _fourth_ Canto of Childe Harold, of which I have roughened off
about rather better than thirty stanzas, and mean to go on; and
probably to make this 'Fytte' the concluding one of the poem, so
that you may propose against the autumn to draw out the
conscription for 1818.You must provide moneys, as this new
resumption bodes you certain disbursements.Sandra went back to the garden.Somewhere about the end
of September or October, I propose to be under way (_i.e._ in the
press); but I have no idea yet of the probable length or calibre of
the Canto, or what it will be good for; but I mean to be as
mercenary as possible, an example (I do not mean of any individual
in particular, and least of all, any person or persons of our
mutual acquaintance) which I should have followed in my youth, and
I might still have been a prosperous gentleman."No tooth-powder, no letters, no recent tidings of you.Lewis is at Venice, and I am going up to stay a week with him
there--as it is one of his enthusiasms also to like the city."I stood in Venice on the 'Bridge of Sighs,' &c."The 'Bridge of Sighs' (_i.e._ Ponte de'i Sospiri) is that which
divides, or rather joins, the palace of the Doge to the prison of
the state.It has two passages: the criminal went by the one to
judgment, and returned by the other to death, being strangled in a
chamber adjoining, where there was a mechanical process for the
purpose."This is the first stanza of our new Canto; and now for a line of
the second:--
"In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier,
Her palaces, &c."You know that formerly the gondoliers sung always, and Tasso's
Gierusalemme was their ballad.Venice is built on seventy-two
islands.what
say you to the sample?* * * * *
LETTER 287."La Mira, near Venice, July 8.1817
"If you can convey the enclosed letter to its address, or discover
the person to whom it is directed, you will confer a favour upon
the Venetian creditor of a deceased Englishman.This epistle is a
dun to his executor, for house-rent.The name of the insolvent
defunct is, or was, _Porter Valter_, according to the account of
the plaintiff, which I rather suspect ought to be _Walter Porter_,
according to our mode of collocation.If you are acquainted with
any dead man of the like name a good deal in debt, pray dig him up,
and tell him that 'a pound of his fair flesh' or the ducats are
required, and that 'if you deny them, fie upon your law!'"I hear nothing more from you about Moore's poem, Rogers, or other
literary phenomena; but to-morrow, being post-day, will bring
perhaps some tidings.I write to you with people talking Venetian
all about, so that you must not expect this letter to be all
English."The other day, I had a squabble on the highway, as follows: I was
riding pretty quickly from Dolo home about eight in the evening,
when I passed a party of people in a hired carriage, one of whom,
poking his head out of the window, began bawling to me in an
inarticulate but insolent manner.I wheeled my horse round, and
overtaking, stopped the coach, and said, 'Signor, have you any
commands for me?'He replied, impudently as to manner, 'No.'I then
asked him what he meant by that unseemly noise, to the discomfiture
of the passers-by.He replied by some piece of impertinence, to
which I answered by giving him a violent slap in the face.I then
dismounted, (for this passed at the window, I being on horseback
still,) and opening the door desired him to walk out, or I would
give him another.But the first had settled him except as to words,
of which he poured forth a profusion in blasphemies, swearing that
he would go to the police and avouch a battery sans provocation.I
said he lied, and was a * *, and if he did not hold his tongue,
should be dragged out and beaten anew.I
of course told him my name and residence, and defied him to the
death, if he were a gentleman, or not a gentleman, and had the
inclination to be genteel in the way of combat.He went to the
police, but there having been bystanders in the
road,--particularly a soldier, who had seen the business,--as well
as my servant, notwithstanding the oaths of the coachman and five
insides besides the plaintiff, and a good deal of paying on all
sides, his complaint was dismissed, he having been the
aggressor;--and I was subsequently informed that, had I not given
him a blow, he might have been had into durance."So set down this,--'that in Aleppo once' I 'beat a Venetian;' but
I assure you that he deserved it, for I am a quiet man, like
Candide, though with somewhat of his fortune in being forced to
forego my natural meekness every now and then.* * * * *
LETTER 288."Venice, July 9, 1817."I have got the sketch and extracts from Lalla Rookh.The plan, as
well as the extracts, I have seen, please me very much indeed, and
I feel impatient for the whole."With regard to the critique on 'Manfred,' you have been in such a
devil of a hurry, that you have only sent me the half: it breaks
off at page 294.Send me the rest; and also page 270., where there
is 'an account of the supposed origin of this dreadful story,'--in
which, by the way, whatever it may be, the conjecturer is out, and
knows nothing of the matter.I had a better origin than he can
devise or divine, for the soul of him."You say nothing of Manfred's luck in the world; and I care not.He is one of the best of my misbegotten, say what they will."I got at last an extract, but _no parcels_.They will come, I
suppose, some time or other.I am come up to Venice for a day or
two to bathe, and am just going to take a swim in the Adriatic; so,
good evening--the post waits.Pray, was Manfred's speech to _the Sun_ still retained in Act
third?I hope so: it was one of the best in the thing, and better
than the Colosseum.I have done _fifty-six_ of Canto fourth, Childe
Harold; so down with your ducats."* * * * *
LETTER 289."La Mira, Venice, July 10."Murray, the Mokanna of booksellers, has contrived to send me
extracts from Lalla Rookh by the post.They are taken from some
magazine, and contain a short outline and quotations from the two
first Poems.I am very much delighted with what is before me, and
very thirsty for the rest.You have caught the colours as if you
had been in the rainbow, and the tone of the East is perfectly
preserved.I am glad you have changed the title from 'Persian
Tale.'"I suspect you have written a devilish fine composition, and I
rejoice in it from my heart; because 'the Douglas and the Percy
both together are confident against a world |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Mary went back to the bedroom.I hope you
won't be affronted at my looking on us as 'birds of a feather;'
though on whatever subject you had written, I should have been very
happy in your success."There is a simile of an orange-tree's 'flowers and fruits,' which
I should have liked better if I did not believe it to be a
reflection on * * *."Do you remember Thurlow's poem to Sam--'_When_ Rogers;' and that
d----d supper of Rancliffe's that ought to have been a _dinner_?'Ah, Master Shallow, we have heard the chimes at midnight.'But
"My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea;
But, before I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee!"Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And whatever sky's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate."Though the ocean roar around me,
Yet it still shall bear me on;
Though a desert should surround me,
It hath springs that may be won.Daniel travelled to the office."Were't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit fell,
'Tis to thee that I would drink."With that water, as this wine,
The libation I would pour,
Should be--peace with thine and mine,
And a health to thee, Tom Moore."This should have been written fifteen moons ago--the first stanza
was.I am just come out from an hour's swim in the Adriatic; and I
write to you with a black-eyed Venetian girl before me, reading
Boccacio."Last week I had a row on the road (I came up to Venice from my
casino, a few miles on the Paduan road, this blessed day, to bathe)
with a fellow in a carriage, who was impudent to my horse.I gave
him a swingeing box on the ear, which sent him to the police, who
dismissed his complaint.He
first shouted, in an unseemly way, to frighten my palfry.I wheeled
round, rode up to the window, and asked him what he meant.He
grinned, and said some foolery, which produced him an immediate
slap in the face, to his utter discomfiture.Much blasphemy ensued,
and some menace, which I stopped by dismounting and opening the
carriage door, and intimating an intention of mending the road with
his immediate remains, if he did not hold his tongue."Monk Lewis is here--'how pleasant!'[5] He is a very good fellow,
and very much yours.So is Sam--so is every body--and amongst the
number,
"Yours ever,
"B.[Footnote 5: An allusion (such as often occurs in these letters) to an
anecdote with which he had been amused.]Mary journeyed to the hallway.* * * * *
LETTER 290."La Mira, near Venice, July 15."I have finished (that is, written--the file comes afterwards)
ninety and eight stanzas of the fourth Canto, which I mean to be
the concluding one.It will probably be about the same length as
the _third_, being already of the dimensions of the first or second
Cantos.I look upon parts of it as very good, that is, if the three
former are good, but this we shall see; and at any rate, good or
not, it is rather a different style from the last--less
metaphysical--which, at any rate, will be a variety.I sent you the
shaft of the column as a specimen the other day, _i.e._ the first
stanza.So you may be thinking of its arrival towards autumn, whose
winds will not be the only ones to be raised, _if so be as how
that_ it is ready by that time."I lent Lewis, who is at Venice, (in or on the Canalaccio, the
Grand Canal,) your extracts from Lalla Rookh and Manuel[6], and,
out of contradiction, it may be, he likes the last, and is not much
taken with the first, of these performances.Of Manuel, I think,
with the exception of a few capers, it is as heavy a nightmare as
was ever bestrode by indigestion."Of the extracts I can but judge as extracts, and I prefer the
'Peri' to the 'Silver Veil.'He seems not so much at home in his
versification of the 'Silver Veil,' and a little embarrassed with
his horrors; but the conception of the character of the impostor
is fine, and the plan of great scope for his genius,--and I doubt
not that, as a whole, it will be very Arabesque and beautiful."Your late epistle is not the most abundant in information, and has
not yet been succeeded by any other; so that I know nothing of your
own concerns, or of any concerns, and as I never hear from any body
but yourself who does not tell me something as disagreeable as
possible, I should not be sorry to hear from you: and as it is not
very probable,--if I can, by any device or possible arrangement
with regard to my personal affairs, so arrange it,--that I shall
return soon, or reside ever in England, all that you tell me will
be all I shall know or enquire after, as to our beloved realm of
Grub Street, and the black brethren and blue sisterhood of that
extensive suburb of Babylon.Have you had no new babe of literature
sprung up to replace the dead, the distant, the tired, and the
_re_tired?no prose, no verse, no _nothing_?"[Footnote 6: A tragedy, by the Rev.* * * * *
LETTER 291."I write to give you notice that I have completed the _fourth_ and
_ultimate_ Canto of Childe Harold.It consists of 126 stanzas, and
is consequently the longest of the four.It is yet to be copied and
polished; and the notes are to come, of which it will require more
than the _third_ Canto, as it necessarily treats more of works of
art than of nature.It shall be sent towards autumn;--and now for
our barter.Sandra went back to the garden.you shall have samples, an' it so
please you: but I wish to know what I am to expect (as the saying
is) in these hard times, when poetry does not let for half its
value.Winifred Jenkins calls
'the handsome thing,' I may perhaps throw you some odd matters to
the lot,--translations, or slight originals; there is no saying
what may be on the anvil between this and the booking season.Recollect that it is the _last_ Canto, and completes the work;
whether as good as the others, I cannot judge, in course--least of
all as yet,--but it shall be as little worse as I can help.I may,
perhaps, give some little gossip in the notes as to the present
state of Italian literati and literature, being acquainted with
some of their _capi_--men as well as books;--but this depends upon
my humour at the time.So, now, pronounce: I say nothing."When you have got the whole _four_ Cantos, I think you might
venture on an edition of the whole poem in quarto, with spare
copies of the two last for the purchasers of the old edition of the
first two.There is a hint for you, worthy of the Row; and now,
perpend--pronounce."I have not received a word from you of the fate of 'Manfred' or
'Tasso,' which seems to me odd, whether they have failed or
succeeded."As this is a scrawl of business, and I have lately written at
length and often on other subjects, I will only add that I am,"
&c.* * * * *
LETTER 292."La Mira, near Venice, August 7, 1817
"Your letter of the 18th, and, what will please you, as it did me,
the parcel sent by the good-natured aid and abetment of Mr.Croker,
are arrived.--Messrs.Lewis and Hobhouse are here: the former in
the same house, the latter a few hundred yards distant."You say nothing of Manfred, from which its failure may be
inferred; but I think it odd you should not say so at once.I know
nothing, and hear absolutely nothing, of any body or any thing in
England; and there are no English papers, so that all you say will
be news--of any person, or thing, or things.Mary moved to the garden.I am at present very
anxious about Newstead, and sorry that Kinnaird is leaving England
at this minute, though I do not tell him so, and would rather he
should have _his_ pleasure, although it may not in this instance
tend to my profit."If I understand rightly, you have paid into Morland's 1500
_pounds_: as the agreement in the paper is two thousand _guineas_,
there will remain therefore _six_ hundred _pounds_, and not five
hundred, the odd hundred being the extra to make up the specie.Six
hundred and thirty pounds will bring it to the like for Manfred and
Tasso, making a total of twelve hundred and thirty, I believe, for
I am not a good calculator.I do not wish to press you, but I tell
you fairly that it will be a convenience to me to have it paid as
soon as it can be made convenient to yourself."The new and last Canto is 130 stanzas in length; and may be made
more or less.I have fixed no price, even in idea, and have no
notion of what it may be good for.There are no metaphysics in it;
at least, I think not.Hobhouse has promised me a copy of
Tasso's Will, for notes; and I have some curious things to say
about Ferrara, and Parisina's story, and perhaps a farthing
candle's worth of light upon the present state of Italian
literature.I shall hardly be ready by October; but that don't
matter.I have all to copy and correct, and the notes to write."I do not know whether Scott will like it; but I have called him
the '_Ariosto_ of the North' in my _text_._If he should not, say
so in time._
"An Italian translation of 'Glenarvon' came lately to be printed at
Venice.Petrotini) refused to sanction the
publication till he had seen me on the subject.I told him that I
did not recognise the slightest relation between that book and
myself; but that, whatever opinions might be upon that subject, _I_
would never prevent or oppose the publication of _any_ book, in
_any_ language, on my own private account; and desired him (against
his inclination) to permit the poor translator to publish his
labours.You may say this,
with my compliments, to the author.* * * * *
LETTER 293."I have been very sorry to hear of the death of Madame de Stael,
not only because she had been very kind to me at Copet, but because
now I can never requite her.In a general point of view, she will
leave a great gap in society and literature."With regard to death, I doubt that we have any right to pity the
dead for their own sakes."The copies of Manfred and Tasso are arrived, thanks to Mr.You have destroyed the whole effect and moral of
the poem by omitting the last line of Manfred's speaking; and why
this was done, I know not.Why you persist in saying nothing of the
thing itself, I am equally at a loss to conjecture.If it is for
fear of telling me something disagreeable, you are wrong; because
sooner or later I must know it, and I am not so new, nor so raw,
nor so inexperienced, as not to be able to bear, not the mere
paltry, petty disappointments of authorship, but things more
serious,--at least I hope so, and that what you may think
irritability is merely mechanical, and only acts like galvanism on
a dead body, or the muscular motion which survives sensation."If it is that you are out of humour, because I wrote to you a
sharp letter, recollect that it was partly from a misconception of
your letter, and partly because you did a thing you had no right to
do without consulting me."I have, however, heard good of Manfred from two other quarters,
and from men who would not be scrupulous in saying what they
thought, or what was said; and so 'good morrow to you, good Master
Lieutenant.'"I wrote to you twice about the fourth Canto, which you will answer
at your pleasure.Daniel moved to the kitchen.Hobhouse and I have come up for a day to the
city; Mr.Lewis is gone to England; and I am
"Yours."* * * |
office | Where is Sandra? | "La Mira, near Venice, August 21."I take you at your word about Mr.Hanson, and will feel obliged if
you will _go_ to him, and request Mr.Davies also to visit him by
my desire, and repeat that I trust that neither Mr.Kinnaird's
absence nor mine will prevent his taking all proper steps to
accelerate and promote the sale of Newstead and Rochdale, upon
which the whole of my future personal comfort depends.It is
impossible for me to express how much any delays upon these points
would inconvenience me; and I do not know a greater obligation that
can be conferred upon me than the pressing these things upon
Hanson, and making him act according to my wishes.I wish you would
_speak out_, at least to _me_, and tell me what you allude to by
your cold way of mentioning him.All mysteries at such a distance
are not merely tormenting but mischievous, and may be prejudicial
to my interests; so, pray expound, that I may consult with Mr.Kinnaird when he arrives; and remember that I prefer the most
disagreeable certainties to hints and innuendoes.The devil take
every body: I never can get any person to be explicit about any
thing or any body, and my whole life is passed in conjectures of
what people mean: you all talk in the style of C * * L * *'s
novels.Mary went back to the bedroom.Aubyn_, son of Sir John St._Polidori_ knows him, and introduced him to me.Daniel travelled to the office.He is of
Oxford, and has got my parcel.The Doctor will ferret him out, or
ought.The parcel contains many letters, some of Madame de Stael's,
and other people's, besides MSS., &c. By ----, if I find the
gentleman, and he don't find the parcel, I will say something he
won't like to hear."You want a 'civil and delicate declension' for the medical
tragedy?Take it--
"Dear Doctor, I have read your play,
Which is a good one in its way,--
Purges the eyes and moves the bowels,
And drenches handkerchiefs like towels
With tears, that, in a flux of grief,
Afford hysterical relief
To shatter'd nerves and quicken'd pulses,
Which your catastrophe convulses."I like your moral and machinery;
Your plot, too, has such scope for scenery!Your dialogue is apt and smart;
The play's concoction full of art;
Your hero raves, your heroine cries,
All stab, and every body dies.In short, your tragedy would be
The very thing to hear and see:
And for a piece of publication,
If I decline on this occasion,
It is not that I am not sensible
To merits in themselves ostensible,
But--and I grieve to speak it--plays
Are drugs, mere drugs, sir--now-a-days.I had a heavy loss by 'Manuel,'--
Too lucky if it prove not annual,--
And S * *, with his 'Orestes,'
(Which, by the by, the author's best is,)
Has lain so very long on hand
That I despair of all demand.Mary journeyed to the hallway.I've advertised, but see my books,
Or only watch my shopman's looks;--
Still Ivan, Ina, and such lumber,
My back-shop glut, my shelves encumber."There's Byron too, who once did better,
Has sent me, folded in a letter,
A sort of--it's no more a drama
Than Darnley, Ivan, or Kehama;
So alter'd since last year his pen is,
I think he's lost his wits at Venice.Sandra went back to the garden.In short, sir, what with one and t'other,
I dare not venture on another.I write in haste; excuse each blunder;
The coaches through the street so thunder!And yet all this, and much more, will follow with unerring
certainty, if the immoral, dishonorable, and unmilitary spirit of
retaliation is carried into effect.In this connection, and for the purpose of showing that I am not alone in
the views expressed as regards the destruction of private property by
Union troops on the one hand, and the exaggerated or untrue statements of
the Southern press on the other, I will quote the following paragraphs
from the pen of Colonel McClure, in his paper already referred to.Mary moved to the garden.I
suppose his statements come as near the truth as can well be ascertained.He says:
"Jacksonville (Florida) was fired at a single point when our troops were
retreating from it, because citizens fired on our men from the houses, and
unfortunately most of the town--composed of wooden structures--was
destroyed.The firing was in accordance with a well-recognized rule, that
civilians who shelter themselves in their houses to fire upon troops,
shall not only lose their property but suffer death.In Alexandria an
accidental fire, resulting from a party of intoxicated soldiers,
threatened the destruction of the entire town, owing to its inflammable
buildings and unfavorable winds; but it was arrested before one-third of
the village--the poorest portion of it--was burned.At the head of the
force detailed to put out the fire was Major-General Banks in person, and
by his orders and efforts the town was saved.Jackson (Mississippi) was
partially destroyed by our guns when it was defended by the rebels, but it
was not fired and burned by our troops after possession was gained.Wrongs, even atrocities, may have been committed by individual soldiers or
isolated commands; but no such thing as deliberate and wanton burning and
robbing of houses was practised by the Union army.Colonel Montgomery
committed gross outrages on private citizens in two raids in South
Carolina, which we have never seen reason to justify; but he was deprived
of his command, or at least subordinated, and it may be dismissed, as he
should have been.Kilpatrick burned mills unwarrantably, as we have ever
believed, and other Union commanders may have done the same; but it was
some excuse that they were filled with rebel supplies.While McCausland
was on his way to Chambersburg to lay it waste, General Rousseau was
penetrating the richest part of Georgia, and not a single private house
or building of any kind was destroyed, nor were his soldiers permitted to
enter a residence on the route.When private property was near to
Government stores, which he had to fire, he detailed men to save all but
the buildings belonging to or used by the rebel government.General
Stoneman enforced the same rules rigidly in all his raids, and so did
Grierson.The Union troops have captured and occupied hundreds of rebel
towns since the war has commenced, and they have yet for the first time to
demand the freebooter's tribute, or destroy a town by order of a
commanding officer.Repeatedly have our troops been fired upon and
murdered by skulking rebels who protected themselves in their dwellings;
but in no case has a town been destroyed therefor."LETTER V.
MY DEAR FRIEND:
After my last letter was beyond my control, I became acquainted with some
additional incidents which may interest you.A lady, well known to me, the mother of a large family of children, was
ordered to leave the house in five minutes, as the house must be burned.She collected them all around her to obey the cruel summons.Preparations
were at once made to fire the building in the rooms above and below, and
as the family group walked out of the large and beautiful mansion, the
children burst into loud weeping."I am ashamed of you," said the
tenderly loving, yet heroic woman, "to let these men see you cry," and
every child straightened up, brushed away the falling tears, and bravely
marched out of the doomed home.Daniel moved to the kitchen.An elderly woman, of true Spartan grit, gave one of the house-burners such
a sound drubbing with a heavy broom, that the invader retreated, to leave
the work of destruction to be performed by another party, after the woman
had left to escape the approaching flames of the adjoining buildings.The wife of a clergyman succeeded in preventing one of the enemy from
firing her house, by reminding him that she had fed him during Stuart's
raid in 1862, and that she also ministered to him when he was in the
hospital in this place in the summer of 1863.The man recognized her, and
frankly declared that he could not be so base as to destroy her house, now
that he remembered her kind offices.He had been wounded and made a
prisoner at the battle of Gettysburg, was brought to the hospital here,
and afterwards exchanged.Jacob Hoke, one of our most worthy and enterprising merchants, has
furnished the following statement of facts and incidents for publication
in the Religious Telescope, of Dayton, Ohio.As his residence and store
were located in the centre of the town, he had an opportunity of
witnessing the scenes of the day to greater advantage than most others.I
may as well inclose the principal part of his article, as it explains more
fully several general statements before given, whilst, at the same time,
it brings out some points not alluded to before:
MR.EDITOR: Not having seen in any published report, a satisfactory
account of the late rebel raid on Chambersburg, and being a resident here,
and an eye-witness, I will hastily sketch what came under my own
observation, and what I have from reliable persons.In Thursday's
Philadelphia Inquirer, the correspondent at Frederick stated "that our
troops were in such numbers, and so situated, that for the first time in
the history of the war, glorious news might be expected from the
Shenandoah Valley."Very high military authority, but a few days prior to
the raid, assured us "that every ford of the Potomac was strictly watched;
that it was impossible for the enemy to cross; that if they only would
cross it would be the best thing that could happen, as they could never
get back again."In this way our community was lulled into comparative
security, until on Friday noon, July 29th, it was announced that the
rebels had crossed in considerable force at Williamsport, and also at
Cherry Run.No one could depict the scene of excitement which then
occurred.Merchants and others commenced packing, shipping, and otherwise
disposing of their valuables.At eight o'clock in the evening General Hunter's large wagon train
commenced passing through our town toward Harrisburg, and continued
passing during the greater part of the night.At least fifteen hundred
cavalry and two hundred infantry passed through with that train as guards
and as stragglers.That these men were not stopped here by General Couch,
who did not leave town until three o'clock in the morning, is explained by
the assertion that they were under orders from General Hunter to guard his
train.That train was entirely safe after it had passed through
Chambersburg, and that body of men, judiciously posted, could, with the
artillery in town, and the citizens, have held the enemy in check until
Averill could arrive, who was then ten miles distant, and threatened in
his front by a force of rebels who, it is now evident, were only making a
demonstration to hold him until the other and heavier column under
McCausland and Gilmore, could effect their object in Chambersburg.John went to the office.I sat at my window on the corner of the Diamond and saw them enter.Skirmishers, dismounted, led the advance, followed by cavalry.They came
in simultaneously in all the streets and alleys, and called to each other
as a signal, when they reached the centre of the Diamond.In five minutes
after, a force of about five hundred cavalry filed around the Public
Square, and immediately commenced the work of plunder.Paxton's shoe and hat store; then the liquor stores
adjoining my residence.I met them at my store door and unlocked it, when
about twenty entered and commenced a thorough search.Finding it empty,
they inquired where I had my goods, to which I replied, I had shipped them
to Philadelphia.Returning from the room, I locked the door, and sat down
by it, and entered into conversation with a gentlemanly-looking man, who
informed me he was the Chaplain to McCausland's command.He gave his name
as Johnson, born in Fayette County, Pennsylvania, and said he was a
Methodist preacher.During our conversation an officer dismounted at my
door, tied his horse, and listened to our conversation, where he remained
until the circumstance occurred to which I shall presently refer.The
Chaplain said to me, "Do you reside in this house?"He then said they were rolling several barrels of
combustible matter into the Court House, near my residence; that they were
going to burn it, and I had better try to save something from our house.Leaving these two men at the door, I ran up stairs and carried a load of
precious articles from the parlor table, consisting of a valuable family
Bible, books, photograph album, &c., to a neighbor's house, where I
presumed they would be safe.Next, I
carried some bed-clothing to a different part of the town, and they were
saved.Returning to the house, I encountered a rebel officer in one of the
rooms.Said he: "Do you belong to this house?"On my replying in the
affirmative, he said: "My friend, for God's sake, tell me what you value
most, and I will take it to a place of safety.They are going to burn
every house in the town."I told him if that was the case, it was no use
to remove anything, as they might as well burn here as elsewhere.By this time my wife and two other occupants of the house came down stairs
each with a carpet-bag packed with clothing.Sandra journeyed to the office.The officer followed us to
the door and entreated one of the women to mount his horse and ride him
off, as he declared he did not want him any more in the rebel service.Another man unbuckled his sword and put it in our house, in disgust at the
scene before him.At the door I
found the officer previously referred to, weeping bitterly.The flames
were bursting from buildings all around us."See," said he, "this is awful
work.O, my God, has it come to this, that we have to be made a
band of thieves and robbers by a man like McCausland!"I have seen many
men weep, but never did I see a strong, robust man hide from his sight,
with his handkerchief, the appalling scene, and cry at the top of his
voice, "O God!Imagine the feelings of my family, when an hour before this, without
intending to select any particular passage of God's Word, I read the 138th
Psalm, in which the following words occur: "Though I walk in the midst of
trouble, Thou wilt revive me: Thou shalt stretch forth Thy hand against
the wrath of mine enemies, and Thy right hand shall save me."We knelt in
prayer and surrounded the breakfast-table under the conviction that it was
for the last time in that dear home.Then came the hasty sn |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | In our parlor hung the photographs of several of our
bishops, with many others.These were either carried away by the rebels or
burned.At the door we encountered the incident previously narrated.Leaving the weeping officer, we pressed through flame and smoke, amidst
burning buildings, to the suburbs of the town, where we sat down and
watched four hundred buildings in flames, two hundred and seventy-four of
which were dwelling-houses, the affrighted occupants running wildly
through the streets, carrying clothing and other articles, while screams
of anguish from lost children in pursuit of parents, the feeble efforts of
the old and infirm to carry with them some endeared article from their
blazing homes, the roaring and crackling flames, falling walls and
blinding smoke, all united to form a picture of horror, which no pen could
describe, no painter portray.At about 11
o'clock, the rebels left town, as Averill's scouts captured five rebels
within one mile of the town.In three hours after their exit, Averill
filed through the streets.In our flight through the streets, the rebel officer alluded to followed
us half a square, entreating one of the women to mount and ride off his
horse, declaring that he was done with the rebel service.No sooner did he
turn away, than another rode up and demanded our carpet-bags; we ran on,
and he turned back without them.Brother Winton, while fleeing with his
wife and little children, was stopped by a cavalryman and compelled to
deliver his shoes and hat.Hundreds of robberies occurred of hats, shoes,
watches, money, &c. An old and very estimable lady, who had not walked for
three years, was told to run, as her house was on fire.She replied that
she had not walked for three years.With horrid curses, the wretch poured
powder under her chair, declaring that he would teach her to walk; and
while in the act of applying fire to his train, some neighbors ran in and
carried her away.Mary went back to the bedroom.The burning mass appeared to converge toward the Diamond, forming fearful
whirlwinds, which at times moved eastwardly along the line of Market
street.At one time an immense whirlwind passed over where a large lot of
bedding and wearing apparel had been collected.Large feather beds were
lifted from the ground.Shirts and lighter articles were conveyed with
fearful velocity high in the air, alighting at a great distance from where
they lay.It was grand and fearful, adding to the horror of the scene.In
many cases soldiers set fire to houses, and to the tears and entreaties of
women and children they said their "orders were to burn.We will fire;
you can do as you please after we go away."An officer rode up to our
parsonage, and thus addressed Mrs.Dickson: "Madam, save what you can; in
fifteen minutes we will return and fire your house."The printing establishment of the
German Reformed Church was completely destroyed, with all the valuable
presses, books, the bindery, &c. Dr.Fisher estimates the loss to the
Church at over forty thousand dollars.Those of our readers who know the
town will understand the extent of this destruction from the following:
Beginning at the Presbyterian lecture-room on the north, the fire swept
every building on the west side of Main street, except four, up to
Washington street, four squares; from King street on the north, every
building on the east side of Main street up to Washington, three squares;
from the Franklin Railroad to nearly the top of New England Hill, five
squares, on both sides of the street; also eight or ten dwellings over the
top of New England Hill; from the Market-house down Queen street, both
sides, to the edge-tool factory, and several buildings on the street
running parallel with the creek, up to Market street, with many buildings
on Second street from Market, up near the Methodist Church.The Methodist,
German Reformed, and Lutheran churches saved the parts of the town in
which they were situated from being involved in the general conflagration.The Associate Reformed and Bethel churches, the latter belonging to "The
Church of God," were burned.The Associate Reformed was used as
headquarters for drafted men; hence its destruction.The "Bethel"--so
marked on a stone in the front--was supposed by the fiends to be a <DW64>
church.In most cases fire was kindled in beds or bureaus by matches, and
in balls of cotton saturated in alcohol or kerosene.I saw men and officers drinking liquor as it was carried from the hotels,
the doors of which they broke open.Women were insulted;
cruel taunts and threats were repeatedly made.* * * * *
I have thus hastily sketched the foregoing _facts, for such they are_.The
reader will remember they are written by one who lost heavily by the fire;
is now surrounded by the extended ruins; is aware of the sufferings and
heart-breakings of over two thousand men, women, and children, many of
whom have been reduced from affluence to poverty, are now dependent for
the bread they eat, the clothes they wear, and the houses that shelter
them, upon others more favored.CHAMBERSBURG, August 10, 1864.I also append to the foregoing the following graphic letter in the
Pittsburgh Evening Chronicle, afterwards copied in the Chambersburg
Franklin Repository.Daniel travelled to the office.S. J. Niccolls, the
esteemed pastor of the Presbyterian congregation in this place.Mary journeyed to the hallway."So much misapprehension exists in many quarters concerning the facts
connected with the burning of Chambersburg, that it has become a matter of
justice to a wronged and suffering community to state them fully to the
public.Many things have been written concerning this calamity, true in
themselves, but disconnected from their attending circumstances, and so
the most injurious impressions have been made on the minds of those who
live remote from the border.A connected and truthful narrative of this
sad event, it is hoped, will correct these."The history of the past month commences with the advance of Early up the
Shenandoah, and the invasion of Maryland.The enemy, about fifteen hundred
strong, soon occupied Hagerstown, and it was believed that they intended a
raid on Chambersburg.At this time there were three hundred soldiers in
the place, under command of General Couch, the whole number available in
his department.The citizens rallied around these, and determined to
defend the town.Barricades were thrown across the streets, cannon
planted, houses occupied by sharpshooters, and every preparation made for
defence.Soon, however, the enemy fell back across the Potomac, and the
invasion was declared to be ended.The small body of troops under General
Couch were withdrawn to protect the national Capital, and we were left
defenceless.We were assured, however, that the fords of the Potomac were
well guarded, and a large army lay between us and the rebels.The very
papers in New York which now condemn us for our apathy were daily assuring
us that it was "all quiet on the Potomac," and that the enemy had fallen
back.We were soon startled from our dream of security by the announcement
that General Crooks had been defeated, and the rebels were again advancing
to invade Pennsylvania."We did not then take arms, because it was plain to every one that if the
forces of Crooks and Averill could not resist their advance, it would be
folly in a few citizens to attempt it.We had seen an invasion once
before, and knew what it meant.Anticipating a repetition of the scenes
of last year, the people of the county began to remove their stock and
valuables.In the midst of conflicting rumors nothing could be learned of
the movements of the enemy until Friday, July 29th.In the afternoon of
that day it was known that they had crossed the Potomac, and were
advancing rapidly on Chambersburg.We also learned from Mercersburg that
the invading force was three thousand strong, or as it afterwards
appeared, by actual count, thirty-one hundred, with six pieces of
artillery.To meet this force there were in the town one hundred soldiers,
with two pieces of artillery, and the citizens capable of bearing arms.The number of the latter would not reach three hundred, a large portion of
the population being already in the army, and quite a number absent,
attending to the removal of their horses and valuables.The citizens who
remained were willing to defend the place, had it been deemed practicable
by General Couch; but with this small and inadequate force at his
disposal, it seemed like courting destruction for the town to attempt its
defence.A show of resistance, which none could hope would be successful,
would only give them a pretext for burning.No word could be obtained from
General Averill, who was then near Greencastle, though the most earnest
efforts were made by General Couch to obtain his assistance."At four o'clock A. M. on Saturday the military authorities left, and soon
after the combined forces of McCausland and Bradley Johnson were placed in
line of battle upon the range of hills commanding the town.The Eighth
Virginia regiment, numbering about five hundred men, was thrown forward
into the streets.These were detailed to burn the place....
"The scene that speedily followed is indescribable in its horrors.The
soldiers went from house to house, bursting open the doors with planks and
axes, and entering, split up the furniture to kindle the fire, or else
scattered combustible materials in the closets and along the stairways,
and then applied the torch.In a little over half an hour the whole town
was fired, so complete were their arrangements to accomplish their hellish
designs.No time was given the inhabitants to save anything.The first
warning of danger most of them had was the kindling of the fire in their
houses, and even the few articles that some caught up in their flight were
seized by the soldiers and flung back into the flames.Many such instances
have come to the writer's knowledge, that in their dark malignity almost
surpass belief.The aged, the sick, the dying, and the dead were carried
out from their burning homes; mothers with babes in their arms, and
surrounded by their frightened little ones, fled through the streets,
jeered and taunted by the brutal soldiery.Indeed their escape seemed
almost a miracle, as the streets were in a blaze from one end to the
other, and they were compelled to flee through a long road of fire.Had
not the day been perfectly calm, many must have perished in the flames.Sandra went back to the garden."The conflagration in its height was a scene of surpassing grandeur and
terror.A tall black column of smoke rose up to the very skies; around it
were wrapped long streamers of flames, writhing and twisting themselves
into a thousand fantastic shapes, while through it, as though they were
prayers carried heavenward by the incense of some great altar sacrifice,
there went up on the smoky, flame-riven clouds the cries and shrieks of
the women and children.But the moment of greatest alarm was not reached
until some of the more humane of the rebel officers warned the women to
flee, if they wished to escape violence to their persons.We cannot, in
this letter, describe the scenes of the sad flight which followed."The ferocity of the rebel soldiers during this affair seems almost
incredible.With all their fierce passions unrestrained, they seemed to
revel in the work of destruction.An aged elder of the Presbyterian church
was taken from his house and robbed; the building was fired while his
wife, aged and infirm, was still in it.Upon his return, it was with the
utmost difficulty she was saved.Escape by the street was impossible, and
they were compelled to flee to a little garden in the rear of the house,
where they sat for hours, surrounded by fire.The rebel Gilmore forbade a
lady to remove her trunks from her house, and upon her telling him to his
face what she thought of his conduct, he drew his pistol and declared "he
would blow out her brains if she did not take that back."Many such
instances, and worse, might be recorded.There were, indeed, some among
them who acted humanely, refusing to do the work assigned them, but they
were exceptions."As soon as the town was thoroughly fired at all points, the rebels fell
back.On their way out they burned the residence of the County
Superintendent of Public Schools, because, as they told his family, 'he
had taught <DW64>s.'Two hours after their departure, General Averill
entered the town, and we were once more inside the Union lines."Such is the story of the burning of Chambersburg.These outlines,
however, form a poor picture of the reality.The blackened ruins of this
once beautiful town must first be seen before the calamity can be
understood, and not then, for it is only by looking at it in detail, by
understanding the peculiar sadness there is in each separate loss, and
seeing the strange diversity of sorrow there is in this common woe, that
one can realize the full extent of the ruin.Mary moved to the garden.Eleven squares of blackened
ruins and over three millions of dollars in property consumed is the
outward estimate of the loss.Daniel moved to the kitchen.But who can write the history of two
thousand people suddenly made homeless, dashed from affluence to poverty,
torn violently from the sacred associations of the past, and driven forth
houseless wanderers among strangers?"The question is often asked, 'Who is responsible for this calamity?'Many
coldly and unhesitatingly lay it upon the citizens themselves; but surely
it is not necessary to argue that a few hundred citizens could not have
resisted successfully three thousand veteran soldiers with six pieces of
artillery.Many, too, have blamed General Couch, and false representations
have gone forth that the citizens were greatly incensed against him.The
writer of this letter has had peculiar opportunities of knowing the true
state of the case, and would ask attention to the following facts.When
General Couch took command of this department one year ago, he urged upon
the citizens the necessity of forming organizations for home defence.His
appeal was readily responded to, and all the citizens in the borough
capable of bearing arms enrolled themselves in some organization.General
Couch then made application to the War Department, asking that we might be
uniformed and enrolled in the general service, so that, if we were ever
overpowered, we would be treated as prisoners of war and not as
guerrillas.He then proceeded to organize a
cavalry force, from what was known as the'six months' men,' for the
defence of the border.It was
kept on the border until their term of service expired, when they
re-enlisted for three years.But their new organization was scarcely
completed, before they were taken from this department and sent to the
Army of the Potomac.General Couch then proceeded to organize the 'Provost
regiment, for special service in his department.'John went to the office.This was filled up to
1200 men, and then, as with the rest, taken from him by order of the
Secretary of War.These gone, scarce a corporal's guard was left under his
command."Two weeks before the advance of Early up the valley, General Couch
renewed the request of last year, asking that the citizens might be armed
and enrolled; stating, also, that they were ready to attempt their own
defence.Sandra journeyed to the office.Then followed the request made by Governor
Curtin, and endorsed by General Couch, which is already published in the
Governor's Message.At the time of the invasion of Maryland the whole of
the available force in the Department of the Susquehanna did not exceed
three hundred men; and during the raid on Chambersburg, General Couch had
but one hundred and thirty-five men under his command.Nor is he to blame
for the smallness of this number.He had during this month of alarm
organized six regiments of one hundred days' men; but these, as soon as
equipped, were ordered to Washington by the Secretary of War.We make no comments on the propriety of leaving the
border thus defenceless.Its security is perhaps a small matter compared
with the strengthening of our armies elsewhere.We only say, General Couch
is not to blame.He did everything a brave, earnest and faithful officer
could do to avert this calamity."Many also are under the impression that this place was disloyal, and
consequently they have no sympathy with us in our affliction.John travelled to the hallway.Nothing does
greater injustice to our suffering community than this.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.No town of its
size in |
hallway | Where is John? | Its quotas have always been filled by volunteers, and many
of its best citizens have fallen on the field of battle.Such was and such
is the spirit of the inhabitants.The affliction into which they have
fallen is so great that, were it the result of their own neglect, common
charity should teach others to speak of them kindly.But they do not wish
to be excused; they only ask to be judged by the facts in the case.The
writer has stated such facts as he knows to be true, and subscribes his
name to them.MY DEAR FRIEND:
A gentleman has just handed me the "Lutheran and Missionary" of
Philadelphia, of August 11, in which I find the following excellent
article, which, with a few omissions, is here subjoined.It is from the
pen of our worthy townsman, Mr.John K. Shryock, who, as well as his
brother, Samuel S. Shryock, have for years carried on a large business in
the "Mansion House" as booksellers, and were among the many heavy
sufferers by the fire.After alluding to the circumstances attending the
advent of the insurgents, he says:
"I was in my house with my wife and two little children, and also a lady
whose husband was taken to Richmond last summer, her little boy, and
sister.The earliest warning we received was from the stifling smoke that
poured through the house, and from some one knocking at the door and
crying: 'If there is any one in this house, for God's sake leave, for it
is all on fire.'I gathered my family together, and left with nothing but
the clothes I had upon my person, two of the ladies not having time even
to get their bonnets.Having gotten them out of the house, I ascended the
stairs to see if any had been left behind in the haste.After having
examined all the rooms, I met two of the infuriated wretches rushing up
the stairs as I hurried down.At this time the house was filled with
blinding smoke.I locked the front door, hoping that the unwelcome
visitors would not be able to find their way out."I immediately hurried after my charge, and found them struggling their
way through the streets, thronged with homeless women and children, the
pavements blocked up by the rebels, who had ridden their horses in every
imaginable way to hinder the course of the fugitives.The streets were
filled with smoke and flame, and almost impassable.After we had reached a
temporary shelter, my wife returned to the scene of destruction, as a bird
to its nest, and on her way was stopped before a burning house, in which a
corpse was lying, and a little child at the point of death.The dead
woman was gotten out with difficulty, and buried in the garden without
shroud or coffin, and the child was barely rescued and placed in her arms,
when an officer in front of the house called out to his men: 'Boys,
remember Hunter!'She ran up to him, uncovered the child, and said: 'Here
is a dying baby we have saved from the house you have fired.Shocked, the fellow burst into tears, and answered, 'No,
madam.'He followed her some distance, and leaning down, asked her
earnestly, 'Madam, can't I save something for you?'Her answer was, 'No,
it is too late: I have lost all!'Warned to leave the house in which we
had taken refuge, a party of us left, but soon became separated, and I
lost my little boy, aged about ten, and did not find him till the next
day, at Shippensburg, whither he had walked, a distance of eleven miles.The rest of us kept upon the edge of the burning town, and for three or
four hours watched the progress of the flames."One of the saddest sights I witnessed was the burning of the old Academy.Fifteen years of associations as
scholar and teacher were annihilated in the course of one short hour.My
attention was then drawn to the flag-staff in the centre of the public
square, and we all, of our party as well as others, expressed an ardent
hope that it might stand, from which the American flag might wave, even
over the ruins of the town.At noon we returned to the uninjured house of
a friend, and spent the night in gazing upon the ruins of our once happy
and beautiful town."The conduct of the rebel soldiery was barbarous in the extreme, though
there were many honorable exceptions.Bundles were tired upon women's
backs; ladies were forced to carry back into the houses articles of
clothing they had saved from the flames; drunken wretches danced upon the
furniture and articles of value and ornament; women's persons were
searched in the most indecent manner; oaths and foul language abounded;
aged women were locked in their rooms while their houses were on fire;
trunks were rifled after being dragged by the owners from the ruins;
promises of protection were made to be instantly broken.Everything was
done to add to the terror and confusion of the panic-stricken women and
children.Soon the hunger of the little ones added new horror to the
scene.Families were separated, and distracted fathers and mothers could
be seen everywhere, seeking amid the confusion for those that were
missing.And yet no selfishness was apparent; every one was willing to aid
and sympathize with his neighbor.A
rebel officer stopped me, saying: 'Sir, cannot a little money be raised to
satisfy that brute, McCausland; a very little money would save this end of
the town.'My answer was: 'If ten cents would do it, it would not be
forthcoming.'One rebel came running towards me, wringing his hands,
saying, 'Horrible, horrible!I did not think it could be so bad as this!'Another told me that they had received orders, before they entered the
town, _to burn every house in it_; and yet another informed me that their
object was to effect an entrance during the night, and then burn it.In
some cases the women attempted to extinguish the fire, and were prevented
by threats and personal violence.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.Some were thrust from their houses,
others were struck, and in some instances pistols were drawn upon them.One lady had a bucket of water, which she had brought to extinguish the
fire, thrown in her face.In almost every case the sick and the infirm
were _hindered_ from leaving their homes.There appeared to be a desire to
have some burned, if possible, _by accident_!One rebel, who helped a lady
to save some of her clothing, was seen led out of the town handcuffed.An
officer who suffered himself to be persuaded to save some property, said,
as he left the house he refused to fire, 'Madam, you have saved your
house, but have cost me my commission, and perhaps my life.'A <DW64> saved
his life by dressing himself in woman's clothes, and carrying on his head
a feather bed, thereby hiding his face and hands.Little children cried to
'go home'--the home that was destroyed; old men wept over the town in
which they had lived for three-quarters of a century; citizens looked on
with dismay upon the destruction of their life-long labor and industry.Many fled to the cemetery for refuge, and there, in the midst of death,
was one little life added to the wretched throng.The words of our
Saviour, with regard to the destruction of Jerusalem, were forced upon us:
'Let him which is on the house-top not come down to take anything out of
his house; neither let him which is in the field return back to take his
clothes.And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck
in those days!'"The town soon became one mass of smoke and flame, which ascended straight
up to heaven, as if to call down the vengeance of God upon the
incendiaries.Here and there whirlwinds went up like gigantic corkscrews,
carrying paper and clothing high into the air, and miles into the
surrounding country, as if to bear witness of the foul outrage.I saw
more than one rebel soldier weeping like a child over the desolation he
had made.Hardened as they were to the horrors of war, this was too
terrible even for them to bear.One cried out to me in an agony of
remorse: 'Oh, I never enlisted for this!'"For miles around, the frightened inhabitants fled, they knew not whither;
some continuing their flight until they dropped to the ground with
exhaustion.Pocket-books and watches were taken by wholesale; bundles,
shawls and valises were snatched out of women's and children's hands to be
thrown away.Cows and dogs and cats were burned to death, and the
death-cries of the poor dumb brutes sounded like the groans of human
beings.It is a picture that may be misrepresented, but cannot be
heightened.One young girl was crying; but, meeting a squad of the
marauders she controlled her tears, saying: '_They_ shan't see me cry!'Full grown men, forgetful of themselves, sobbed over the destitution of
those they loved, and self-sacrificing women strove to comfort those of
weaker hearts, who had lost no more than themselves.We know of instances
where persons had saved money and valuables of others, with which they
had, in the excitement, been entrusted, to the exclusion of their own.Her sons will learn to fear "the rod behind
the looking-glass," and to shun evil not only because it is vile, but
because it is improper.Contact with the facts of nature has taught the Californian something of
importance.To have elbow-room is to touch nature at more angles; and
whenever she is touched she is an insistent teacher.Whatever is to be
done, the typical Californian knows how to do it, and how to do it well.He can cinch his own saddle, harness his
own team, bud his own grapevines, cook his own breakfast, paint his own
house; and because he cannot go to the market for every little service,
perforce he serves himself.In dealing with college students in
California, one is impressed by their boundless ingenuity.If anything
needs doing, some student can do it for you.Is it to sketch a
waterfall, to engrave a portrait, to write a sonnet, to mend a saddle,
to sing a song, to build an engine, or to "bust a bronco," there is
someone at hand who can do it, and do it artistically.Varied ingenuity
California demands of her pioneers.Their native originality has been
intensified by circumstances, until it has become a matter of tradition
and habit.The processes of natural selection have favored the survival
of the ingenious, and the quality of adequacy has become hereditary.The possibility of the unearned increment is a great factor in the
social evolution of California.Its influence has been widespread,
persistent, and, in most regards, baneful.The Anglo-Saxon first came to
California for gold to be had for the picking up.The hope of securing
something for nothing, money or health without earning it, has been the
motive for a large share of the subsequent immigration.From those who
have grown rich through undeserved prosperity, and from those who have
grown poor in the quest of it, California has suffered sorely.Even now,
far and wide, people think of California as a region where wealth is not
dependent on thrift, where one can somehow "strike it rich" without that
tedious attention to details and expenses which wears out life in effete
regions such as Europe and the Eastern states.In this feeling there is
just enough of truth to keep the notion alive, but never enough to save
from disaster those who make it a working hypothesis.The hope of great
or sudden wealth has been the mainspring of enterprise in California,
but it has also been the excuse for shiftlessness and recklessness, the
cause of social disintegration and moral decay.The "Argonauts of '49"
were a strong, self-reliant, generous body of men.They came for gold,
and gold in abundance.Most of them found it, and some of them retained
it.Following them came a miscellaneous array of parasites and
plunderers; gamblers, dive-keepers and saloon-keepers, who fed fat on
the spoils of the Argonauts.Every Roaring Camp had its Jack Hamlin as
well as its Flynn of Virginia, John Oakhurst came with Yuba Bill, and
the wild, strong, generous, reckless aggregate cared little for thrift,
and wasted more than they earned.But it is not gold alone that in California has dazzled men with visions
of sudden wealth.Orange groves, peach orchards, prune orchards, wheat
raising, lumbering, horse-farms; chicken-ranches, bee-ranches,
sheep-breeding, seal-poaching, cod-fishing, salmon-canning--each of
these has held out the same glittering possibility.Even the humblest
ventures have caught the prevailing tone of speculation.Industry and
trade have been followed, not for a living, but for sudden wealth, and
often on a scale of personal expenses out of all proportion to the
probable results.In the sixties, when the gold-fever began to subside,
it was found that the despised "cow counties" would bear marvelous crops
of wheat.At once wheat-raising was undertaken on a grand scale.Farms
of five thousand to fifty thousand acres were established on the old
Spanish grants in the valleys of the Coast Range and in the interior,
and for a time wheat-raising on a grand scale took its place along with
the more conventional forms of gambling, with the disadvantage that
small holders were excluded, and the region occupied was not filled up
by homes.The working out of most of the placer mines and the advent of
quartz-crushing with elaborate machinery have changed gold-mining from
speculation to regular business, to the great advantage of the state.In
the same manner the development of irrigation is changing the character
of farming in many parts of California.In the early days fruit-raising
was of the nature of speculation, but the spread of irrigation has
brought it into more wholesome relations.To irrigate a tract of land is
to make its product certain; but at the same time irrigation demands
expenditure of money, and the building of a home necessarily follows.Irrigation thus tends to break up the vast farms into small holdings
which become permanent homes.On land well chosen, carefully planted and thriftily managed, an orchard
of prunes or of oranges, of almonds or apricots, should reward its
possessor with a comfortable living, besides occasionally a generous
profit thrown in.But too often men have not been content with the usual
return, and have planted trees with a view only to the unearned profits.To make an honest living from the sale of oranges or prunes or figs or
raisins is quite another thing from acquiring sudden wealth.When a man
without experience in fruit-raising or in general economy comes to
California, buys land on borrowed capital, plants it without
discrimination, and spends his profits in advance, there can be but one
result.The laws of economics are inexorable even in California.One of
the curses of the state is the "fool fruit-grower," with neither
knowledge nor conscience in the management of his business.Thousands of
trees have been planted on ground unsuitable for the purpose, and
thousands of trees which ought to have done well have died through his
neglect.Through his agency frozen oranges were once sent to Eastern
markets under his neighbor's brands, and most needlessly his varied
follies for a time injured the reputation of the best of fruit.The great body of immigrants to California have been sound and earnest,
fit citizens of the young state, but this is rarely true of seekers of
the unearned increment.No one is more greedy for money than the man who
can never get much and cannot keep the little he has.Rumors of golden
chances have brought in a steady stream of incompetents from all regions
and from all strata of social life.John went to the hallway.From the common tramp to the
inventor of "perpetual motions" in mechanics or in social science, is a
long step in the moral scale, but both are alike in their eagerness to
escape from the "competitive social order" of the East, in which their
abilities found no recognition.Whoever has deservedly failed in the
older states is sure at least once in his life to think of redeeming his
fortunes in California.Once on the Pacific <DW72> the difficulties in
the way of his return seem insurmountable.The dread of the winter's
cold is in most cases a sufficient reason for never going back.Thus San
Francisco, by |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | The
city contains more than four hundred thousand people.Of these, a vast
number, thirty thousand to fifty thousand, it may be, have no real
business in San Francisco.They live from hand to mouth, by odd jobs
that might be better done by better people; and whatever their success
in making a living, they swell the army of discontent, and confound all
attempts to solve industrial problems.In this rough estimate I do not
count San Francisco's own poor, of which there are some but not many,
but only those who have drifted in from the outside.I would include,
however, not only those who are economically impotent, but also those
who follow the weak for predatory ends.In this last category I place a
large number of saloon-keepers, and keepers of establishments far worse,
toward which the saloon is only the first step downward; a class of
so-called lawyers, politicians and agents of bribery and blackmail; a
long line of soothsayers, clairvoyants, lottery agents and joint
keepers, besides gamblers, sweaters, promoters of "medical institutes,"
magnetic, psychical and magic "healers" and other types of unhanged, but
more or less pendable, scoundrels that feed upon the life-blood of the
weak and foolish.The other cities of California have had a similar
experience.Each has its reputation for hospitality, and each has a
considerable population which has come in from other regions because
incapable of making its own way.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.It is not the poor and helpless alone
who are the victims of imposition.Many a well-dressed man or woman can be found in the rooms of the
clairvoyant or the Chinese "doctor."In matters of health, especially,
men grasp at the most unpromising straws.In certain cities of
California there is scarcely a business block that did not contain at
least one human leech under the trade name of "healer," metaphysical,
electrical, astral, divine or what not.And these will thrive so long as
men seek health or fortune with closed eyes and open hands.In no way has the unearned increment been more mischievous than in the
booming of towns.With the growth of towns comes increase in the value
of the holdings of those who hold and wait.John went to the hallway.If the city grows rapidly
enough, these gains may be inordinately great.The marvelous beauty of
Southern California and the charm of its climate have impressed
thousands of people.Two or three times this impression has been
epidemic.At one time almost every bluff along the coast, from Los
Angeles to San Diego and beyond, was staked out in town lots.The
wonderful climate was everywhere, and everywhere men had it for sale,
not only along the coast, but throughout the orange-bearing region of
the interior.Every resident bought lots, all the lots he could hold.Corner lots in San Diego, Del
Mar, Azusa, Redlands, Riverside, Pasadena, anywhere brought fabulous
prices.A village was laid out in the uninhabited bed of a mountain
torrent, and men stood in the streets in Los Angeles, ranged in line,
all night long, to wait their turn in buying lots.Land, worthless and
inaccessible, barren cliffs' river-wash, sand hills, cactus deserts'
sinks of alkali, everything met with ready sale.The belief that
Southern California would be one great city was universal.The desire to
buy became a mania."Millionaires of a day," even the shrewdest lost
their heads, and the boom ended, as such booms always end, in utter
collapse.T. S. Van <DW18>, of San Diego, has written of this episode: "The
money market tightened almost on the instant.From every quarter of the
land the drain of money outward had been enormous, and had been balanced
only by the immense amount constantly coming in.Almost from the day
this inflow ceased money seemed scarce everywhere, for the outgo still
continued.Not only were vast sums going out every day for water-pipe,
railroad iron, cement, lumber, and other material for the great
improvements going on in every direction, most of which material had
already been ordered, but thousands more were still going out for
diamonds and a host of other things already bought--things that only
increase the general indebtedness of community by making those who
cannot afford them imitate those who can.And tens of thousands more
were going out for butter, eggs, pork, and even potatoes and other
vegetables, which the luxurious boomers thought it beneath the dignity
of millionaires to raise."But the normal growth of Los Angeles and her sister towns has gone on,
in spite of these spasms of fever and their consequent chills.Their
real advantages could not be obscured by the bursting of financial
bubbles.By reason of situation and climate they have continued to
attract men of wealth and enterprise, as well as those in search of
homes and health.The search for the unearned increment in bodily health brings many to
California who might better have remained at home.The invalid finds
health in California only if he is strong enough to grasp it.To one who
can spend his life out of doors it is indeed true that "our pines are
trees of healing," but to one confined to the house, there is little
gain in the new conditions.To those accustomed to the close heat of
Eastern rooms the California house in the winter seems depressingly
chilly.I know of few things more pitiful than the annual migration of hopeless
consumptives which formerly took place to Los Angeles, Pasadena, and San
Diego.The Pullman cars in the winter used to be full of sick people,
banished from the East by physicians who do not know what else to do
with their incurable patients.They went to the large hotels of Los
Angeles or Pasadena, to pay a rate they cannot afford.They shivered in
half-warmed rooms; took cold after cold; their symptoms grew alarming;
their money wasted away; and finally, in utter despair, they were
hurried back homeward, perhaps to die on board the train.Or it may be
that they choose cheap lodging-houses, at prices more nearly within
their reach.Here, again, they suffer for want of home food, home
comforts, and home warmth, and the end is just the same.People
hopelessly ill should remain with their friends; even California has no
health to give to those who cannot earn it, in part at least, by their
own exertions.It is true that the "one-lunged people" form a considerable part of the
population of Southern California.Mary travelled to the garden.It is also true that no part of our
Union has a more enlightened or more enterprising population, and that
many of these men and women are now as robust and vigorous as one could
desire.But this happy change is possible only to those in the first
stages of the disease.Out-of-door life and physical activity enable the
system to suppress the germs of disease, but climate without activity
does not cure.So far as climate is concerned, many parts of the arid
regions in Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado, as well as portions of Old
Mexico (Cuernavaca or Morelia, for example) are more favorable than
California, because they are protected from the chill of the sea.Another class of health-seekers receives less sympathy in California,
and perhaps deserves less.Jaundiced hypochondriacs and neurotic wrecks
shiver in California winter boarding-houses, torment themselves with
ennui at the country ranches, poison themselves with "nerve foods," and
perhaps finally survive to write the sad and squalid "truth about
California."Doubtless it is all inexpressibly tedious to them;
subjective woe is always hard to bear--but it is not California.There are others, too, who are disaffected, but I need not stop to
discuss them or their points of view.It is true, in general, that few
to whom anything else is anywhere possible find disappointment in
California.With all this, the social life is, in its essentials, that of the rest
of the United States, for the same blood flows in the veins of those
whose influence dominates it.Under all its deviations and variations
lies the old Puritan conscience, which is still the backbone of the
civilization of the republic.Life in California is a little fresher, a
little freer, a good deal richer, in its physical aspects, and for these
reasons, more intensely and characteristically American.With perhaps
ninety per cent of identity there is ten per cent of divergence, and
this ten per cent I have emphasized even to exaggeration.We know our
friends by their slight differences in feature or expression, not by
their common humanity.Scenery and climate remain, but there is less elbow-room, and the
unearned increment is disappearing.That which is solid will endure; the
rest will vanish.The forces that ally us to the East are growing
stronger every year with the immigration of men with new ideas.The
vigorous growth of the two universities in California insures the
elevation as well as the retention of these ideas.Through their
influence California will contribute a generous share to the social
development of the East, and be a giver as well as a receiver.Today the pressure of higher education is greater to the square mile, if
we pay use such an expression, than anywhere else in our country.Mary went back to the kitchen.In no
other state is the path from the farmhouse to the college so well
trodden as here.It requires no prophet to forecast the educational
pre-eminence of California, for the basis of intellectual development is
already assured.But however close the alliance with Eastern culture, to
the last, certain traits will persist.California is the most
cosmopolitan of all the states of the Union, and such she will remain.Whatever the fates may bring, her people will be tolerant, hopeful, and
adequate, sure of themselves, masters of the present, fearless of the
future.To be a member of the inferior Purrahs, a man must be thirty years of
age; no one under fifty can have a seat in the general Purrah.The
candidate for admission into an inferior Purrah has to undergo a most
severe course of probation, in which all the elements are employed to
try him.Before he is permitted to enter on this course, such of his
relatives as are already members are obliged to pledge themselves for
his fitness, and to swear to take his life if ever he should betray the
secrets of the society.Having passed through the ordeal, he is admitted
into the society and sworn to secrecy and obedience.If he is unmindful
of his oath, he becomes the child of death.When he least expects it a
warrior in disguise makes his appearance and says, "The great Purrah
sends thee death."Every one present departs; no one ventures to make
any opposition, and the victim falls.The subordinate Purrahs punish all crimes committed within their
district, and take care that their sentences are duly executed.They
also settle disputes and quarrels between the leading families.It is only on extraordinary occasions that the great Purrah meets.It
then decides on the punishment of traitors and those who had resisted
its decrees.Frequently too it has to interfere to put an end to wars
between the tribes.When it has met on this account it gives information
to the belligerents, directing them to abstain from hostilities, and
menacing death if a drop more of blood should be spilt.It then inquires
into the causes of the war, and condemns the tribe which is found to
have been the aggressor to a four days' plundering.The warriors to whom
the execution of this sentence is committed must, however, be selected
from a neutral district.They arm and disguise themselves, put
horrible-looking vizards on their faces, and with pitch-torches in their
hands set out by night from the place of assembly.Making no delay, they
reach the devoted district before the break of day, and in parties of
from forty to sixty men, they fall unexpectedly on the devoted tribe,
and, with fearful cries, making known the sentence of the great Purrah,
proceed to put it into execution.The booty is then divided: one half is
given to the injured tribe, the other falls to the great Purrah, who
bestow one half of their share on the warriors who executed their
sentence.Even a single family, if its power should appear to be increasing so
fast as to put the society in fear for its independence, is condemned to
a plundering by the Purrah.It was thus, though under more specious
pretexts, that the Athenian democracy sought to reduce the power of
their great citizens by condemning them to build ships, give theatrical
exhibitions, and otherwise spend their fortunes.Nothing can exceed the dread which the Purrah inspires.The people speak
of it with terror and awe, and look upon the members of it as enchanters
who are in compact with the devil.The Purrah itself is solicitous to
diffuse this notion as much as possible, esteeming it a good mean for
increasing its power and influence.The number of its members is
estimated at upwards of 6000, who recognise each other by certain words
and signs.Its laws and secrets are, notwithstanding the great number of
the members, most religiously concealed from the knowledge of the
uninitiated.The Emperor Lewis the Bavarian--Charles IV.--Wenceslaus--Rupertian
Reformation--Encroachments of the Fehm-courts--Case of Nickel
Weller and the town of Goerlitz--Of the City of Dantzig--Of Hans
David and the Teutonic Knights--Other instances of the presumption
of the Free-counts--Citation of the Emperor Frederic III.--Case of
the Count of Teckenburg.The history of the Fehm-gerichte, previous to the fifteenth century,
offers but few events to detain attention.The Emperor Lewis the
Bavarian appears to have exerted his authority on several occasions in
granting privileges in Westphalia according, as it is expressly stated,
to the Fehm-law.His successor, the luxurious Charles IV., acted with
the same caprice respecting the Fehm-tribunals as he did in every thing
else, granting privileges and revoking them just as it seemed to accord
with his interest at the moment.This monarch attempted also to extend
the Fehm-system beyond Westphalia, deeming it perhaps a good mean for
bringing all Germany under the authority of his patrimonial kingdom of
Bohemia.He therefore gave permission to the Bishop of Hildesheim to
erect two Free-tribunals out of Westphalia.On the representations of
the Archbishop of Cologne and the lords of Westphalia, however, he
afterwards abolished them.Wenceslaus, the son of Charles, acted with his usual folly in the case
of the Fehm-tribunals; he is said, as he could keep nothing secret, to
have blabbed their private sign, and he took on him to make
frei-schoeppen, contrary to the law, out of Westphalia.These schoeppen of
the emperor's making did not, however, meet with much respect from the
genuine ones, as the answer given to the Emperor Rupert by the
Westphalian tribunals evinces.On his asking how they acted with regard
to such schoeppen, their reply was, "We ask them at what court they were
made schoeppen.Should it appear that they were made schoeppen at courts
which had no right so to do, we hang them, in case of their being met in
Westphalia, on the instant, without any mercy."Wenceslaus, little as he
cared about Germany in general, occasionally employed the Fehm-courts
for the furtherance of his plans, and, in the year 1389, he had Count
Henry of Wernengerode tried and hanged for treason by Westphalian
schoeppen.The reign of Wenceslaus is particularly distinguished by its
being the period in which the Archbishop of Cologne arrived at the
important office of lieutenant of the emperor over all the Westphalian
tribunals.The reign of Rupert was, with respect to the Westphalian Fehm-courts,
chiefly remarkable by the reformation of them named from him.This
reformation, which is the earliest publicly-accredited source from which
a knowledge of the Fehm-law can be derived, was made in the year 1404.It is a collection of decisions by which the rights and privileges of a
king of the Romans are ascertained with respect to these tribunals.The Rupertian reformation, and the establishment of the office of
lieutenant in the person of the Archbishop of Cologne, which was
completed by either Rupert or his successor Sigismund, form together an
epoch |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | Hitherto Westphalia alone was
the scene of their operations, and their authority was of evident
advantage to the empire.Their power had now attained its zenith;
confidence in their strength led them to abuse it; and, during the
century which elapsed between the Rupertian reformation and the
establishment of the Perpetual Public Peace and the Imperial Chamber by
the Emperor Maximilian, we shall have to contemplate chiefly their
abuses and assumptions.The right of citation was what was chiefly abused by the Free-courts.Now that they were so formally acknowledged to act under the imperial
authority, they began to regard Westphalia as too narrow a theatre for
the display of their activity and their power.As imperial
commissioners, they maintained that their jurisdiction extended to every
place which acknowledged that of the emperor's, and there was hardly a
corner of Germany free from the visits of their messengers; nay, even
beyond the limits of the empire men trembled at their citations.It was chiefly the towns which were harassed by these citations, which
were frequently issued at the instance of persons whom they had punished
or expelled for their misdeeds.Their power and consequence did not
protect even the greatest: we find, during the fifteenth century, some
of the principal cities of the empire summoned before the tribunals of
Westphalian counts.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.Thus in the records of those times we read of
citations served on Bremen, Luebeck, Augsburg, Nuremberg, Erfurt,
Goerlitz, and Dantzig.Even Prussia and Livonia, then belonging to the
order of the Teutonic knights, were annoyed by their interference.One of the most remarkable cases which this period presents is that of
the uneasiness caused to the town of Goerlitz by means of one of its
inhabitants named Nickel Weller.This man, who was a Westphalian
schoeppe, was accused of having disinterred an unchristened child, and of
having made a candle of the bone of its arm, which he had filled with
the wax of an Easter-taper and with incense, and of having employed it
in a barn in presence of his mother, his wife, and an old peasant, for
magical purposes.As he could not deny the fact, he was, according to
the law of those times, liable to be hanged; but the high-bailiff of
Stein, and some other persons of consequence, interfering in his favour,
the magistrates contented themselves with expelling him from the town
and confiscating his goods.As it afterwards proved, they would have
acted more wisely had they condemned him to perpetual imprisonment.Weller immediately repaired to Bresslau, and besought the council, the
Bishop of Waradein, and the imperial chancellor, to advocate his cause.They acceded to his desire; but the magistrates of Goerlitz perfectly
justified their conduct.Weller, still indisposed to rest, applied to
the pope, Innocent VIII., asserting that he could not to any purpose
bring an accusation against the council of Goerlitz within the town of
the diocese of Meissen, and that he had no chance of justice there.The
pope forthwith named John de' Medici and Dr.John went to the hallway.Nicholas Tauchen of
Bresslau spiritual commissioners in this affair, and these desired the
high-bailiff of Stein to do his best that Weller should recover his
rights within the space of a month, on his taking his oath to the truth
of his statements, otherwise they should be obliged themselves to take
measures for that purpose.From some unassigned cause, however, nothing came of this, and Weller
once more addressed himself to the pope, with whom the Bishop of Ostia
became his advocate.He was re-admitted into the bosom of the Church;
but the decree of the magistracy of Goerlitz still remained in force, and
the new commissioners appointed by the pope even confirmed it.Finding that he had nothing to expect from papal interference, Weller
had at last recourse to the Fehm-tribunals, and on the 3d May, 1490,
John of Hulschede, count of the tribunal at Brackel, cited the
burgomasters, council, and all the lay inhabitants of Goerlitz above the
age of eighteen years, before his tribunal.This summons was served in
rather a remarkable manner, for it was found fastened to a twig on a
hedge, on a farm belonging to a man named Wenzel Emmerich, a little
distance from the town.As by the Golden Bull of the Emperor Charles IV., and moreover by a
special privilege granted by Sigismund, Goerlitz was exempted from all
foreign jurisdiction, the magistracy informed Vladislaus, King of
Bohemia, of this citation, and implored his mediation.The Bohemian
monarch accordingly addressed himself to the tribunal at Brackel, but
George Hackenberg, who was at that time the free-count of that court,
Hulschede being dead, did not even deign to give him an answer.Mary travelled to the garden.Meanwhile the appointed period had elapsed without the people of Goerlitz
having appeared to the summons, and Weller, charging them with
disobedience and contempt of court, prayed that they might be condemned
in all the costs and penalties thereby incurred, and that he might be
himself permitted to proceed with his complaint.To this end he
estimated the losses and injuries which he had sustained at 500 Rhenish
florins, and made a declaration to that effect on oath, with two
joint-swearers.He was accordingly authorised by the court to indemnify
himself in any manner he could at the expense of the people of Goerlitz.It was farther added that, if any one should impede Weller in the
prosecution of his rights, that person should _ipso facto_ fall under
the heavy displeasure of the empire and the pains and penalties of the
tribunal at Brackel, and be moreover obliged to pay all the costs of the
accuser.On the 16th August of the same year, the count set a new peremptory term
for the people of Goerlitz, assuring them that, in case of disobedience,
"he should be obliged, though greatly against his inclination, to pass
the heaviest and most rigorous sentence on their persons, their lives,
and their honour."The citation was this time found on the floor of the
convent church.The council in consternation applied to the Archbishop
of Cologne and to the free-count himself, to be relieved from this
condition, but in vain; the count did not condescend to take any notice
of their application, and when they did not appear at the set time,
declared the town of Goerlitz outlawed for contumacy.It appears that Weller had, for some cause or other, brought an
accusation against the city of Bresslau also; for in the published
decree of outlawry against Goerlitz it was included.By this act it was
prohibited to every person, under penalty of similar outlawry, to
harbour any inhabitant of either of these towns; to eat or drink, or
hold any intercourse with them, till they had reconciled themselves to
the Fehm-tribunals, and given satisfaction to the complainant.Weller
himself stuck up a copy of this decree on a market-day at Leipzig; but
it was instantly torn down by some of the people of Goerlitz who happened
to be there.Mary went back to the kitchen.The two towns of Goerlitz and Bresslau held a consultation at Liegnitz,
to devise what measures it were best to adopt in order to relieve
themselves from this system of persecution.They resolved that they
would jointly and separately defend themselves and their proceedings by
a public declaration, which should be posted up in Goerlitz, Bresslau,
Leipzig, and other places.They also resolved to lay their griefs before
the Diet at Prague, and pray for its intercession with the Archbishop of
Cologne and the Landgraf of Hessen.They accordingly did so, and the
Diet assented to their desire; but their good offices were of no avail,
and the answer of the landgraf clearly showed, either that he had no
authority over his count, or that he was secretly pleased with what he
had done.The indefatigable Weller now endeavoured to seize some of the people of
Bresslau and Goerlitz, in Hein and other places in Meissen.But they
frustrated his plans by obtaining a promise of protection and
safe-conduct from the Duke George.Weller, however, did not desist, and
when Duke Albert came from the Netherlands to Meissen, he sought and
obtained his protection.But here again he was foiled; for, when the
high-bailiff and council of Goerlitz had informed that prince of the real
state of the case, he withdrew his countenance from him.Wearied out by
this ceaseless teasing, the towns applied, through the king of Bohemia,
to the Emperor Frederic III.for a mandate to all the subjects of the
empire, and an inhibition to the tribunal at Brackel and all the
free-counts and schoeppen.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.These, when obtained, they took care to have
secretly served on the council of Dortmund and the free-count of
Brackel.By these means they appear to have put an end to their
annoyances for the remainder of Weller's life.But, in the year 1502,
his son and his son-in-law revived his claims on Goerlitz.Count Ernest
of Hohenstein interceded for them; but the council adhered firmly to
their previous resolution, and declared that it was only to their own or
to higher tribunals that they must look for relief.The matter then lay
over for ten years, when it was again stirred by one Guy of Taubenheim,
and was eventually settled by an amicable arrangement.As we have said, the Fehm-tribunals extended their claims of
jurisdiction even to the Baltic.We find that a citizen of the town of
Dantzig, named Hans Holloger, who was a free schoeppe, was cited to
appear before the tribunal of Elleringhausen, under the hawthorn,
"because he had spoken what he ought not to have spoken about the Secret
Tribunal."This might seem just enough, as he belonged to the society;
but the town-council were commanded, under a penalty of fifty pounds of
fine gold, to cast the accused into prison till he had given security
for standing his trial.Even the powerful order of the Teutonic Knights, who were the masters of
Prussia and Livonia, did not escape being annoyed by the Fehm-tribunals.How little their power availed against that formidable jurisdiction is
evinced by the answer made by the Grand Master to the towns which sued
to him for protection.you have besought us to
protect you therefrom; we would cheerfully do it knew we but ways and
means thereto."And when he wrote to Mangolt, the count of the tribunal
at Freyenhagen, warning him against summoning before him the subjects of
the order, the latter haughtily replied, "You have your rights from the
empire, and I have power to judge over all who hold of the empire."The following very curious case occurred in the first half of the
fifteenth century:--
A shopkeeper at Liebstadt died very much indebted to the two officers of
the Teutonic order, whose business it was to keep the small towns in
Prussia supplied with mercantile goods, and they accordingly seized on
the effects which he had left behind him.These, however, were not
sufficient to satisfy even the demands of one of them, much less of
both, and they had made up their minds to rest content with the loss,
when, to their surprise, Hans David, the son of the deceased, came
forward with an account against the order of such amount, that, as it
was observed, if all the houses in the town were sold, and all the
townsmen taxed to the utmost, the produce would not discharge the
one-half of it.He however produced a document purporting to be a bond
of the order.This instrument bore all the marks of falsification; it
was full of erasures and insertions; among the witnesses to it, some
were set down as priors who were only simple brethren of the order;
there were the names of others who had never seen it; it was asserted to
have been attested and verified by the tribunal at Passnar, but in the
records of that court there were not the slightest traces of it; the
seal of the Grand Master, which was appended to every document of any
importance, was wanting.Of course payment was resisted, but Hans David
was told to pursue his claim, if he pleased, before the emperor and the
pope, whom the order recognised as their superiors.As Hans David was under the protection of the king of Poland, he had
recourse to that prince; but he declined interfering any farther than to
apply for a safe-conduct for him that he might apply for a new inquiry.The Grand Master, on application being made to him, swore on his honour
that he owed to the complainant nothing, and that the bond was a
forgery; he moreover promised to answer the charge in any fit place that
the complainant might select; nay, even in Prussia, and he granted him a
safe-conduct as before.It is not known what course Hans David now adopted; but nine years
afterwards (1441) we find him addressing himself to the Free-tribunal at
Freyenhagen, whose count, the notorious Mangolt, forthwith issued his
citations, "because, as he expressed himself, the order judges with the
sword and gentle murder and burning."The Grand Master, indignant at
this piece of arrogance, immediately brought the matter before the
assembly of the free-counts at Coblentz, who declared the proceedings
null, and Mangolt liable to punishment, as the knights were spiritual
persons.He moreover applied to the emperor, who, to gratify him, issued
a mandate, addressed to all princes of the empire, declaring the act of
Mangolt to be a piece of iniquity, and null and void.Hans David was now cast into prison at Cologne, and, notwithstanding a
prohibition of the Free-tribunal, was detained there for two years.Existing documents attest (though the fact is inexplicable) that the
emperor directed the Archbishop of Cologne and the Margraf of Baden to
examine anew into the affair, and to send the acts into the imperial
chancery, and, finally, to set the complainant free on his oath, or on
his giving bail to appear at Nuremberg.As this proceeding can only be
ascribed to the influence of the Secret Tribunals, bent on annoying the
order, it serves to show what their power and consequence must have been
at that time.Two years afterwards it was clearly proved at Vienna that the bond had
been forged, at the desire of Hans David, by a scholar of Elbingen,
named Rothofe.As the case against the former was now so plain, it might
be supposed that he would be punished at once.Instead of that, the
emperor referred the parties to the pope, as Hans David had struck a
prior of the order, and this last was not content with the satisfaction
accorded by the emperor.The cause of the order was triumphant in Rome also, yet still Hans David
found means to keep off the execution of the sentence already passed on
him at Vienna.It was not till after the death of the then Grand Master
that final judgment was formally delivered by Cardinal Jossi, and Hans
David, his comrade Paul Frankleuen, and the Count Mangolt, were
condemned to perpetual silence, and to payment of the sum of 6,000
Rhenish florins to the order, and, in case of disobedience, they were
declared to be outlawed.All this, however, did not yet avail, and two
years afterwards Jossi was obliged to apply to the emperor for the aid
of the temporal arm for the execution of the sentence.John moved to the garden.The chaplain of
the order at Vienna also found that Hans David had still the art to
deceive many and gain them over to his cause, and he accordingly took
care to have the whole account of his conduct posted up on the
church-doors.Still the unwearied Hans David did not rest.He now went to the
Free-tribunal at Waldeck, and had the art to deceive the count by his
false representations.He assured him that the order had offered him no
less than 15,000 florins and an annuity, if he would let |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | The order however succeeded here again in detecting and
exposing his arts, and the count honestly confessed that he had been
deceived by him.He cast him off forthwith, and Hans David, ceasing to
annoy the order, devoted himself to astrology and conjuring for the rest
of his days[130].[Footnote 130: The following is one of his predictions, delivered by
him, under the name of Master Von Dolete, in the year 1457: "In the
ensuing month, September, the sun will appear like a black dragon; cruel
winds will blow, the sea will roar, and men will be knocked to pieces by
the wind.The sun will then be turned to blood; that betokeneth war in
the East and West.A mighty emperor will die; the earth will quake, and
few men will remain alive.Wherefore secure your houses and chambers;
lay up provisions for thirty days in caverns," &c., &c. The arts of
knaves and the language of impostors are the same in all ages and
countries.]He had, however, caused the order abundance of uneasiness and expense.Existing documents prove that this affair cost them no less than upwards
of 1580 ducats, and 7000 florins, which must be in a great measure
ascribed to the secret machinations of the Free-tribunals, anxious to
depress the Teutonic Knights, who stood in their way.In 1410 the Wild and Rhein Graf was summoned before the tribunal at
Nordernau, and, in 1454, the Duke of Saxony before that at Limburg.The
Elector-Palatine found it difficult, in 1448, to defend himself against
a sentence passed on him by one of the Fehm-courts.Duke Henry of
Bavaria found it necessary, on the following occasion, actually to
become a frei-schoeppe in order to save himself.One Gaspar, of
Torringen, had accused him before the tribunal of Waldeck of "having
taken from him his hereditary office of Chief Huntsman; of having seized
and beaten his huntsmen and servants, taken his hounds, battered down
his castle of Torringen, and taken from his wife her property and
jewels, in despite of God, honour, and ancient right."Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.The free-count
forthwith cited the duke, who applied to the emperor Sigismund, and
procured an inhibition to the count.The duke found it necessary,
notwithstanding, to appear before the court; but he adopted the
expedient of getting himself made a frei-schoeppe, and then, probably in
consequence of his rank and influence, procured a sentence to be passed
in accordance with his wishes.Gaspar, who was probably an injured man,
appealed to the emperor, who referred the matter to the Archbishop of
Cologne, and we are not informed how it ended.But the audacity of the free-counts went so far as even to cite the head
of the empire himself before their tribunals.The imperial chancery
having, for just and good cause, declared several free-counts and their
Tribunal-lord, Walrabe of Waldeck, to be outlawed, three free-counts
had the hardihood, in 1470, to cite the emperor Frederic III., with his
chancellor, the Bishop of Passau, and the assessors of the
chancery-court, to appear before the free-tribunal between the gates of
Wuennenberg in the diocese of Paderborn, "there to defend his person and
highest honour under penalty of being held to be a disobedient emperor;"
and on his not appearing, they had the impudence to cite him again,
declaring that, if he did not appear, justice should take its course.Feeble, however, as was the character of the emperor, he did not give
way to such assumptions.Even robbery and spoliation could find a defence with the Fehm-courts.Towards the end of the thirteenth century a count of Teckenburg
plundered and ravaged the diocese of Muenster.The bishop assembled his
own people and called on his allies to aid him, and they took two
castles belonging to the count and pushed him to extremity.To extricate
himself he accused the bishop, and all those who were with him, before
his Fehm-court, and though there were among them the Bishop of
Paderborn, three counts, and several knights, the free-count had the
boldness to cite them all to appear and defend their honour.The affair
was eventually amicably arranged and the citation recalled.These instances may suffice to show how far the Fehm-tribunals had
departed from the original object of their institution, and how corrupt
and iniquitous they were become.Cause of the degeneracy of the Fehm-courts--Attempts at
reformation--Causes of their high reputation--Case of the Duke of
Wuertemberg--Of Kerstian Kerkerink--Causes of the decline of the
Fehm-jurisdiction.The chief cause of the degeneracy of the Fehm-courts was the admission
of improper persons into the society.Originally, as we have seen, no
man was admitted to become a schoeppe without producing satisfactory
evidence as to the correctness of his character; but now, in the case of
either count or schoeppe, a sufficient sum of money availed to supersede
inquiry, and the consequence was that men of the most disgraceful
characters frequently presided at the tribunals and wielded the
formidable powers of the society.A writer in the reign of Sigismund
says, "that those who had gotten authority to hang men were hardly
deserving enough to keep pigs; that they were themselves well worthy of
the gallows if one cast a glance over their course of life; that they
left not unobserved the mote in their brother's eye, but overlooked the
beam in their own, &c."And it required no small courage in the writer
thus to express himself; for, according to his own testimony, people
then hardly ventured even to speak of the Secret Tribunals, so great was
the awe in which they were held.John went to the hallway.The consequence was that justice was not to be had at any tribunal which
was presided over by corrupt judges, as they selected assessors, and
even by-standers, of the same character with themselves, and whatever
verdict they pleased was found.The tribunal-lord generally winked at
their proceedings, while the right of appeal to the emperor was treated
with little respect; for these monarchs had generally affairs of more
immediate importance to themselves to occupy their attention.The right
of exemption was also trampled on; sovereign princes were, as we have
seen, cited before the tribunals; so also were the Jews.Purely civil
matters were now maintained to belong to the Fehm-jurisdiction, and
parties in such cases were cited before the tribunals, and _forfehmed_
in case of disobedience.In short, the Fehm-jurisdiction was now become
a positive evil instead of being, as heretofore, a benefit to the
country.Various attempts were doubtless made to reform the Fehm-law and
tribunals, such as the Arensberg reformation, the Osnaburgh regulation,
and others, but to little purpose.The system, in fact, was at variance
with the spirit which was now beginning to prevail, and could not be
brought to accord with it.Before we proceed to the decline of the society, we will pause a moment
to consider the causes of the great reputation and influence which it
obtained and exercised during the period in which it flourished.The first and chief cause was the advantage which it was found to be of
for the maintenance of social order and tranquillity.Mary travelled to the garden.In the very worst
and most turbulent times a portion of mankind will always be found
desirous of peace and justice, even independently of any private
interest; another portion, feeling themselves the victims of oppression,
will gladly catch at any hope of protection; even the mighty and the
oppressive themselves will at times view with satisfaction any
institution which may avail to shield them against power superior to
their own, or which they conceive may be made the instrument of
extending and strengthening their consequence.Mary went back to the kitchen.The Fehm-jurisdiction
was calculated to suit all these orders of persons.The fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries were the most anarchic periods of Germany; the
imperial power was feeble to control; and the characters of most of the
emperors were such as to render still more unavailing the little
authority which, as heads of the empire, they possessed.Sensible of
their weakness, these monarchs generally favoured the Fehm-tribunals,
which so freely, and even ostentatiously, recognised the imperial
superiority, as long as it did not seek to control them or impede them
in their proceedings.The knowledge which, if initiated, they could
derive of the crimes and misdemeanors committed in the empire, and the
power of directing the arms of the society against evil-doers, were also
of no small importance, and they gradually became of opinion that their
own existence was involved in that of the Fehm-courts.The nobles of
Westphalia, in like manner, found their advantage in belonging to the
society, and the office of tribunal-lord was, as we have seen, one of
influence and emolument.But it was the more helpless and oppressed classes of society, more
especially the unhappy serfs, that most rejoiced in the existence of the
Fehm-tribunals; for there only could they hope to meet with sure redress
when aggrieved, and frequently was a cause, when other courts had been
appealed to in vain, brought before the Secret Tribunal, which judged
without respect of persons.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.The accuser had farther not to fear the
vengeance of the evil-doer, or his friends and dependents; for his name
was kept a profound secret if the proofs which he could furnish were
sufficient to justify the inquisitorial process already described, and
thus the robber-noble, or the feudal tyrant, often met his merited
punishment at a time when he perhaps least dreaded it, and when he held
his victim, whose cries to justice had brought it on him, in the
greatest contempt; for, like the Nemesis, or the "gloom-roaming" Erinnys
of antiquity, the retributive justice of the Fehm-tribunals moved to
vengeance with stealthy pace, and caught its victim in the midst of his
security.A second cause was the opinion of these courts having been instituted by
Charles the Great, a monarch whose memory was held in such high
estimation and such just veneration during the middle ages.Emperors
thought themselves bound to treat with respect the institution of him
from whom they derived their authority; and the clergy themselves,
exempt from its jurisdiction, were disposed to view with favour an
institution established by the monarch to whom the Church was so deeply
indebted, and of whose objects the punishment of heretics was one of the
most prominent.A third, and not the least important cause, was the excellent
organization of the society, which enabled it to give such effect to its
decrees, and to which nothing in those times presented any parallel.The
veil of secrecy which enveloped all its proceedings, and the number of
agents ready to execute its mandates, inspired awe; the strict inquiry
which was known to be made into the character of a man before he was
admitted into it gained it respect.Its sentences were, though the
proofs were unknown, believed to have emanated from justice; and bad men
trembled, and good men rejoiced, as they beheld the body of a criminal
suspended from a tree, and the schoeppe's knife stuck beside it to
intimate by whom he had been judged and condemned.The reign of the Emperor Maximilian was a period of great reform in
Germany, and his establishment of the Perpetual Public Peace, and of
the Imperial Chamber, joined with other measures, tended considerably to
alter and improve the condition of the empire.The Fehm-tribunals
should, as a matter of prudence, have endeavoured to accommodate
themselves to the new order of things; but this is a part of wisdom of
which societies and corporate bodies are rarely found capable; and,
instead of relaxing in their pretensions, they even sought to extend
them farther than before.Under their usual pretext--the denial of
justice--they extended their citations to persons and places over which
they had no jurisdiction, and thereby provoked the enmity and excited
the active hostility of cities and powerful territorial lords.John moved to the garden.The most remarkable cases which this period presents of the perversion
of the rights and powers of the Fehm-tribunals are the two following:--
Duke Ulrich of Wuertemberg lived unhappily with his duchess Sabina.There
was at his court a young nobleman named Hans Hutten, a member of an
honourable and powerful family, to whose wife the duke was more
particular in his attentions than could be agreeable to a husband.The
duchess, on her side, testified a particular esteem for Hans Hutten, and
the intimacy between them was such as the duke could not forgive.Hutten
was either so vain or so inconsiderate as to wear publicly on his finger
a valuable ring which had been given to him by the duchess.This filled
up the measure of the jealousy and rage of the duke, and one day, at a
hunting-party in the wood of Bebling, he contrived to draw Hutten away
from the rest of the train, and, taking him at unawares, ran him through
with his sword; he then took off his girdle, and with it suspended him
from one of the oak-trees in the wood.Daniel moved to the kitchen.When the murder was discovered he
did not deny it, but asserted that he was a free schoeppe, and had
performed the deed in obedience to a mandate of the Secret Tribunal, to
which he was bound to yield obedience.This tale, however, did not
satisfy the family of Hutten, and they were as little content with the
proposal made by the murderer of giving them satisfaction before a
Westphalian tribunal.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.They loudly appealed to the emperor for justice,
and the masculine eloquence of Ulrich von Hutten interested the public
so strongly in their favour, that the emperor found himself obliged to
issue a sentence of outlawry against the Duke of Wuertemberg.At length,
through the mediation of Cardinal Lang, an accommodation both with the
Hutten family and the duchess was effected; but the enmity of the former
was not appeased, and they some time afterwards lent their aid to effect
the deposition of the duke and the confiscation of his property.It would seem that the Fehm-tribunals would have justified the
assassination committed by the duke, at least that all confidence in
their justice was now gone; and, at this period, even those writers who
are most lavish in their praises of the schoeppen of the olden time can
find no language sufficiently strong to describe the iniquity of those
of their own days.It was now become a common saying that the course of
a Fehm-court was first to hang the accused and then to examine into the
charges against him.By a solemn recess of the Diet at Triers, in 1512,
it was declared "that by the Westphalian tribunals many an honest man
had lost his honour, body, life, and property;" and the Archbishop of
Cologne, who must have known them well, shortly afterwards asserted,
among other charges, in a capitulation which he issued, that "by very
many they were shunned and regarded as seminaries of villains."The second case to which we alluded affords a still stronger proof of
their degeneracy.A man named Kerstian Kerkerink, who lived near the town of Muenster, was
accused, and probably with truth, of having committed repeated acts of
adultery.The Free-tribunal of Muenster determined to take cognizance of
the affair, and they sent and had him taken out of his bed in the dead
of the night.Why should I grieve myself; who never did willingly grieve any
other!One thing rejoices one and another thing another.As for me, this
is my joy, if my understanding be right and sound, as neither averse
from any man, nor refusing any of those things which as a man I am
subject unto; if I can look upon all things in the world meekly and
kindly; |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | This time that is now present, bestow thou upon thyself.They that
rather hunt for fame after death, do not consider, that those men that
shall be hereafter, will be even such, as these whom now they can so
hardly bear with.But to
consider the thing in itself, if so many with so many voices, shall make
such and such a sound, or shall have such and such an opinion concerning
thee, what is it to thee?Take me and throw me where thou wilt: I am indifferent.For there
also I shall have that spirit which is within me propitious; that is
well pleased and fully contented both in that constant disposition, and
with those particular actions, which to its own proper constitution are
suitable and agreeable.Is this then a thing of that worth, that for it my soul should
suffer, and become worse than it was?as either basely dejected, or
disordinately affected, or confounded within itself, or terrified?What
can there be, that thou shouldest so much esteem?Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.Nothing can happen unto thee, which is not incidental unto thee, as
thou art a man.As nothing can happen either to an ox, a vine, or to
a stone, which is not incidental unto them; unto every one in his own
kind.John went to the hallway.If therefore nothing can happen unto anything, which is not both
usual and natural; why art thou displeased?Sure the common nature
of all would not bring anything upon any, that were intolerable.If
therefore it be a thing external that causes thy grief, know, that it is
not that properly that doth cause it, but thine own conceit and opinion
concerning the thing: which thou mayest rid thyself of, when thou wilt.But if it be somewhat that is amiss in thine own disposition, that doth
grieve thee, mayest thou not rectify thy moral tenets and opinions.But
if it grieve thee, that thou doest not perform that which seemeth unto
thee right and just, why doest not thou choose rather to perform it than
to grieve?Mary travelled to the garden.But somewhat that is stronger than thyself doth hinder thee.Let it not grieve thee then, if it be not thy fault that the thing is
not performed.'Yea but it is a thing of that nature, as that thy life
is not worth the while, except it may be performed.'If it be so, upon
condition that thou be kindly and lovingly disposed towards all men,
thou mayest be gone.For even then, as much as at any time, art thou in
a very good estate of performance, when thou doest die in charity with
those, that are an obstacle unto thy performance.Remember that thy mind is of that nature as that it becometh
altogether unconquerable, when once recollected in herself, she seeks no
other content than this, that she cannot be forced: yea though it so
fall out, that it be even against reason itself, that it cloth bandy.How much less when by the help of reason she is able to judge of things
with discretion?And therefore let thy chief fort and place of defence
be, a mind free from passions.A stronger place, (whereunto to make his
refuge, and so to become impregnable) and better fortified than this,
hath no man.He that seeth not this is unlearned.Mary went back to the kitchen.He that seeth it, and
betaketh not himself to this place of refuge, is unhappy.Keep thyself to the first bare and naked apprehensions of things,
as they present themselves unto thee, and add not unto them.It is
reported unto thee, that such a one speaketh ill of thee.Well; that he
speaketh ill of thee, so much is reported.But that thou art hurt
thereby, is not reported: that is the addition of opinion, which thou
must exclude.That he is sick, I see, but
that he is in danger of his life also, I see it not.Thus thou must use
to keep thyself to the first motions and apprehensions of things, as
they present themselves outwardly; and add not unto them from within
thyself through mere conceit and opinion.Or rather add unto them: hut
as one that understandeth the true nature of all things that happen in
the world.Add not presently speaking unto thyself,
What serve these things for in the world?For, this, one that is
acquainted with the mysteries of nature, will laugh at thee for it; as a
carpenter would or a shoemaker, if meeting in either of their shops with
some shavings, or small remnants of their work, thou shouldest blame
them for it.And yet those men, it is not for want of a place where to
throw them that they keep them in their shops for a while: but the
nature of the universe hath no such out-place; but herein doth consist
the wonder of her art and skill, that she having once circumscribed
herself within some certain bounds and limits, whatsoever is within her
that seems either corrupted, or old, or unprofitable, she can change it
into herself, and of these very things can make new things; so that she
needeth not to seek elsewhere out of herself either for a new supply of
matter and substance, or for a place where to throw out whatsoever is
irrecoverably putrid and corrupt.Thus she, as for place, so for matter
and art, is herself sufficient unto herself.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Not to be slack and negligent; or loose, and wanton in thy
actions; nor contentious, and troublesome in thy conversation; nor to
rove and wander in thy fancies and imaginations.Not basely to contract
thy soul; nor boisterously to sally out with it, or furiously to launch
out as it were, nor ever to want employment.'They kill me, they cut my flesh; they persecute my person with
curses.'May not thy mind for all this continue pure,
prudent, temperate, just?As a fountain of sweet and clear water, though
she be cursed by some stander by, yet do her springs nevertheless still
run as sweet and clear as before; yea though either dirt or dung be
thrown in, yet is it no sooner thrown, than dispersed, and she cleared.What then must I do, that I
may have within myself an overflowing fountain, and not a well?Beget
thyself by continual pains and endeavours to true liberty with charity,
and true simplicity and modesty.John moved to the garden.He that knoweth not what the world is, knoweth not where he himself
is.And he that knoweth not what the world was made for, cannot possibly
know either what are the qualities, or what is the nature of the world.Now he that in either of these is to seek, for what he himself was made
is ignorant also.What then dost thou think of that man, who proposeth
unto himself, as a matter of great moment, the noise and applause
of men, who both where they are, and what they are themselves, are
altogether ignorant?Dost thou desire to be commended of that man, who
thrice in one hour perchance, doth himself curse himself?Dost thou
desire to please him, who pleaseth not himself?or dost thou think that
he pleaseth himself, who doth use to repent himself almost of everything
that he doth?Daniel moved to the kitchen.Not only now henceforth to have a common breath, or to hold
correspondency of breath, with that air, that compasseth us about; but
to have a common mind, or to hold correspondency of mind also with that
rational substance, which compasseth all things.For, that also is of
itself, and of its own nature (if a man can but draw it in as he should)
everywhere diffused; and passeth through all things, no less than the
air doth, if a man can but suck it in.Wickedness in general doth not hurt the world.Particular
wickedness doth not hurt any other: only unto him it is hurtful,
whosoever he be that offends, unto whom in great favour and mercy it is
granted, that whensoever he himself shall but first desire it, he may be
presently delivered of it.Unto my free-will my neighbour's free-will,
whoever he be, (as his life, or his bode), is altogether indifferent.For though we are all made one for another, yet have our minds and
understandings each of them their own proper and limited jurisdiction.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.For else another man's wickedness might be my evil which God would not
have, that it might not be in another man's power to make me unhappy:
which nothing now can do but mine own wickedness.And indeed it is diffused but
not effused.For that diffusion of it is a [-r~Jo-tc] or an extension.For therefore are the beams of it called [~i-~m'~] from the word
[~KTEIVEO-Oa,,] to be stretched out and extended.Now what a sunbeam is,
thou mayest know if thou observe the light of the sun, when through some
narrow hole it pierceth into some room that is dark.For it is always in
a direct line.And as by any solid body, that it meets with in the
way that is not penetrable by air, it is divided and abrupted, and yet
neither slides off, or falls down, but stayeth there nevertheless: such
must the diffusion in the mind be; not an effusion, but an extension.What obstacles and impediments soever she meeteth within her way, she
must not violently, and by way of an impetuous onset light upon them;
neither must she fall down; but she must stand, and give light unto that
which doth admit of it.For as for that which doth not, it is its own
fault and loss, if it bereave itself of her light.He that feareth death, either feareth that he shall have no sense at
all, or that his senses will not be the same.Whereas, he should rather
comfort himself, that either no sense at all, and so no sense of evil;
or if any sense, then another life, and so no death properly.All men are made one for another: either then teach them better, or
bear with them.The motion of the mind is not as the motion of a dart.For
the mind when it is wary and cautelous, and by way of diligent
circumspection turneth herself many ways, may then as well be said to
go straight on to the object, as when it useth no such circumspection.To pierce and penetrate into the estate of every one's
understanding that thou hast to do with: as also to make the estate of
thine own open, and penetrable to any other.Daniel moved to the bedroom.THE NINTH BOOK
I. He that is unjust, is also impious.For the nature of the universe,
having made all reasonable creatures one for another, to the end that
they should do one another good; more or less according to the several
persons and occasions but in nowise hurt one another: it is manifest
that he that doth transgress against this her will, is guilty of impiety
towards the most ancient and venerable of all the deities.For the
nature of the universe, is the nature the common parent of all, and
therefore piously to be observed of all things that are, and that which
now is, to whatsoever first was, and gave it its being, hath relation
of blood and kindred.She is also called truth and is the first cause
of all truths.He therefore that willingly and wittingly doth lie, is
impious in that he doth receive, and so commit injustice: but he that
against his will, in that he disagreeth from the nature of the universe,
and in that striving with the nature of the world he doth in his
particular, violate the general order of the world.For he doth no
better than strive and war against it, who contrary to his own nature
applieth himself to that which is contrary to truth.For nature had
before furnished him with instincts and opportunities sufficient for the
attainment of it; which he having hitherto neglected, is not now able
to discern that which is false from that which is true.He also that
pursues after pleasures, as that which is truly good and flies from
pains, as that which is truly evil: is impious.For such a one must of
necessity oftentimes accuse that common nature, as distributing many
things both unto the evil, and unto the good, not according to the
deserts of either: as unto the bad oftentimes pleasures, and the causes
of pleasures; so unto the good, pains, and the occasions of pains.Again, he that feareth pains and crosses in this world, feareth some of
those things which some time or other must needs happen in the world.And that we have already showed to be impious.And he that pursueth
after pleasures, will not spare, to compass his desires, to do that
which is unjust, and that is manifestly impious.John went back to the office.Now those things which
unto nature are equally indifferent (for she had not created both, both
pain and pleasure, if both had not been unto her equally indifferent):
they that will live according to nature, must in those things (as being
of the same mind and disposition that she is) be as equally indifferent.Whosoever therefore in either matter of pleasure and pain; death and
life; honour and dishonour, (which things nature in the administration
of the world, indifferently doth make use of), is not as indifferent,
it is apparent that he is impious.When I say that common nature
doth indifferently make use of them, my meaning is, that they happen
indifferently in the ordinary course of things, which by a necessary
consequence, whether as principal or accessory, come to pass in the
world, according to that first and ancient deliberation of Providence,
by which she from some certain beginning, did resolve upon the creation
of such a world, conceiving then in her womb as it were some certain
rational generative seeds and faculties of things future, whether
subjects, changes, successions; both such and such, and just so many.It were indeed more happy and comfortable, for a man to depart out
of this world, having lived all his life long clear from all falsehood,
dissimulation, voluptuousness, and pride.But if this cannot be, yet it
is some comfort for a man joyfully to depart as weary, and out of love
with those; rather than to desire to live, and to continue long in those
wicked courses.Hath not yet experience taught thee to fly from the
plague?For a far greater plague is the corruption of the mind, than any
certain change and distemper of the common air can be.This is a plague
of creatures, as they are living creatures; but that of men as they are
men or reasonable.Thou must not in matter of death carry thyself scornfully, but as
one that is well pleased with it, as being one of those things that
nature hath appointed.For what thou dost conceive of these, of a boy to
become a young man, to wax old, to grow, to ripen, to get teeth, or a
beard, or grey hairs to beget, to bear, or to be delivered; or what
other action soever it be, that is natural unto man according to the
several seasons of his life; such a thing is it also to be dissolved.It
is therefore the part of a wise man, in matter of death, not in any wise
to carry himself either violently, or proudly but patiently to wait for
it, as one of nature's operations: that with the same mind as now thou
dost expect when that which yet is but an embryo in thy wife's belly
shall come forth, thou mayst expect also when thy soul shall fall off
from that outward coat or skin: wherein as a child in the belly it lieth
involved and shut up.But thou desirest a more popular, and though not
so direct and philosophical, yet a very powerful and penetrative recipe
against the fear of death, nothing can make they more willing to part
with thy life, than if thou shalt consider, both what the subjects
themselves are that thou shalt part with, and what manner of disposition
thou shalt no more have to do with.True it is, that, offended with them
thou must not be by no means, but take care of them, and meekly bear
with them However, this thou mayst remember, that whensoever it happens
that thou depart, it shall not be from men that held the same opinions
that thou dost.For that indeed, (if it were so) is the only thing that
might make thee averse from death |
office | Where is John? | But now, what a toil it is for thee to live with men of
different opinions, thou seest: so that thou hast rather occasion to
say, Hasten, I thee pray, O Death; lest I also in time forget myself.He that sinneth, sinneth unto himself.He that is unjust, hurts
himself, in that he makes himself worse than he was before.Not he only
that committeth, but he also that omitteth something, is oftentimes
unjust.V. If my present apprehension of the object be right, and my present
action charitable, and this, towards whatsoever doth proceed from God,
be my present disposition, to be well pleased with it, it sufficeth.To wipe away fancy, to use deliberation, to quench concupiscence, to
keep the mind free to herself.Of all unreasonable creatures, there is but one unreasonable soul;
and of all that are reasonable, but one reasonable soul, divided betwixt
them all.As of all earthly things there is but one earth, and but one
light that we see by; and but one air that we breathe in, as many as
either breathe or see.Now whatsoever partakes of some common thing,
naturally affects and inclines unto that whereof it is part, being of
one kind and nature with it.Whatsoever is earthly, presseth downwards
to the common earth.And
whatsoever is airy, would be together likewise.So that without some
obstacle, and some kind of violence, they cannot well be kept asunder.Whatsoever is fiery, doth not only by reason of the elementary fire tend
upwards; but here also is so ready to join, and to burn together, that
whatsoever doth want sufficient moisture to make resistance, is easily
set on fire.Whatsoever therefore is partaker of that reasonable common
nature, naturally doth as much and more long after his own kind.For by
how much in its own nature it excels all other things, by so much more
is it desirous to be joined and united unto that, which is of its own
nature.As for unreasonable creatures then, they had not long been, but
presently begun among them swarms, and flocks, and broods of young ones,
and a kind of mutual love and affection.For though but unreasonable,
yet a kind of soul these had, and therefore was that natural desire of
union more strong and intense in them, as in creatures of a more
excellent nature, than either in plants, or stones, or trees.But among
reasonable creatures, begun commonwealths, friendships, families, public
meetings, and even in their wars, conventions, and truces.Now among
them that were yet of a more excellent nature, as the stars and planets,
though by their nature far distant one from another, yet even among them
began some mutual correspondency and unity.So proper is it to
excellency in a high degree to affect unity, as that even in things so
far distant, it could operate unto a mutual sympathy.But now behold,
what is now come to pass.Those creatures that are reasonable, are now
the only creatures that have forgotten their natural affection and
inclination of one towards another.Among them alone of all other things
that are of one kind, there is not to be found a general disposition to
flow together.But though they fly from nature, yet are they stopt in
their course, and apprehended.Do they what they can, nature doth
prevail.And so shalt thou confess, if thou dost observe it.For sooner
mayst thou find a thing earthly, where no earthly thing is, than find a
man that naturally can live by himself alone.Man, God, the world, every one in their kind, bear some fruits.Though by custom, the word
itself is in a manner become proper unto the vine, and the like, yet is
it so nevertheless, as we have said.As for reason, that beareth both
common fruit for the use of others; and peculiar, which itself doth
enjoy.Reason is of a diffusive nature, what itself is in itself, it
begets in others, and so doth multiply.Either teach them better if it be in thy power; or if it be not,
remember that for this use, to bear with them patiently, was mildness
and goodness granted unto thee.The Gods themselves are good unto such;
yea and in some things, (as in matter of health, of wealth, of honour,)
are content often to further their endeavours: so good and gracious are
they.or, tell me, what doth hinder
thee?John went back to the kitchen.X. Labour not as one to whom it is appointed to be wretched, nor as one
that either would be pitied, or admired; but let this be thine only care
and desire; so always and in all things to prosecute or to forbear, as
the law of charity, or mutual society doth require.This day I did come out of all my trouble.Nay I have cast out all
my trouble; it should rather be for that which troubled thee, whatsoever
it was, was not without anywhere that thou shouldest come out of it, but
within in thine own opinions, from whence it must be cast out, before
thou canst truly and constantly be at ease.All those things, for matter of experience are usual and ordinary;
for their continuance but for a day; and for their matter, most base and
filthy.As they were in the days of those whom we have buried, so are
they now also, and no otherwise.The things themselves that affect us, they stand without doors,
neither knowing anything themselves nor able to utter anything unto
others concerning themselves.What then is it, that passeth verdict on
them?As virtue and wickedness consist not in passion, but in action; so
neither doth the true good or evil of a reasonable charitable man
consist in passion, but in operation and action.To the stone that is cast up, when it comes down it is no hurt unto
it; as neither benefit, when it doth ascend.Sift their minds and understandings, and behold what men they be,
whom thou dost stand in fear of what they shall judge of thee, what they
themselves judge of themselves.All things that are in the world, are always in the estate
of alteration.Thou also art in a perpetual change, yea and under
corruption too, in some part: and so is the whole world.it is not thine, but another man's sin.Let him look to it, whose sin it is.Of an operation and of a purpose there is an ending, or of an
action and of a purpose we say commonly, that it is at an end: from
opinion also there is an absolute cessation, which is as it were the
death of it.Apply this now to a man's
age, as first, a child; then a youth, then a young man, then an old man;
every change from one age to another is a kind of death And all this
while here no matter of grief yet.Pass now unto that life first, that
which thou livedst under thy grandfather, then under thy mother, then
under thy father.And thus when through the whole course of thy life
hitherto thou hast found and observed many alterations, many changes,
many kinds of endings and cessations, put this question to thyself What
matter of grief or sorrow dost thou find in any of these?Or what doest
thou suffer through any of these?If in none of these, then neither
in the ending and consummation of thy whole life, which is also but a
cessation and change.As occasion shall require, either to thine own understanding, or to
that of the universe, or to his, whom thou hast now to do with, let thy
refuge be with all speed.To thine own, that it resolve upon nothing
against justice.To that of the universe, that thou mayest remember,
part of whom thou art.Of his, that thou mayest consider whether in the
estate of ignorance, or of knowledge.And then also must thou call to
mind, that he is thy kinsman.As thou thyself, whoever thou art, were made for the perfection and
consummation, being a member of it, of a common society; so must every
action of thine tend to the perfection and consummation of a life that
is truly sociable.What action soever of thine therefore that either
immediately or afar off, hath not reference to the common good, that is
an exorbitant and disorderly action; yea it is seditious; as one among
the people who from such and such a consent and unity, should factiously
divide and separate himself.Children's anger, mere babels; wretched souls bearing up dead
bodies, that they may not have their fall so soon: even as it is in that
common dirge song.Go to the quality of the cause from which the effect doth
proceed.Behold it by itself bare and naked, separated from all that is
material.Then consider the utmost bounds of time that that cause, thus
and thus qualified, can subsist and abide.Infinite are the troubles and miseries, that thou hast already
been put to, by reason of this only, because that for all happiness
it did not suffice thee, or, that thou didst not account it sufficient
happiness, that thy understanding did operate according to its natural
constitution.When any shall either impeach thee with false accusations, or
hatefully reproach thee, or shall use any such carriage towards thee,
get thee presently to their minds and understandings, and look in them,
and behold what manner of men they be.Thou shalt see, that there is no
such occasion why it should trouble thee, what such as they are think of
thee.Yet must thou love them still, for by nature they are thy friends.And the Gods themselves, in those things that they seek from them as
matters of great moment, are well content, all manner of ways, as by
dreams and oracles, to help them as well as others.Up and down, from one age to another, go the ordinary things of
the world; being still the same.And either of everything in particular
before it come to pass, the mind of the universe doth consider with
itself and deliberate: and if so, then submit for shame unto the
determination of such an excellent understanding: or once for all it did
resolve upon all things in general; and since that whatsoever happens,
happens by a necessary consequence, and all things indivisibly in a
manner and inseparably hold one of another.In sum, either there is a
God, and then all is well; or if all things go by chance and fortune,
yet mayest thou use thine own providence in those things that concern
thee properly; and then art thou well.Within a while the earth shall cover us all, and then she herself
shall have her change.And then the course will be, from one period of
eternity unto another, and so a perpetual eternity.Now can any man
that shall consider with himself in his mind the several rollings or
successions of so many changes and alterations, and the swiftness of all
these rulings; can he otherwise but contemn in his heart and despise
all worldly things?The cause of the universe is as it were a strong
torrent, it carrieth all away.And these your professed politicians, the only true practical
philosophers of the world, (as they think of themselves) so full of
affected gravity, or such professed lovers of virtue and honesty, what
wretches be they in very deed; how vile and contemptible in themselves?Resolve upon it, if thou mayest: and take no thought, whether anybody
shall know it or no.Yea, but sayest thou, I must not expect a Plato's
commonwealth.If they profit though never so little, I must be content;
and think much even of that little progress.Doth then any of them
forsake their former false opinions that I should think they profit?For
without a change of opinions, alas!what is all that ostentation, but
mere wretchedness of slavish minds, that groan privately, and yet would
make a show of obedience to reason, and truth?Go too now and tell me
of Alexander and Philippus, and Demetrius Phalereus.John moved to the office.Whether they
understood what the common nature requireth, and could rule themselves
or no, they know best themselves.But if they kept a life, and
swaggered; I (God be thanked) am not bound to imitate them.The effect
of true philosophy is, unaffected simplicity and modesty.Persuade me
not to ostentation and vainglory.From some high place as it were to look down, and to behold
here flocks, and there sacrifices, without number; and all kind of
navigation; some in a rough and stormy sea, and some in a calm: the
general differences, or different estates of things, some, that are now
first upon being; the several and mutual relations of those things that
are together; and some other things that are at their last.Their lives
also, who were long ago, and theirs who shall be hereafter, and the
present estate and life of those many nations of barbarians that are
now in the world, thou must likewise consider in thy mind.And how many
there be, who never so much as heard of thy name, how many that will
soon forget it; how many who but even now did commend thee, within a
very little while perchance will speak ill of thee.So that neither
fame, nor honour, nor anything else that this world doth afford, is
worth the while.The sum then of all; whatsoever doth happen unto thee,
whereof God is the cause, to accept it contentedly: whatsoever thou
doest, whereof thou thyself art the cause, to do it justly: which will
be, if both in thy resolution and in thy action thou have no further
end, than to do good unto others, as being that, which by thy natural
constitution, as a man, thou art bound unto.Many of those things that trouble and straiten thee, it is in thy
power to cut off, as wholly depending from mere conceit and opinion; and
then thou shalt have room enough.To comprehend the whole world together in thy mind, and the whole
course of this present age to represent it unto thyself, and to fix thy
thoughts upon the sudden change of every particular object.How short
the time is from the generation of anything, unto the dissolution of
the same; but how immense and infinite both that which was before the
generation, and that which after the generation of it shall be.All
things that thou seest, will soon be perished, and they that see their
corruptions, will soon vanish away themselves.He that dieth a hundred
years old, and he that dieth young, shall come all to one.What are their minds and understandings; and what the things that
they apply themselves unto: what do they love, and what do they hate
for?Fancy to thyself the estate of their souls openly to be seen.When
they think they hurt them shrewdly, whom they speak ill of; and when
they think they do them a very good turn, whom they commend and extol: O
how full are they then of conceit, and opinion!Loss and corruption, is in very deed nothing else but change and
alteration; and that is it, which the nature of the universe doth most
delight in, by which, and according to which, whatsoever is done, is
well done.For that was the estate of worldly things from the beginning,
and so shall it ever be.Or wouldest thou rather say, that all things
in the world have gone ill from the beginning for so many ages, and
shall ever go ill?And then among so many deities, could no divine power
be found all this while, that could rectify the things of the world?Or
is the world, to incessant woes and miseries, for ever condemned?How base and putrid, every common matter is!Water, dust, and
from the mixture of these bones, and all that loathsome stuff that our
bodies do consist of: so subject to be infected, and corrupted.And
again those other things that are so much prized and admired, as marble
stones, what are they, but as it were the kernels of the earth?gold and
silver, what are they, but as the more gross faeces of the earth?Thy
most royal apparel, for matter, it is but as it were the hair of a silly
sheep, and for colour, the very blood of a shell-fish; of this nature
are all other things.Thy life itself, is some such thing too; a mere
exhalation of blood: and it also, apt to be changed into some other
common thing.Will this querulousness, this murmuring, this complaining and
dissembling never be at an end?What then is it, that troubleth thee? |
garden | Where is John? | Behold either by itself, is either of that
weight and moment indeed?But
thy duty towards the Gods also, it is time thou shouldst acquit thyself
of it with more goodness and simplicity.It is all one to see these things for a hundred of years together
or but for three years.If he have sinned, his is the harm, not mine.Either all things by the providence of reason happen unto every
particular, as a part of one general body; and then it is against reason
that a part should complain of anything that happens for the good of the
whole; or if, according to Epicurus, atoms be the cause of all things
and that life be nothing else but an accidentary confusion of things,
and death nothing else, but a mere dispersion and so of all other
things: what doest thou trouble thyself for?Sayest thou unto that rational part, Thou art dead; corruption
hath taken hold on thee?Doth it then also void excrements?Doth it like
either oxen, or sheep, graze or feed; that it also should be mortal, as
well as the body?Either the Gods can do nothing for us at all, or they can still and
allay all the distractions and distempers of thy mind.If they can do
nothing, why doest thou pray?If they can, why wouldst not thou rather
pray, that they will grant unto thee, that thou mayst neither fear, nor
lust after any of those worldly things which cause these distractions
and distempers of it?Why not rather, that thou mayst not at either
their absence or presence, be grieved and discontented: than either that
thou mayst obtain them, or that thou mayst avoid them?For certainly
it must needs be, that if the Gods can help us in anything, they may in
this kind also.But thou wilt say perchance, 'In those things the Gods
have given me my liberty: and it is in mine own power to do what I
will.'But if thou mayst use this liberty, rather to set thy mind at
true liberty, than wilfully with baseness and servility of mind to
affect those things, which either to compass or to avoid is not in thy
power, wert not thou better?And as for the Gods, who hath told thee,
that they may not help us up even in those things that they have put in
our own power?whether it be so or no, thou shalt soon perceive, if
thou wilt but try thyself and pray.One prayeth that he may compass his
desire, to lie with such or such a one, pray thou that thou mayst not
lust to lie with her.Another how he may be rid of such a one; pray thou
that thou mayst so patiently bear with him, as that thou have no such
need to be rid of him.Another, that he may not lose his child.Pray
thou that thou mayst not fear to lose him.To this end and purpose, let
all thy prayer be, and see what will be the event.'In my sickness' (saith Epicurus of himself:)'my discourses were
not concerning the nature of my disease, neither was that, to them that
came to visit me, the subject of my talk; but in the consideration and
contemplation of that, which was of especial weight and moment, was all
my time bestowed and spent, and among others in this very thing, how my
mind, by a natural and unavoidable sympathy partaking in some sort with
the present indisposition of my body, might nevertheless keep herself
free from trouble, and in present possession of her own proper
happiness.Neither did I leave the ordering of my body to the physicians
altogether to do with me what they would, as though I expected any
great matter from them, or as though I thought it a matter of such great
consequence, by their means to recover my health: for my present estate,
methought, liked me very well, and gave me good content.'Whether
therefore in sickness (if thou chance to sicken) or in what other kind
of extremity soever, endeavour thou also to be in thy mind so affected,
as he doth report of himself: not to depart from thy philosophy for
anything that can befall thee, nor to give ear to the discourses of
silly people, and mere naturalists.It is common to all trades and professions to mind and intend that
only, which now they are about, and the instrument whereby they work.When at any time thou art offended with any one's impudency, put
presently this question to thyself: 'What?Is it then possible, that
there should not be any impudent men in the world!For this one, (thou
must think) whosoever he be, is one of those impudent ones, that
the world cannot be without.So of the subtile and crafty, so of the
perfidious, so of every one that offendeth, must thou ever be ready to
reason with thyself.For whilst in general thou dost thus reason with
thyself, that the kind of them must needs be in the world, thou wilt be
the better able to use meekness towards every particular."Nothin's been heard o' any on 'em from that day to this;" replied
Hearty."But war'nt there a sort o' song which 'twas said the crew of the ship
used to sing?""To be sure there was," cried Scrumpydike, who had for some time looked
more gloomy than usual; "I've heard it many's a time; and if you've a
mind to listen, though I ar'nt no great shakes o' a singing bird, I'll
give you the only original version as used to be sung by the free
mariners.""I don't want to hear none o' such villainous ditties!"exclaimed
Hearty, as he left the circle.responded the other, and presently with
more animation than music, sung the following words:--
"Our ship sails on the wave,
On the wave, on the wave,
Our ship sails on the wave, Captain Death!John went back to the kitchen.For free mariners are we, and we ride the stormy sea,
And our captain still shall be,
Captain Death!"Our black flag proudly floats,
Proudly floats, proudly floats,
Our black flag proudly floats, Captain Death!And down upon the prey, we boldly bear away,
And we quickly make them pay,
Captain Death!John moved to the office."We stifle ev'ry cry,
Ev'ry cry, ev'ry cry,
We stifle ev'ry cry, Captain Death!And then we spread our sails, that are filled with welcome gales:
Singing, 'Dead men tell no tales,
Captain Death!Singing, 'Dead men tell no tales, Captain Death!'"Bring out our golden store,
Golden store, golden store;
Bring out our golden store, Captain Death!And let's send the wine-cup round, to forget the dead and drown'd,
And rejoice _we're_ safe and sound,
Captain Death!And rejoice _we're_ safe and sound, Captain Death!"Thus pass our gallant lives,
Gallant lives, gallant lives,
Thus pass our gallant lives, Captain Death!And while the ocean flows, and the driving tempest blows,
We'll live upon our foes,
Captain Death!We'll live upon our foes, Captain Death!"APPEARANCE OF THE AFRICAN COAST.Zabra had by this time become more familiar to the people of the
Albatross, with some of whom his kindness and generosity made him an
especial favourite.They had ceased to see any thing supernatural in his
large lustrous eyes,--and had forgot that there was any thing mysterious
in the dark colour of his complexion.His solitary wanderings about the
ship created neither fear nor surprise, and the rich harmonies of his
music were listened to with much more admiration than dread.Loop, a
boy belonging to the vessel, who was a sister's son of Hearty, had been
attacked with fever, and the attentions of Zabra, during his illness,
won not only the heart of the old man, but that of every one on board.He procured for him every kind of nourishing food and refreshing
beverage, that the Doctor would allow; took care that he should possess
every comfort that the vessel contained; sung to him, played to him, and
stayed beside his hammock for hours and hours, seeking to while away the
tedious moments of indisposition.Oriel Porphyry having desired that he
should be treated by every one as if he was his brother, instead of his
attendant, Zabra found his slightest request always promptly attended
to; and, though his manner was somewhat proud, as he seemed to possess
abundant funds for every purpose, and gave liberally whenever he thought
it was requisite, scarcely any one in the ship ever hesitated in joining
in his praise.The boy Loop got well, and he was not ungrateful.As for old Hearty,
nothing could exceed his devotion to his nephew's benefactor.To every
listener he could lay hold of, he narrated at length all that he knew
of the youth's history, since he came on board: the people, rescued
from the fire-ship, were in due time made familiar with every anecdote
concerning him with which the old man was acquainted; and to no one were
his details of more interest than to the young Australian, Ardent, who
sometimes appeared to forget his own sorrows while attentive to the
unpolished eloquence of the honest sailor.From this time Zabra became
an object of general interest.Even Captain Compass seemed to look upon
him with something like respect; Scrumpydike had ceased to entertain
against him any hostile intentions; and Log, the captain's clerk, was
heard to acquiesce in the opinion of his shipmates, with an affirmative
repeated with the usual supply of adjectives.But to Oriel Porphyry the admirable qualities of his page became every
day more and more apparent.In the frequent conversations that took
place between them, he could not but observe the developement of a mind
of the highest order.It was not a mind impregnated with the heavy
spirit of bookish learning, but an intelligence of a lighter, a more
graceful, and a more original nature, replete with a sweet sympathy,
and a lofty enthusiasm for all that was noble, good and beautiful;
and throwing over the youthful figure and handsome countenance of its
possessor, a poetical and romantic character, that was both a wonder
and a charm to his companion.Zabra spoke of Eureka as if he had become
acquainted with her most hidden thoughts, and had been constituted their
interpreter; but of himself he never spoke.When Oriel seemed desirous
of learning something of his history, he appeared uneasy, and
immediately attempted to turn the conversation into another channel.This was noticed; but the unwillingness of the young Creole to speak of
himself, Oriel attributed to the disinclination usually shown by natural
children to allude to their own illegitimacy, knowing the unreasonable
and cruel prejudices of society: therefore he ceased to desire from him
any information on the subject.Still, his youth,--the singular beauty
of his countenance, and the strange interest it often expressed, made
him imagine that there was some mystery connected with him.As he treated Zabra with the utmost confidence, and appreciated the
intelligence he evinced, Oriel Porphyry communicated to him the contents
of his father's letter."Your father is a noble character," he exclaimed with fervour; "and the
proudest title of which you ought to boast, is that of being his son.I never could have supposed that it was possible for such nobility
to reside in a spirit devoted to the mere money-getting purposes of
traffic, but I have been educated in an aristocratic school, and with
its lofty principles I have imbibed some of its illiberal prejudices.I would _my_ father had been such a one--I should not have been the
fugitive I am."Let it be my pleasing task to see that your
fortunes are worthy of your merits;" said Oriel Porphyry, affectionately
taking in his the hand of his youthful companion."And although I have
not much reason to think well of the proud Philadelphia, for his conduct
has not been such as would be likely to inspire me either with affection
or respect; when I think of his relationship to her whose genuine worth
it is impossible not to appreciate, I cannot regard the unfavourableness
of his disposition.""Eureka is not unmindful of your kind feelings towards her;" observed
the other in a more tremulous voice than he had hitherto used."It is
her desire to deserve your affections, that has supported her under many
trials.Her father is proud, but not so proud as Eureka.Yet there is an
impassable gulf between the pride of the two.He would sacrifice every
one around him for the immediate gratification of his own self-love:
she would sacrifice all selfish considerations that interfered with the
happiness of one she loved.""And think you I cannot honour such goodness in the manner it deserves?""Let him be what he will--let his pride be as
mean, and his ambition as selfish as it may, for the sake of Eureka I
will endeavour to forget his unworthiness.All I hope is, that he will
not attempt to force her inclinations to an alliance more pleasing to
him.""He cannot force her inclinations--that he knows;" remarked Zabra."He
has made the attempt for the first and last time; and Eureka is now
beyond his reach."John journeyed to the garden."He thought the more completely to secure your
separation from her, to hurry her into a marriage with the wealthy and
powerful head of the princely house of Vermont; but the character of
such a man, had no other obstacle existed, would have been sufficient
to have produced in her feelings a repugnance which nothing could
overpower.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.As it was, she indignantly refused to become a sacrifice to
her father's ambition.Her sentiments, however, on the subject, were so
little regarded by him, that he made preparations to compel her to the
union."exclaimed master Porphyry, "I could not have imagined such
despotism in a parent.""Closely as she was watched," he continued, "Eureka managed to escape
from her confinement; and when she sent me to be the companion of your
fortunes, she had secured for herself the asylum she required."Let me hasten to afford her the protection of which
she must be so much in want!"exclaimed the impetuous Oriel; then
reproachfully added, "Why, why did you not tell me this before?""I have obeyed my instructions;" replied the youth calmly."It is
sufficient for you to know that now she is safe, and that she is in the
enjoyment of as much happiness as it is possible for her to obtain under
the circumstances.Her retreat can only be made known to you when all
the purposes of the present voyage are completed, and you return to
Columbus.""Be satisfied that it is impossible she should forget you, and endeavour
to prove to her without the aids of continual correspondence, that in
your affection the same durability exists."cried Oriel; "I will do all she would have me.I will
follow the plan my father has laid out, even to the minutest details;
will try to find patience for its endurance by thinking of the blissful
result with which it will be crowned.We are now approaching the
southern coast of Africa," he continued after a pause of some duration,
which neither had attempted to interrupt; "and my immediate destination
Caffreton, the great mart of traffic in this part of the world is the
first point of my commercial voyage.My father has written me very full
instructions which I have carefully studied, and you will shortly see,
Zabra, how well I shall be able to play the merchant."They had been standing together on the deck gazing upon the world of
waters before them during the preceding dialogue, and were now silently
observing the progress of some distant vessels, when they were joined by
the |
bedroom | Where is John? | Addressing Oriel, he said--
"That portion of land you observe yonder, rising out of the sea, is an
important Cape, well known in the annals of navigation, and was called
by the ancients the Cape of Good Hope.It used to be celebrated for
producing an inferior wine, called Cape Wine, which being cheap, as it
was worthless, was brought in considerable quantities for the purpose
either of adulterating wines of a higher value, or was palmed upon the
ignorant as the produce of a different vintage.John went back to the kitchen.The English, a people
with whose history you are doubtless familiar, though not wine growers,
were the greatest wine consumers of that period, and it was the immense
demand for this necessary of life among that people, which the wines of
Spain, Portugal, Sicily, Italy, France, Germany, and other countries,
could not sufficiently supply, that brought this Cape into notice.John moved to the office.The
African wines are now remarkable for their admirable qualities.That it
was the search after new liquors that sent the English into this part of
the world chroniclers are not agreed, and that there were other wines
produced in the same locality much superior in flavour, I think is
more than probable, because I have found in the course of my reading,
eloquent commendation of an African wine, called Constantia, and I have
good reason for imagining that the deserts which the first voyagers
of that nation met with on some portions of the coast, when they
ascertained that a superior liquor was here procurable, originated the
English proverb 'Good wine needs no bush.'However, there can be no
doubt that the English planted a colony at this very Cape; gradually
drove the natives from their land as they increased in power and
numbers, till the whole continent from the Cape of Good Hope to
Alexandria, and from Abyssinia to Senegambia, acknowledged their sway,
and, in a great measure, spoke their language.""Truly, those English were a great people!""They were so," said the Professor; "when we consider what they did, and
the means they had to do it, we must acknowledge that they deserve the
epithet, 'great.'John journeyed to the garden.At an early period of the world's history, England was
utterly unknown.In the times of Assyrian greatness, in the eras of
Babylon, of Jerusalem, and of Troy--and in the more brilliant ages of
the Greeks, the Romans, and the Carthaginians, such an island had never
been heard of--scarcely two thousand years had elapsed before this
speck upon the waters became the most powerful kingdom upon the earth.She had possessions in every quarter of the globe; her conquering armies
had penetrated into the remotest regions, and her gallant navies had
triumphed in every sea.She had given a new people and a new language
to the vast continent of America; she had founded a new division of the
world in Australia; she had been acknowledged the mistress of the mighty
Indies; she had forced a path through deserts of perpetual ice, and
found a home in the scorching heat of the torrid zone.And by this time
what had become of the nations of a more remote antiquity?Of some, the
localities were not to be traced; others remained a heap of stones.The
Carthaginians were extinct--the free and noble Greeks had become slaves
or pirates--and the daring Romans, who boasted having conquered the
world, were an ignoble emasculated race, confined to a single city and
its suburbs, and governed by a despotic old woman in the shape of a
priest."Sandra journeyed to the bedroom."The form of government under which the people of this continent
exists, is republican, I believe;" observed Master Porphyry."The whole is divided into a multitude of republics, some of which are
always at war with one another," replied his tutor; "and they show their
idea of liberty, of which they make the most preposterous boast, by
keeping up a system of slavery the most tyrannical and revolting that
can be imagined.""Ay, ay," exclaimed Captain Compass, coming up and joining in the
conversation; "it's the way of the world.Hear your most famous spouter
about the blessings of freedom and all that sort of thing, and ten to
one if you don't find him ready to domineer over every body beneath him.When I hear a fellow mighty fine in his notions of universal liberty, I
always feel pretty certain that he only wants the power to trample on
the independence of all who might stand in the way of his particular
enjoyments.But this is all natural enough; the feeble are monstrously
indignant at the exercise of power in the hands of their rulers; but
when by any accident they become powerful, they all at once see the
advantages of keeping down those who are down, and in a very short time
become just as despotic as those of whom they complained."inquired Oriel, pointing to several
ships, appearing at different distances in the open sea before them."Yonder vessel, whose tall masts are bending before the brisk breeze
that fills her sails, is an Algerine merchantman, and has most probably
a cargo of dancing masters, cooks, figurantes, and opera singers, which
are as much now the chief produce of the people to whom she belongs,
as they were a thousand years ago the principal exports of their
progenitors.That sombre thing, with the long funnel in the centre of
her deck, is very similar to the steamers of which the ancients were so
proud, before an improved propelling power was discovered.She belongs
to the Abyssinians--a people remarkably slow in adopting the inventions
of their more civilised neighbours; she trades from the sea of Babel
Mandeb to the Gulph of Guinea, sometimes touching at Madagascar, and
the neighbouring islands, and carries passengers, pigs, crockery, and
snuff.This rakish looking craft, flying afore the wind like a petrel in
a storm, is a free trader with a rich cargo of smuggled merchandise from
the continent to the Mauritius; and the big ship yonder, bearing down
upon us as if she'd sink every thing that stood in her way, is a man of
war belonging to the Liberians--a powerful nation of blacks.All these
small fry that are starting up from every point, are merely coasting
vessels--government packets,--fishing smacks--pilot boats,--pleasure
yachts, and other floaters of a similar nature."inquired Oriel, pointing to something of a very
strange appearance that was seen at the distance of about three quarters
of a mile, making way at a rapid rate towards the shore.They all gazed
in that direction, and a most extraordinary spectacle they beheld.At
first it seemed like a ball--but as it approached the ship it enlarged,
and every one who saw it knew it to be a balloon.How it came there,
floating on the waves by itself, many conjectured; but their surprise
at its appearance was wonderfully increased, when they observed a man,
with his body immersed in the waves, clinging to it, or more probably
attached to its fastenings.His peril he endeavoured to make known
by screams of the most piercing description; but it was not till the
miserable wretch was being rapidly borne past their vessel that the
people of the Albatross discovered the full extent of his danger.For at
least half a mile behind him the sea was a mass of white smoking foam,
which was created by nearly a hundred immense sharks following him with
eager speed, lashing the waves with their tails, leaping over each
other, plunging, snorting, and displaying the most ravenous desire to
catch him in their enormous jaws.Sometimes the balloon ascended a
little distance above the sea and then would rapidly descend, plunging
the unhappy aeronaut over his head in the salt water; but while the
sharks were all striving against each other to make a mouthful of his
limbs, it would again ascend, floating swiftly over the surface, bearing
its screaming appendant about a foot above his unrelenting pursuers,
who continued to follow him struggling furiously with each other, and
eagerly snapping at his limbs whenever they approached the surface of
the water.It was impossible to render him any assistance, although he
passed within a few yards of the ship, he was carried so swiftly along;
and on he went, shrieking with agony, now high above the waves--then
dashed in beneath them--then flying over the surface, with the horrid
expectation of being immediately devoured by the hungry pack by whom he
was pursued."Scrunch me, if that isn't the most cruel chase I ever saw," exclaimed
the captain."These sort of accidents are not at all extraordinary," observed
Fortyfolios, "and with such things must frequently occur.Balloons are
an old invention, and one the least useful for philosophical purposes
of any we have received from the ancients.Attempts have been made,
attended with success, to get one or several individuals borne by
them from an island to an adjoining continent, and from one part of a
continent to a part far remote; but as they have found it impossible to
control the current of wind met with in certain elevations, and as they
can seldom rely upon a current in any one direction lasting for any
length of time, they have been able to rise as high as they please, but
can never previously fix exactly upon the place of their descent; and it
has in many instances occurred, as in the one we have just now observed,
that after the aeronaut has made his ascent, a sudden wind takes him in
a direction contrary to what he designed, or various currents rising
unexpectedly at nearly the same time, he is shifted about to every
point of the compass; and when he is obliged to descend, he finds
himself floating over some unknown sea, or some wild uncultivated land,
hundreds of miles from human assistance, where he is left to endure
the conviction that he must either be drowned or starved.A balloon
is, in fact, a toy, with which one fool amuses many."Nothing more was said on the subject, although the dangerous situation
of the poor fellow who had attached himself to the balloon was
anxiously watched as long as he remained in sight, and the imminent
peril in which he was seen: his heart-rending cries, and desperate
struggles, long left their unpleasant impression on the memory of all
who beheld him.The bold outline of the coast they were approaching every hour became
more apparent: its singular mountain and other landmarks were seen,
pointed out, and commented on.Birds flew into the rigging--weeds
accumulated before the ship--and stray logs of timber, broken barrels,
and pieces of wreck, were continually floating past.The character of
the scenery now began to be clearly defined--the lowlands spreading out
far and wide into the interior, intersected by numerous railroads, and
the mountains holding up their proud heads covered with vegetation
nearly to their summits.The more the country became visible, the
greater was the evidence it exhibited of a high degree of cultivation,
a fruitful soil, and a numerous and industrious population; and as
buildings began to be made out, it was observable from their form,
numbers, and disposition, that manufactures was a primary object in the
estimation of the inhabitants."You will find these people a money-getting generation," said the
professor to his pupil: "their sole object appears to be to accumulate,
and their only idea of the respectability of a person is derived from
the proportion of substance he is worth.They never ask, is a man an
excellent husband, an exemplary father, or an admirable citizen?--is he
distinguished by the attention with which he fulfils his moral duties,
or celebrated by the right application of extraordinary talents?they
merely inquire how much money he has in his pockets.In fact, when they
speak at all of 'a good man,' they allude to some individual imagined to
be possessed of a certain amount of available property: money with them
is every thing.Respectability means money--reputation or credit means
money, and cleverness means money.Money, therefore, is the universal
virtue: they who have the most are honoured the most, and they who have
it not at all are considered by those who have it, although in ever so
small a proportion, as being separated from their fellow-creatures by
an impassable chasm, where all that is infamous is thought to dwell.""And yet they are considered to be a very religious people," remarked
Oriel."None are more regular in going to church, none are greater respecters
of the ceremonies of worship, but of religion they are ignorant,"
replied Fortyfolios."Nothing can be more certain than that it is
impossible that a pure morality or a sincere devotion can exist, when
the heart is filled with one engrossing desire--the accumulation of
capital--the very principle of which is selfishness--a feeling
incompatible with the social charities of true religion.""But when did you ever find that any thing like true religion generally
existed?"inquired the captain, in a tone approaching sarcasm."Since
the memory of man the faith of the majority has been unvaryingly
orthodox, and sticks, like a lobster to its shell, to the old proverb,
'Every one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost,'--and more
absurd conduct doesn't exist than some people exhibit, who, after
having made money a standard of excellence, condemn to infamy not only
those who are not possessed of it, but they who gain it by means not in
exact accordance with their notions of the way it should be obtained.Scrunch me, if it don't make one ready to heave one's ballast overboard,
when I see the homage paid to a mean-spirited scoundrel, who by
chicanery, hypocrisy, avarice, and a horde of other contemptible vices,
robs his fellows of a pretty handsome share of plunder; and hear the
execrations heaped upon the bolder and better villain, who lays society
under contributions in a more open, manly, and daring manner.Mary went back to the garden.They
pretend to notions of honesty, too, that's the joke.John journeyed to the bedroom.Why a fish would
laugh at a thing so ridiculous.The government in their necessity
take from the people, and those who can't afford to pay they send to
prison--an individual in his necessity takes from another, and the very
government who set the example of appropriation punish the appropriator
as an offender.Then governments plunder each other, or rather the
people of each other; but when any of the people attempt to rob their
governments, they judge, hang, draw and quarter the poor wretches
without the slightest mercy.If the whole world were
asked what the meaning of the word was, every man would give a different
definition, and not only would each contradict the other, but every one
would contradict himself.Honesty appears to be of all shapes and all
sizes: it will suit all complexions--it will flavour every dish.Honesty
is every thing, and yet it is nothing.It is neither fish, flesh,
nor fowl--will neither sink nor swim--and is not to be touched, seen,
or tasted.Honesty is every where--the greatest rogue is honest to
his chosen associates--and yet it is no where, for the desire of
appropriation is universal.It is a sort of ghost that only exists in
the minds of the superstitious--a mirror that shows any reflection
thrown upon it--a sky that all over the world can take every variety of
colour.Some call it truth, and lay claim to its possession, although
their lives are a continual deceit; some call it justice, and fancy
themselves exceedingly just, although they would consign to eternal
perdition all not exactly of their way of thinking; and some call it
conscientiousness, and are satisfied with their own dealings, when,
at the same time, their first thought is for their own personal
gratification.But we are entering the bay, and these fellows require
looking after."So saying, he suddenly left the group, and began
shouting to the crew some orders about the ship."Captain Compass has singular notions," remarked the professor: "I
should not feel particularly comfortable if I thought he entertained
the opinions he expresses.There would be an end to all sense of moral
obligations if such ideas became general.""Oh there is no harm in him," replied Oriel."He is too frank, too
careless, too bold to have any evil intention.It has often appeared to
me, though, that the principle we call honesty does not exist either in
ourselves or in society to the extent we imagine; and believing such a
state of things an evil, I have often wished, but never been able, to
find a way in which it could be remed |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | "It is an evil, undoubtedly," here observed Doctor Tourniquet, who had
for some time been an attentive but silent listener--"and there is but
one way in which it can be completely removed.""And how is that way to be found?""The cause of this want of a definite unvarying character in our notion
of honesty," said the Doctor, "may be traced to the present and past
construction of society, where each individual has a separate interest,
exists in a state of competition with the others, and must always be
endeavouring to shape his own notions of right to his own exclusive
advantage: were property a fund in common from which each might be
allowed to take what he pleased--there being no individual interests,
the world would be one family, and there could be no dishonesty in
openly appropriating that to which he had an acknowledged right, don't
you see.""An impossible state of things, I should think," added his pupil."Nothing more reasonable, and nothing more easy," replied the Doctor."Let every one in a community labour equally according to his physical
or mental powers--every kind of labour being productive will produce
every thing in abundance--this abundance having been produced must
supply every want--every want being gratified at the suggestion of the
inclination, there remains nothing to desire--and as all have an equal
right to appropriate as much as they require for the gratification of
their inclinations, by having equally, according to their abilities,
assisted in producing the abundance they enjoy, no desire in which they
might think fit to indulge could ever take the appearance of an act of
dishonesty, don't you see.""But how in the present state of society can you get such notions
adopted?""Either by educating children from the earliest age into the application
of these social principles, or by constituting communities apart from
the general mass, who will exist within themselves by the same manner
of life, till, as the advantages of such a state of society become
universally evident, it is adopted by the whole population," said the
Doctor."The thing has been tried times out of number," remarked Fortyfolios,
contemptuously, "and has always lingered a short time and then died,
with very little regret on the part of those for whose superior
happiness it was created.It is based upon an idea of equality, which
idea has no personal existence in nature.John went back to the kitchen.No matter how carefully the
young mind is schooled, there will always be some superiority somewhere.In muscular energy, in mental power, in ingenuity, in quickness of
comprehension, and in the skilful adaptation of means to an end--even
in the natural desires and susceptibilities--even in acquired habits of
industry, and self-denial, in all societies, some will be found greater
than others, and these will endeavour to rise above the equality by
which they are surrounded; perhaps they will succeed, and then the
homogeneousness of the community is soon destroyed; perhaps they will
fail, and then their more exalted natures must be crushed down to the
Procrustean bed of their associates.John moved to the office.Equality can only be a state of
general mediocrity.Could we imagine such a social organisation, what
would become of the worship of superior greatness that leads men to
become great?With what feelings would exist, could they exist under
such circumstances, those commanding intellects whose supremacy should
be acknowledged by all who love knowledge, and virtue, and humanity, at
finding themselves classed with the mere breaker of the clod, a creature
without an idea, whose only quality, that of strength and fitness for a
certain labour, he shares with brutes and with machines; who eats and
drinks, and sleeps and dies, and then makes room for another of the same
class?Must they also become hewers of wood and drawers of water for
the benefit of their fellows?With as much probability of a beneficial
result might an attempt be made to force the ploughman, the shepherd,
the mechanic, and the domestic servant, to become a sculptor, a
philologist, a musician, and a philosopher."What Doctor Tourniquet might have replied, it is impossible now to
relate, as the Albatross at that moment was boarded by the port-officers
who came to examine the state of health of the ship and the cargo with
which she was laden; and as she was expected shortly to drop her anchor
among the shipping with which she was now surrounded, those who designed
to land proceeded to make the necessary preparations.CAFFRETON, THE METROPOLIS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA.In a large heavy building on the banks of a canal in the city of
Caffreton, all seemed bustle and confusion: barges were at the water
side unloading, and at the land side were waggons being filled with
packages for conveyance into the interior by the rail-roads, and others
starting off heavily laden to supply the traders in the town and
neighbourhood.A considerable number of black slaves were actively
employed in assisting the goods from the barges to the stores, and
from the stores to the waggons; who jostled, shouted, and chattered
apparently with as much noise as they could make; two or three white
men were seen among them giving orders in a loud voice to their dark
associates, and seeing that their commands were promptly attended to.Under a gloomy archway, which led from the street to the water side were
doors opposite each other.One of these, after passing through a long
warehouse filled with articles of merchandise of every description,
in the midst of which were several slaves of both sexes engaged in
weighing, measuring, and packing parcels of various sizes, led into a
counting house, in which about a dozen blacks, principally young ones,
much better dressed than those in the warehouse, were writing in large
books; and beyond this was a much smaller room, furnished with maps and
a few cumbrous books, wherein two men were seated opposite each other;
one a tall, thin, sharp visaged man about forty, whose features
expressed an extraordinary degree of fear and servility, was reading a
newspaper, and the other, who appeared considerably older, was short
and corpulent, had a dark complexion, and a look of mingled cunning and
fierceness, sat leaning back against a huge arm chair, with an open
ledger on the table before him.John journeyed to the garden."Yes, sir," replied the other, glancing his eye over the paper,
"particularly Columbian and Australian.""Brisk, sir, in many things--Gondar Railroad at a premium--Congo Canal
at 125-3/8--Ashantee Salt Company, 105-1/2--Mocaranga Timber,
109--Biafra Gold Mines, 200."exclaimed the elder, rubbing his hands together briskly, and
his forbidding features assuming an expression of intense gratification."I shall do well by my speculations there;--but how goes the Madagascar
Silkworm Company?""Down to 45, sir," replied the thin man.you scoundrel, it can't be," furiously exclaimed
the other."It is so here, sir," said his companion humbly."Then my eternal malediction rest on all silk worms.But you haven't said any thing about the Timbuctoo Beet-root
Sugar.""You rascal, you're trying to put me in a passion; you're inventing
that, because you know I've invested large sums in that affair.I'll
have you whipped like a slave if you don't tell me the truth.""It is so here, sir," said the man trembling, and turning pale."Then the Caffreton Universal Intelligence is a universal liar!""Why, if it's true, I've lost all I gained
by the indigo and cochineal job.I shall be laughed at
on 'Change.My solvency will be suspected--my credit diminish;--but go
on, Mr.Quagga--go on, I'm perfectly cool--I'm not going to put myself
out of temper by such a loss, don't think it.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.In the name of poverty,
why don't you go on, Mr."Wer--wer--wer--wer--what shall I read next sir?"inquired his servant
as plainly as his fright would allow."Read the arrivals, you stuttering, stupid blockhead," cried the
broker."Arrived in the bay, the Sultan from Cairo, Selim, master.""The Golden Horn, from Stamboul, Mahmoud, master:--twenty chests of
opium, consigned by Mandragora and Poppy.""Send some one to see it warehoused in the docks.""Yes, sir," said the clerk, respectfully."The Hellas, from Smyrna, Mavricordato, master."Cargo of figs and raisins, from Drum and Company.""The Albatross, from Columbus, Compass, master.""Look to that, Quagga--look to that.She belongs to Master Porphyry, the
richest merchant in the whole world.By
last advices from my correspondent, expect some bales of rich
fabrics.--Go on, Quagga.""There's a paragraph, here, sir, that seems to relate to that vessel.""'In the Albatross, arrived in our harbour, comes the only son of
the great merchant, Master Porphyry, whose name is in such high
estimation in every part of the civilised world for his wealth and his
philanthropy.It is said that he has come out on a commercial voyage,
and that it was Master Porphyry's desire that his son should visit
some of the most celebrated places of traffic in various parts of the
globe.'"All at once’t his rags took fire, and he went up
in a balloon.” (“Hi!hi!”)
“I tell you, boys, the West is the place for you.Who knows but what
you’ll git to be Congressmen, or even President?” (“Hear the boy talk!”)
“I didn’t mean you, Jim Malone, so you needn’t say nothin’.Mary went back to the garden.They don’t
make Congressmen out’n sich crooked sticks as you be.Maybe you’ll keep
a corner grocery some time, or a whiskey shop, an’ lay on the floor
drunk half the time.” (“Pitch into him, Corny!”) “But that ain’t what I
was a goin’ to say.You’ll be great men, ef you don’t miss of it; and if
you’re good and honest and industrious like I am,” (“Dry up!Simmer
down!”), “you’ll come to live in fine houses, and have lots of servants
to wait on you, and black yer boots, instead of blackin’ ’em yourself.”
(“I’ll take you for my bootblack, Corny,” interrupted Julius.)“No, you
won’t.I expect to be governor before that time, and maybe you’ll be
swallered by the bear that scared you so this afternoon.” (Laughter from
the boys.)“But I’ve most got through.” (“Oh, drive ahead, Corny!”) “If
you want to be great men all you’ve got to do is to imertate me.O’Connor are goin’ to watch you, to see that you behave the way you
ought to.When you’re rich you can come back to New York, and go to the
Lodgin’ House and make a speech to the boys, and tell ’em you was once a
poor <DW15> like they be, and advise ’em to go West, if they want to be
somebody.“Now, boys, I won’t say no more.I’m afeared you won’t remember what
I’ve said already.I won’t charge you nothin’ for my advice.”
Corny descended from the platform amid the laughter and applause of his
comrades.John journeyed to the bedroom.O’Connor said: “Boys, Corny’s advice is very good, and I advise you
to follow it, especially as to avoiding cigars and tobacco, which can
only do boys harm.I am not sure that any of you stand a chance of
becoming a Congressman or President, as he suggests, but there is one
thing pretty certain--you can, if you are honest, industrious, and
improve your opportunities at the schools which you will have a chance
to attend, obtain a respectable position in society.Some of the boys
who in former years have gone to the West have become prosperous,
having farms or shops of their own.I don’t see why you can’t be just as
successful as they.I hope you will be, and if, some years hence, you
come to New York, I hope you will visit the Lodging House.If I am still
there, I shall be glad to see you, and have you speak to the boys, and
encourage them, by the sight of your prosperity, to work as you have
done.Now I would suggest that you sing one or two of the songs we used
to sing on Sunday evenings at the Lodging House.After that you may go
out for an hour, but you must keep near this hall, as the evening is
coming on.”
CHAPTER XI.NEW HOMES FOR THE HOMELESS.The next day was to witness the dispersion of the little company which
had come out to try their fortunes in the great West.Notices had been
circulated in the neighboring villages that a company of boys had
arrived, and farmers and mechanics who needed a boy on the farm or in
the shop came to Brookville; and at eleven in the forenoon the hall
presented a busy and animated sight.While the newcomers scanned
attentively the faces of the boys, or opened conversations with them, to
guide them in the selections, the boys again were naturally anxious to
obtain desirable guardians and homes.Julius, being already provided
for, had no anxiety, but wandered about, surveying the scene with
comparative indifference.As he had a bright and intelligent look, he
was more than once addressed by visitors.“What is your name, my lad?” asked a middle-aged farmer from the next
town.“Julius.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“How would you like to come with me, and help me on my farm?”
“I’m engaged,” said Julius, with an air of importance; for as young
ladies are often emulous of getting married before their companions, so
the boy who first succeeds in obtaining a place plumes himself
accordingly.“Indeed!” said the farmer, somewhat disappointed.John went to the hallway.“Where are you going
to live?”
“With Mr.Ephraim Taylor.”
“In Brookville?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall have to look somewhere else, I suppose.”
“Maybe you’d like Corny Donovan?” suggested Julius.Point him out.”
Our hero pointed out the speaker of the evening before.“He’s small,” said the farmer, after a critical survey.“How old is he?”
“He’s fourteen.”
“He doesn’t look more than twelve.”
“He’s strong, Corny is, and he’s smart.Sandra went back to the hallway.He used to earn twice as much
money as some of the boys.”
“What did he do?”
“He blacked boots.”
“Do you think he would like to work on a farm?”
“I’ll axe him.Come here, Corny.”
Corny Donovan came up.“Here’s a gentleman wants to talk to you,” said Julius.“I was asking if you would like to work on a farm.”
“Yes,” said Corny, promptly, “if I was treated well, and could go to
school.I want to learn somethin’, so’s I can grow up to be somebody.”
“You ain’ |
bathroom | Where is John? | Julius here is afraid of bears.”
“You won’t find any bears where I live,” said the farmer, smiling.“How
would you like to go home with me?”
“I’d like it.You’ll have to speak to Mr.O’Connor.”
“He is the man who brought you to the West?”
“Yes.He stands there.”
Mr.O’Connor was the center of a group of farmers and others, who were
making inquiries about particular boys.O’Connor,” said the farmer just introduced, “I want to ask you
about a boy who calls himself Corny Donovan.”
“He is a smart boy; there is no smarter in our company.”
“Can you recommend him?”
“My dear sir, it depends on what you mean by the word.”
“Well, is he to be depended upon?”
“I think so; but we cannot guarantee it.John went back to the kitchen.You know what has been the past
life of our boys; how they have been brought up in neglect and privation
in the city streets, subject to little restraint, and without careful
instruction.You can’t expect them to be models of all the virtues.”
“No, I suppose not!”
“But I can tell you this--that among the thousands whom we place in
Western homes, there are few who do us discredit by being guilty of
criminal offenses.They may at times be mischievous, as most boys in all
conditions are, and with whatever advantages.There are few who show
themselves really bad.”
“That is all I want to know, Mr.I will take this boy, Corny,
and try him, with your consent.”
“Have you spoken with him?”
“Yes; he thinks he shall like being on a farm.”
“Then, sir, you have only to give us good references, and the matter
shall be arranged.We always insist upon them, as we feel under
obligations to place our boys in good families, where they will be
likely to receive good treatment.”
“That is quite fair, sir.I can satisfy you on that point.”
The matter was soon arranged, and Corny Donovan’s suspense was at an
end.Darius Fogg, who
owned and cultivated a large farm in the adjoining township of
Claremont.“How far do you live from Brookville?” asked Julius.“About six miles.”
“Can Corny come over some time?I should like to see him sometimes.”
“Oh, yes; he will have occasion to come often.We send our farm produce
here, to go East by rail, and we do our shopping here.Fogg will
want Cornelius to drive her over of an afternoon.”
“Shall I drive the horses?” asked Corny, his eyes lighting up with eager
anticipation.“Certainly; you will have to do it every day.”
“That’ll be stavin’.John moved to the office.I say, Julius, won’t I put her over the road
two-forty?”
This remark Mr.John journeyed to the garden.Fogg did not hear, or he might have been alarmed at the
prospect of either of his staid farm horses being put over the road at
racing speed.It is doubtful, however, whether Corny, or any other
driver, could have got any very surprising speed out of them.Teddy Bates was attached to Julius, and, though he was but a year
younger than our hero, looked up to him as a weak nature looks up to a
stronger.He was very anxious to find a home near our hero.Fortune
favored him at last, as a Mr.Johnson, a shoemaker, living only half a
mile distant from Mr.Taylor, agreed to take him into his shop, and
teach him the shoemaker’s trade.“So you’re goin’ to learn to make shoes, Teddy,” said Julius.“Do you
think you’ll like it?”
“I don’t know,” said Teddy, “but I’m glad I’m goin’ to be near you.”
“We’ll have bully times, but I’d rather be on a farm.I want to drive
horses.”
“I never drove a horse,” said Teddy.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.“Nor I; but I can.”
“S’pose he runs away.”
“I won’t let him.You ain’t afraid of a horse as well as a bear, are
you, Teddy?”
“I ain’t used to ’em, you see.”
“Nor I; but I will be soon.”
Teddy did not reply; but congratulated himself that he should have no
horse to take care of.In this, however, he was mistaken, as his new
guardian kept a horse also, though he did not have as much use for him
as if he had been a farmer.Teddy, I may here remark, was an exception to his class.Street boys are
rarely deficient in courage or enterprise, and most would be delighted
at the opportunity to control or drive a horse.But Teddy inherited a
timid temperament, and differed widely from such boys as Julius or Corny
Donovan.“Well, my boy, are you ready?I’ve got to be getting home,” said Mr.Johnson, walking up to the place where Teddy stood talking with Julius.“Yes, sir, I’m ready.I’ll just bid good-by to Mr.O’Connor.”
“Good-by, my boy,” said the superintendent.“I hope you will behave well
in your new home, and satisfy the gentleman who has agreed to take you.Write home sometimes, and let me know how you are getting along.”
“I can’t write, sir,” said Teddy, rather ashamed of his ignorance.Good-by!”
Next Julius came up, as Mr.Mary went back to the garden.“Good-by, Julius,” said Mr.“Now you’ve got a chance to make a
man of yourself, I hope you’ll do it.”
“I will,” said Julius, confidently.“If Jack Morgan or Marlowe come
round to ask where I am, don’t tell them.”
“I don’t think they’ll trouble me with any inquiries.John journeyed to the bedroom.They are probably
in Sing Sing by this time.”
CHAPTER XII.A light wagon was standing outside for Julius and his new guardian.“Jump in, Julius,” said Mr.He was quickly in his seat, and
looked wistfully at his companion, who held the reins.“May I drive?” he asked.John went to the hallway.“Are you accustomed to driving?”
“No, sir.”
“I suppose you never got a chance in the city?”
“No, sir.Jack didn’t keep a horse,” said Julius, with a smile.“Who was Jack?”
“He was the man I lived with.”
“Was he in any business?”
“Yes, sir; but it wasn’t a very good kind of business.Jack used to
break into houses, and take anything he could find.He tried pickin’
pockets one while, but he was too clumsy, and got caught too often.Marlowe could do that better.”
“Were those the two men you spoke of to Mr.O’Connor, as you were coming
away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you happen to be in charge of such a man?”
“That’s more than I knows of.When I was a little chap, four or five
years old, I lived with Jack; but he never told me where he got me
from.”
“Do you think you are his son?”
“No; I know I’m not.When Jack got drunk he used to tell me I wa’n’t no
child of his, and he’d send me out to shift for myself if I didn’t do
jest as he told me.”
“Did he often get drunk?”
“He used to drink when he got a chance, but he’d only get reg’lar drunk
about once a week.”
“Did he ever offer you anything to drink?”
“No,” answered Julius, laughing; “he wanted it all himself.But I
wouldn’t have took it.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t like it.Besides, I didn’t want to lay round drunk like Jack.I didn’t see that there was any fun in it.”
“You are right there.There is very little fun, as you call it, in
getting drunk.It appears to me you were brought up under bad
influences.”
“Yes, I was,” said Julius, in a matter-of-fact manner.“Many would be afraid to take into their houses a boy who had been
reared by a thief.”
“Maybe they would,” said Julius.“They might be afraid that he had been trained to steal.”
“Yes,” said Julius; “but what’s the good of stealin’ when you got a good
home?”
“Quite right; but that isn’t the highest view to take of stealing.It is
wrong in the sight of God.”
“That’s what they told us at the Lodgin’ House.”
“I hope you believe it.”
“Yes, sir, I believe it.”
“And if ever you are tempted to take anything that doesn’t belong to
you, think first that it will be displeasing to God.After that, you may
consider that it is bad policy also.”
“It was bad for Jack and Marlowe.They’re in Sing Sing now, hammerin’ stone, I expect.”
“You may be thankful that you are out of their reach.But you said you
wanted to drive.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julius, eagerly.Sandra went back to the hallway.“Take the reins, and I’ll show you how to do it.You will have to learn
to harness and unharness the horse also.”
“That’ll be bully,” said our hero, in a tone of satisfaction.“I am glad you like the idea.I am going to make a Western farmer of
you.”
“That’s what I want.”
Mr.Taylor gave Julius some practical directions about driving, and had
an illustration of the boy’s quickness in his immediate comprehension
and acting upon them.John journeyed to the bathroom.They soon came in sight of a gate, on the other
side of which was a lane.“Jump out and open the gate,” said Mr.“That lane leads to my
house.”
They soon came in sight of a substantial farm-house of good appearance.A man in overalls, and without a coat, came up to meet the carriage.“Abner,” said Mr.Taylor, “you may take out the horse, and put him in
the barn.”
“Shall I go with him?” asked Julius.I will take you into the house, and introduce you to Mrs.Taylor, who will show you where you are to sleep.”
He entered the house, followed by Julius.“Come in here,” said Mr.Taylor, throwing open the door of a comfortable
sitting-room.It was furnished in ordinary, yet tasteful, style; and to
Julius, bred in the street and never having known anything better than a
bare and cheerless apartment in a shabby tenement house, it seemed like
a palace.In front of a fire sat a pleasant and comely woman of
thirty-five, sewing.Taylor entered, and her eyes
rested with interest on the boy who followed him.“Emma,” said her husband, “this is the boy I spoke to you about.”
“I am glad to see you,” said Mrs.Taylor, with a cordial smile,
extending her hand, which Julius took bashfully.He was not diffident in
the presence of men, but he was not accustomed to ladies, and felt
awkward in their presence.“You have come a long journey,” said Mrs.“Yes, sir--I mean ma’am,” stammered Julius.“You come from New York?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I hope you will like Brookville.It isn’t much like the great city you
have left.”
“I like it a great deal better.”
“What is your name?”
“Julius.”
“You are the first Julius that I ever met.And your other name?”
“I haven’t got none.”
The lady looked surprised.“What was your father’s name.Surely he had one.”
“Maybe he did, but I never had the pleasure of his acquaintance.”
“This is really singular, Ephraim,” said his wife.“How can he get along
with but one name?”
“He can take ours.”
“How would you like to take the name of Taylor?” he asked.Mary went to the hallway.“Tiptop,” said Julius.“Then you can call yourself Julius Taylor.I suppose that will be all
the formality required.Emma, where are you going to put him?”
“I will show him his room,” said Mrs.“Is his trunk outside?”
“I haven’t got no trunk,” said Julius.“Then where do you keep your clothes?” asked Mrs.“I suspect,” said her husband, “Julius carries his clothes on his back.”
“I’ve got some in this bundle,” said our hero, displaying a paper
parcel.“You will have to buy him some, Ephraim,” said his wife.“He will need a
supply of underclothes.”
“I leave that matter in your hands, my dear.You will know more about
his needs than I.”
Julius followed Mrs.Taylor upstairs to a small back chamber on the
second floor, which was neatly furnished, with a bedstead, table,
bureau, washstand, two chairs, and adorned, moreover, by three prints
cheaply framed, and hung upon the walls.“This will be your room Julius,” said Mrs.To the boy, with the recollections of his street life fresh in his
memory, it seemed hardly credible that this sumptuous chamber, as it
seemed to him, could really be his.“Do you like it?” asked Mrs.“Don’t I?” he answered, drawing a long breath.“Is this goin’ to be my
room?”
“Yes, you are to sleep here regularly.You can put your bundle inside now, and in a few days you shall have
some more to put in.”
“It’s stavin’,” ejaculated Julius, rapturously.“I am not familiar with that word,” |
kitchen | Where is John? | Taylor said, “but I suppose it
means that the room suits you.You will find some water in the pitcher,
if you want to wash.When you have got through, you may come downstairs.We shall have dinner directly.”
Left to himself, Julius sat down on the bed, and tried to realize the
situation.“What would Jack say if he should see me now?” he said to himself.“I
didn’t expect I was goin’ to set up as a gentleman so quick.Ain’t this
a jolly bed?I’ll sleep like a top on it.It’s a blamed sight better
than lyin’ on the floor in Jack’s room, or sleepin’ in old wagons, or on
the piers.I feel as if one of them magician chaps had shaken his stick
at me and changed me from a bootblack into a prince, like he did in that
play at the Old Bowery.So I’m Julius Taylor now.”
Julius arose from the bed, and proceeded to wash his face and hands,
though, under ordinary circumstances, he would scarcely have thought it
necessary.But he reflected that he had ascended in the social scale,
and it was only proper to adapt himself to his new position.When he had
completed his ablutions, to use an expression which he would not yet
have understood, he heard a bell ring below.“That’s for grub!” he said to himself.“I guess I can do my share.”
CHAPTER XIII.Julius had been unusually fortunate in obtaining a home in Mr.His new guardian was a man of wealth; indeed, he was the
wealthiest man in Brookville.He owned shares in banks and mining
companies, and could have lived handsomely had his farm yielded no
income.He had a taste for agriculture, however, though he personally
carried on but a small part of his extensive farm.His wife had been
born and brought up in an Eastern city, was well educated, and, though
she superintended the affairs of her household, did comparatively little
work herself, having the aid of two stout, capable girls in the kitchen,
who relieved her of all the drudgery, and, being competent for their
positions, required very little looking after.It will be seen,
therefore, that Mr.Taylor’s household is not presented as that of an
average Western farmer.John went back to the bedroom.Though, as a class, our Western farmers are
intelligent, they lack the refinement and cultivation which Mr.I must now explain how they came to take Julius into their family.Though they had been married twelve years, they had but one child, a
little girl of five, a pretty and attractive child.Having no son, it
occurred to them to receive into their household a boy, who would be
company for little Carrie, and whom, if found worthy, they might
hereafter adopt and provide for.A boy of the age of Julius can always
make himself useful on a Western farm, but it was only partially with a
view to this consideration that he was received.Taylor resolved to give him a good education, and increase his
advantages, if he showed himself to possess capability and willingness
to learn.Comparatively few of the boys who are sent to the West can hope to
obtain such homes; but though their privileges and opportunities may be
less, they will in most cases obtain a decent education, good treatment,
and a chance to rise.John moved to the kitchen.Taylor asked his wife:
“Well, Emma, what do you think of the boy I have brought home?”
“He looks bright, but I judge that he has not had much education.”
“Quite right; it will be for us to remedy that.He has been brought up
in the streets of New York, but I don’t think he has any bad faults.”
“He described his room as ‘stavin’,” said Mrs.“I never
heard the word before.”
“It is an emphatic word of approval among boys.I have heard it among
those who are not street boys.They use it where girls would say a
thing was ‘perfectly lovely’.”
“I never had much to do with boys, Ephraim.You know I had no brothers,
so I am ignorant of their dialect.”
“I presume Julius will enlighten your ignorance before long.”
“I hardly think I shall adopt it.Green that
her dress was ‘stavin’?”
“Probably she would stare.Seriously, I hope our young waif may do
credit to our training.He will have a great deal to learn, and much to
unlearn; but he looks bright, and I have good hopes of success.”
Here little Carrie entered, and at once monopolized attention.“What do you think I have brought home for you, Carrie?” asked her
father, taking her in his arms and kissing her.“I don’t know, papa.What is it?”
“It’s a doll--a big doll.”
“How big?” asked Carrie, seriously.“Bigger than Carrie.”
“Oh, how nice!” said the child.“Where is it?” and she looked around.“It will soon come in.”
“Where did you get it, papa?”
“It came all the way from New York.”
“How nice of you, papa!”
“And what do you think, Carrie?It can walk all by itself.”
“Really, papa?”
“Yes, and it can talk.”
“Can it talk like me?” asked the unsuspecting child.“Yes; and a great deal louder.”
“It must be a funny doll,” said the child, reflectively?“What does it
look like?”
“Like a boy.”
“Is it a boy doll?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad of that.All my dolls are girls.”
“Well, this is a boy.”
“Did you pay a great deal for it, papa?”
Mr.“I expect it will cost me a great deal before I get through with it; for
I forgot to tell you one thing, Carrie--this doll I am speaking to you
about, eats.”
“Does it eat dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I have to feed it?”
“I think it will prefer to feed itself, Carrie,” said her father,
compelled to laugh by the serious, wondering face of the little girl.“There it is now,” said Mr.“That is a boy,” said Carrie, looking somewhat disappointed.“I told you it was.”
“But you said it was a doll.Are you a doll?” she asked, sliding from
her father’s knee, and running up to Julius.“I’m a pretty big one,” said Julius, amused.“There, papa, you were only funning,” said the little girl,
reproachfully.“Didn’t I tell you the truth?Can’t he eat, and talk, and walk?”
“Yes, but he isn’t a doll.”
“Isn’t he better than a doll?A doll couldn’t play with you; Julius
can.”
“Is your name Julius?” asked the little girl, looking up to our hero.“Yes.”
“What’s your other name?”
“Taylor,” answered Julius, with a glance at her father.“Why, that’s our name.”
“Then he must be of our family,” said her father.“Do you want him to
stay, and live with us?He can play with you, and tell you stories, and
you can have plenty of good times together.”
“Yes, I should like to have him stay.Will you, Julius?”
“Yes, if you want me to,” answered our hero; and he felt strongly
attracted to the sweet little girl, who had mistaken him for a doll.“Then you may lead him out to dinner, Carrie,” said Mr.Taylor, as Jane,
one of the servants, opened the door and announced that dinner was
ready.“Perhaps you will have to feed him, as he is a doll, you know.”
“Now you are funning again, papa,” said Carrie, shaking her curls.“Will
you sit by me, Julius?”
“I should like to, Carrie,” said our hero; and hand in hand with the
little girl he walked into the next room, where a table was neatly
spread for dinner.Those
girls with whom he had been brought in contact had been brought up as he
had been, and, even where their manners were not rough, possessed little
of the grace and beauty of this little child of fortune.She seemed to
the eyes of our young plebeian a being of a higher type and superior
clay, and, untutored as he was, he could appreciate in a degree, her
childish beauty and grace.Taylor were pleased to find that the little girl’s
happiness was likely to be increased by this accession to their
household.“I think, Carrie,” said her mother, “you like Julius better than if he
were a doll.”
“Yes, mamma, I do.”
“If you don’t,” said Julius, “I’ll turn myself into a big doll with pink
eyes.”
“You can’t,” said Carrie, seriously.“Maybe I can’t myself, but I might get a big magician to do it.”
“Is that a fairy,” asked the little girl.“I guess so.”
“The difference is,” said her father, “that magicians are men, but
fairies are women.”
“I don’t want you to,” said Carrie, “for then you couldn’t talk to me,
and play with me.Please stay a boy.”
“I will as long as you want me to,” said Julius, gravely.Our hero did not feel wholly at his ease, for he was not used to dining
in company.In the cheap eating houses which he had been accustomed to
patronize, when he was in luck, very little ceremony prevailed.The
etiquette in vogue was of the loosest character.If a patron chose to
sit with his hat on, or lean his elbows on the table, there was nothing
to prevent.But Julius was observing, and carefully observed how Mr.Taylor ate, being resolved to imitate them, and so make no
mistakes.He found it difficult, however, to eat with his fork, instead
of his knife, as he had always done hitherto, and privately thought it a
very singular and foolish custom.His attempts were awkward, and
attracted the attention of his new guardians; but they were encouraged
by it to believe that he would lay aside other habits springing from his
street life, and, after a while, shape his manners wholly to his new
position.Taylor said: “Julius, would you like to go out
with me and see the farm?”
“Yes, sir,” said our hero, eagerly.“I thought you were going to play with me,” said little Carrie,
disappointed.“Julius can’t play with you all the time, my dear,” said her mother.“After supper perhaps he will.”
“Shall I change him into a doll?” asked her father.“Then he’ll have to
stay in.”
“No,” said Carrie; “I like a boy better.”
CHAPTER XIV.“I suppose you don’t know much about farming, Julius?” said Mr.“No more’n a horse,” said Julius.“Some horses know considerable about farming, or at least have a chance
to,” said his new guardian, with a smile.“I guess they know more’n me.”
“Very likely; but you can learn.”
“Oh, yes,” said Julius, confidently.“It won’t take me long.”
“I shall put you in charge of Abner, who will give you some instruction.You will begin to-morrow morning with helping him to milk.”
“All right, sir.”
“He gets up at five o’clock.He will knock at your door, as he comes
downstairs.Now I want to ask a few
questions about other matters.I suppose your education has been
neglected.”
“I was to college once,” said our hero.“How was that?”
“I carried a bundle of books from a bookseller in Nassau Street to one
of the purfessors of Columbia College.”
“If that is the extent of your educational advantages, you probably
still have something to learn.Have you been to school?”
“Not much.I went to evenin’ school a few times.”
“Can you read and write?”
“I can read a little, but I have to skip the hard words.I ain’t much on
writin’.”
“Here is a little book of fairy stories.You can read one aloud to
Carrie.”
“I can’t read well enough,” said Julius, drawing back reluctantly.“That is just what I want to find out,” said Mr.“Don’t be
bashful.If you can’t read well, you shall have a chance to improve.”
“Are you going to read me a story, Julius?” asked little Carrie,
delighted.“I’ll try,” said Julius, embarrassed.He began to read, but it soon became evident that he had not exaggerated
his ignorance.He hesitated and stumbled, miscalled easy words, and made
very slow progress, so that Carrie, who had been listening attentively,
without getting much idea of the story, said, discontentedly, “Why, how
funny you read, Julius!I like better to hear papa read.”
“I knew I couldn’t do it,” said Julius, disconcerted, as he laid down
the book.“You will soon be able to,” said Mr.“Now I will
tell you what I propose to do.In the forenoon, up to dinner time, you
shall work on the farm, and in the afternoon I will assign you lessons
to be recited in the evening.Would you like that?”
“Yes,” said Julius.“I don’t want to be a know-nothin’ when I get to be
a man.”
It is hardly necessary to explain that in using the term “know-nothing”
Julius had no thought of its political meaning.“But I’m afraid I won’t learn very fast,” he said hesitatingly.“Perhaps not just at first, but you will soon get used to studying.I
will be your teacher; and when I am too busy to hear your lessons, Mrs.Are you willing, Emma?”
“Certainly, Ephraim; it will remind me of the years that I was teaching
school.”
“Next winter I will send you to the public school,” said Mr.“By
that time you will, I hope, have learned so much that you will be able
to get into a class of boys somewhere near your own age.”
“I shouldn’t like to be in a class with four-year-old babies,” said
|
garden | Where is John? | “They’d take me for a big baby myself.”
“Your pride is natural and proper.Your grade in school will depend on
how well you work between now and winter.”
“I’ll study some to-night,” said Julius, eagerly.You may take the same story
you have been trying to read, and read it over three times carefully by
yourself.When you come to any words you don’t know, you can ask Mrs.To-morrow evening you may read it aloud to Carrie, and
we can see how much benefit you have derived from your study.”
Julius at once set to work in earnest.He had considerable perseverance,
and really desired to learn.He was heartily ashamed of his ignorance,
and this feeling stimulated him to make greater exertions.The next morning he was awakened by a loud knock at his door.“What’s up?” he muttered, drowsily.“Get up, Julius,” Abner called, loudly.Julius opened his eyes, and stared about him in momentary bewilderment.“Blest if I didn’t forget where I was,” he said to himself.“I thought I
was at the Lodgin’ House, and Mr.O’Connor was callin’ me.I’m comin’,”
he said, aloud.“You’ll find me at the barn,” said Abner.John went back to the bedroom.“All right.”
Julius hurried on his clothes, and proceeded to the barn, where he soon
found Abner in the act of milking.“Is it easy to milk?” he asked.“It’s easy when you know how,” said Abner.“It don’t look hard.”
“Come and try it,” said Abner.He got off his stool, and Julius took his place.He began to pull, but
not a drop of milk rewarded his efforts.“There ain’t no milk left,” he said.“You’re foolin’ me.”
In reply Abner drew a full stream into the pail.“I did just like you,” said Julius, puzzled.“No, you didn’t.Let me show you.”
Here followed a practical lesson, which cannot very well be transferred
to paper, even if the writer felt competent to give instructions in an
art of which he has little knowledge.Julius, though he had everything to learn, was quick in acquiring
knowledge, whether practical or that drawn from books, and soon got the
knack of milking, though it was some days before he could emulate Abner
with his years of experience.The next day Julius undertook to milk a cow alone.So well had he
profited by Abner’s instructions, that he succeeded very well.But he
was not yet experienced in the perverse ways of cows.When the pail was
nearly full, and he was congratulating himself on his success, the cow
suddenly lifted her foot, and in an instant the pail was overturned, and
all the milk was spilled, a portion of it on the milker.Julius uttered an exclamation of mingled dismay and anger.“What’s the matter?” asked Abner, rather amused at the expression on the
face of Julius, notwithstanding the loss of the milk.The darned brute has knocked over the pail, and spilled all the
milk.”
“Cows is curis critters,” said Abner, philosophically.“They like to
make mischief sometimes.”
“Just let me get a stick.I’ll give her a dose,” said Julius, excited.“No,” said Abner, “we’ll tie her legs if she does it again.It doesn’t
do much good beating an animal.Besides,” he added, smiling, “I s’pose
she thought she had a right to spill the milk, considerin’ it was hers.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Julius.“That’s the way she pays her
board.”
“I s’pose she didn’t see it in that light.It wa’n’t your fault anyway.”
The cow stood placidly during this conversation, evidently well pleased
with her exploit.Julius would like to have given her a beating; but
Abner, who was a kind-hearted man, would not allow it.“It would be a bully idea to make her go without her breakfast,” said
Julius, whose anger was kept fresh by the sight of the spilled milk.“Wal,” said Abner, “you see there’s this objection.If she don’t have no
breakfast, she won’t give as much milk next time.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“She can’t make milk out of nothin’.Don’t you have no cows in New
York?”
“Oh, yes,” said Julius, laughing; “the mayor has a whole drove of ’em,
that he pastures in Central Park.”
“Does he get pasturin’ for nothin’?” asked Abner, in good faith.Then there’s a lot of bulls in Wall Street.”
“Do they let ’em go round loose?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t they ever get rampagious?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t they do mischief?”
“I guess they do.They’re always fightin’ with the bears.”
“Sho!you don’t mean to say you’ve got bears in New York.”
“Yes, I do.They’re in Wall Street, too.”
“I shouldn’t think they’d allow it,” said Abner, whose knowledge of
finance and the operators who make Wall Street the theatre of their
operations was very rudimentary.“Oh, ain’t you jolly green!” said Julius, exploding with laughter.“What do you mean?” demanded Abner, inclined to feel offended.“The bulls and bears I am talkin’ of are men.They’re the brokers that
do business in Wall Street.”
“How should I know that?What do they give ’em such curis names for?”
“I don’t know,” said Julius.Didn’t you ever go to New
York?”
“No; but I should like to go.It costs a pile of money to go there, I
expect.I wish you’d tell me something about it.”
“All right.”
Then and at other times Julius gave Abner a variety of information, not
always wholly reliable, about New York and his former life there, to
which Abner listened with greedy attention.Taylor owned several hundred acres, he retained but forty
under his personal charge.The remainder was rented to various parties,
who paid him either in money or grain, according to the agreement made.Being fond of agriculture, he would have kept the whole in his own
hands, but that it would have increased so largely the cares of his
wife.A large number of farm laborers would have been required, whom he
would probably have been compelled to receive under his own roof, and
his wife would have become in effect the mistress of a large boarding
house.This he was too considerate to require, or allow.Even of the forty acres he reserved, but a small portion was cultivated,
the remainder being used for pasturage or mowing.During the greater
part of the year, therefore, he found Abner’s services sufficient.Only
during haying and harvest he found it necessary to engage extra
assistance.Taylor was, however, an exception to the general rule.Ordinarily, Western farmers, owning a large number of acres, carry on
the whole themselves; though it is doubtful whether their profits are
any greater than if they should let out the greater part.It will be seen, therefore, that Julius was fortunate in his position.He had to work but half the day, while the remaining half he was at
liberty to devote to making up the many deficiencies in his early
education.He was sensible enough to appreciate this advantage, and
showed it by the rapid improvement he made.After he had begun to
improve in his reading, he had lessons assigned him in writing and
arithmetic.For the latter he showed a decided taste; and even mastered
with ease the difficulties of fractions, which, perhaps more than any
other part of the arithmetic, are liable to perplex the learner.“You are really making excellent progress, Julius,” said Mr.“I find you are a very satisfactory pupil.”
“Do you, sir?” said Julius, his eyes brightening.Partridges are frequently in the streets, and
I can shoot wild turkeys within a mile or so.Squirrels and Woodcock are
very abundant in the season, and fish always easily caught."In October, 1820, we again find him adrift, apparently with thought of
having his bird drawings published, after he shall have further added to
them by going through many of the southern and western states.Leaving his family behind him, he started for New Orleans on a flatboat.He
tarried long at Natchez, and did not reach the Crescent City till
midwinter.Again he found himself destitute of means, and compelled to
resort to portrait painting.He went on with his bird collecting and bird
painting; in the meantime penetrating the swamps and bayous around the
city.At this time he seems to have heard of the publication of Wilson's
"Ornithology," and tried in vain to get sight of a copy of it.In the spring he made an attempt to get an appointment as draughtsman and
naturalist to a government expedition that was to leave the next year to
survey the new territory ceded to the United States by Spain.He wrote to
President Monroe upon the subject, but the appointment never came to him.In March he called upon Vanderlyn, the historical painter, and took with
him a portfolio of his drawings in hopes of getting a recommendation.Vanderlyn at first treated him as a mendicant and ordered him to leave his
portfolio in the entry.John moved to the kitchen.After some delay, in company with a government
official, he consented to see the pictures."The perspiration ran down my face," says Audubon, "as I showed him my
drawings and laid them on the floor."He was thinking of the expedition to
Mexico just referred to, and wanted to make a good impression upon
Vanderlyn and the officer.This he succeeded in doing, and obtained from
the artist a very complimentary note, as he did also from Governor
Robertson of Louisiana.In June, Audubon left New Orleans for Kentucky, to rejoin his wife and
boys, but somewhere on the journey engaged himself to a Mrs.Perrie who
lived at Bayou Sara, Louisiana, to teach her daughter drawing during the
summer, at sixty dollars per month, leaving him half of each day to follow
his own pursuits.He continued in this position till October when he took
steamer for New Orleans."My long, flowing hair, and loose yellow nankeen
dress, and the unfortunate cut of my features, attracted much attention,
and made me desire to be dressed like other people as soon as possible."He now rented a house in New Orleans on Dauphine street, and determined to
send for his family.Since he had left Cincinnati the previous autumn, he
had finished sixty-two drawings of birds and plants, three quadrupeds, two
snakes, fifty portraits of all sorts, and had lived by his talents, not
having had a dollar when he started."I sent a draft to my wife, and began
life in New Orleans with forty-two dollars, health, and much eagerness to
pursue my plan of collecting all the birds of America."His family, after strong persuasion, joined him in December, 1821, and his
former life of drawing portraits, giving lessons, painting birds, and
wandering about the country, began again.His earnings proving inadequate
to support the family, his wife took a position as governess in the family
of a Mr.In the spring, acting upon the judgment of his wife, he concluded to leave
New Orleans again, and to try his fortunes elsewhere.He paid all his bills
and took steamer for Natchez, paying his passage by drawing a crayon
portrait of the captain and his wife.On the trip up the Mississippi, two hundred of his bird portraits were
sorely damaged by the breaking of a bottle of gunpowder in the chest in
which they were being conveyed.Three times in his career he met with disasters to his drawings.On the
occasion of his leaving Hendersonville to go to Philadelphia, he had put
two hundred of his original drawings in a wooden box and had left them in
charge of a friend.John journeyed to the garden.On his return, several months later, he pathetically
recounts what befell them: "A pair of Norway rats had taken possession of
the whole, and reared a young family among gnawed bits of paper, which but
a month previous, represented nearly one thousand inhabitants of the air!"This discovery resulted in insomnia, and a fearful heat in the head; for
several days he seemed like one stunned, but his youth and health stood him
in hand, he rallied, and, undaunted, again sallied forth to the woods with
dog and gun.In three years' time his portfolio was again filled.Mary went back to the hallway.The third catastrophe to some of his drawings was caused by a fire in a New
York building in which his treasures were kept during his sojourn in
Europe.Audubon had an eye for the picturesque in his fellow-men as well as for the
picturesque in Nature.On the Levee in New Orleans, he first met a painter
whom he thus describes: "His head was covered by a straw hat, the brim of
which might cope with those worn by the fair sex in 1830; his neck was
exposed to the weather; the broad frill of a shirt, then fashionable,
flopped about his breast, whilst an extraordinary collar, carefully
arranged, fell over the top of his coat.The latter was of a light green
colour, harmonising well with a pair of flowing yellow nankeen trousers,
and a pink waistcoat, from the bosom of which, amidst a large bunch of the
splendid flowers of the magnolia, protruded part of a young alligator,
which seemed more anxious to glide through the muddy waters of a swamp than
to spend its life swinging to and fro amongst folds of the finest lawn.The
gentleman held in one hand a cage full of richly-plumed nonpareils, whilst
in the other he sported a silk umbrella, on which I could plainly read
'Stolen from I,' these words being painted in large white characters.He
walked as if conscious of his own importance; that is, with a good deal of
pomposity, singing, 'My love is but a lassie yet'; and that with such
thorough imitation of the Scotch emphasis that had not his physiognomy
suggested another parentage, I should have believed him to be a genuine
Scot.A narrower acquaintance proved him to be a Yankee; and anxious to
make his acquaintance, I desired to see his birds.He retorted, 'What the
devil did I know about birds?'I explained to him that I was a naturalist,
whereupon he requested me to examine his birds.I did so with much
interest, and was preparing to leave, when he bade me come to his lodgings
and see the remainder of his collection.This I willingly did, and was
struck with amazement at the appearance of his studio.Several cages were
hung about the walls, containing specimens of birds, all of which I
examined at my leisure.On a large easel before me stood an unfinished
portrait, other pictures hung about, and in the room were two young pupils;
and at a glance I discovered that the eccentric stranger was, like myself,
a naturalist and an artist.The artist, as modest as he was odd, showed me
how he laid on the paint on his pictures, asked after my own pursuits, and
showed a friendly spirit which enchanted me.With a ramrod for a rest, he
pro |
bedroom | Where is John? | He snapped some
caps, and on my remarking that he would frighten his birds, he exclaimed,
'Devil take the birds, there are more of them in the market.'He then
loaded his gun, and wishing to show me that he was a marksman, fired at one
of the pins on his easel.This he smashed to pieces, and afterward put a
rifle bullet exactly through the hole into which the pin fitted."Audubon reached Natchez on March 24, 1822, and remained there and in the
vicinity till the spring of 1823, teaching drawing and French to private
pupils and in the college at Washington, nine miles distant, hunting, and
painting the birds, and completing his collection.Among other things he
painted the "Death of Montgomery" from a print.His friends persuaded him
to raffle the picture off.This he did, and taking one number himself, won
the picture, while his finances were improved by three hundred dollars
received for the tickets.Early in the autumn his wife again joined him,
and presently we find her acting as governess in the home of a clergyman
named Davis.In December, there arrived in Natchez a wandering portrait painter named
Stein, who gave Audubon his first lessons in the use of oil colours, and
was instructed by Audubon in turn in chalk drawing.There appear to have been no sacrifices that Mrs.Audubon was not willing
and ready to make to forward the plans of her husband."My best friends,"
he says at this time, "solemnly regarded me as a mad man, and my wife and
family alone gave me encouragement.My wife determined that my genius
should prevail, and that my final success as an ornithologist should be
triumphant."She wanted him to go to Europe, and, to assist toward that end, she entered
into an engagement with a Mrs.Percy of Bayou Sara, to instruct her
children, together with her own, and a limited number of outside pupils.Audubon, in the meantime, with his son Victor, and his new artist friend,
Stein, started off in a wagon, seeking whom they might paint, on a journey
through the southern states.They wandered as far as New Orleans, but
Audubon appears to have returned to his wife again in May, and to have
engaged in teaching her pupils music and drawing.But something went wrong,
there was a misunderstanding with the Percys, and Audubon went back to
Natchez, revolving various schemes in his head, even thinking of again
entering upon mercantile pursuits in Louisville.He had no genius for accumulating money nor for keeping it after he had
gotten it.One day when his affairs were at a very low ebb, he met a
squatter with a tame black wolf which took Audubon's fancy.He says that he
offered the owner a hundred dollar bill for it on the spot, but was
refused.He probably means to say that he would have offered it had he had
it.Hundred dollar bills, I fancy, were rarer than tame black wolves in
that pioneer country in those days.About this time he and his son Victor were taken with yellow fever, and
Mrs.Audubon was compelled to dismiss her school and go to nurse them.They
both recovered, and, in October (1823), set out for Louisville, making part
of the journey on foot.The following winter was passed at Shipping Port,
near Louisville, where Audubon painted birds, landscapes, portraits and
even signs.In March he left Shipping Port for Philadelphia, leaving his
son Victor in the counting house of a Mr.He reached Philadelphia
on April 5, and remained there till the following August, studying
painting, exhibiting his birds, making many new acquaintances, among them
Charles Lucien Bonaparte, giving lessons in drawing at thirty dollars per
month, all the time casting wistful eyes toward Europe, whither he hoped
soon to be able to go with his drawings.In July he made a pilgrimage to
Mill Grove where he had passed so many happy years.The sight of the old
familiar scenes filled him with the deepest emotions.In August he left Philadelphia for New York, hoping to improve his
finances, and, may be, publish his drawings in that city.At this time he
had two hundred sheets, and about one thousand birds.While there he again
met Vanderlyn and examined his pictures, but says that he was not impressed
with the idea that Vanderlyn was a great painter.The birds that he saw in the museum in New York appeared to him to be set
up in unnatural and constrained attitudes.De Kay he visited the
Lyceum, and his drawings were examined by members of the Institute."I feel that I am strange to all
but the birds of America," he said.As most of the persons to whom he had
letters of introduction were absent, and as his spirits soon grew low, he
left on the fifteenth for Albany.Abandoning the idea of visiting Boston, he took passage on a canal boat for
Rochester.His fellow-passengers on the boat were doubtful whether he was a
government officer, commissioner, or spy.At that time Rochester had only
five thousand inhabitants.After a couple of days he went on to Buffalo
and, he says, wrote under his name at the hotel this sentence: "Who, like
Wilson, will ramble, but never, like that great man, die under the lash of
a bookseller."He visited Niagara, and gives a good account of the impressions which the
cataract made upon him.John went back to the bedroom.He did not cross the bridge to Goat Island on
account of the low state of his funds.In Buffalo he obtained a good dinner
of bread and milk for twelve cents, and went to bed cheering himself with
thoughts of other great men who had encountered greater hardships and had
finally achieved fame.He soon left Buffalo, taking a deck passage on a schooner bound for Erie,
furnishing his own bed and provisions and paying a fare of one dollar and a
half.From Erie he and a fellow-traveller hired a man and cart to take them
to Meadville, paying their entertainers over night with music and portrait
drawing.Reaching Meadville, they had only one dollar and a half between
them, but soon replenished their pockets by sketching some of the leading
citizens.Audubon's belief in himself helped him wonderfully.He knew that he had
talents, he insisted on using them.Most of his difficulties came from
trying to do the things he was not fitted to do.He did not hesitate to use
his talents in a humble way, when nothing else offered--portraits,
landscapes, birds and animals he painted, but he would paint the cabin
walls of the ship to pay his passage, if he was short of funds, or execute
crayon portraits of a shoemaker and his wife, to pay for shoes to enable
him to continue his journeys.He could sleep on a steamer's deck, with a
few shavings for a bed, and, wrapped in a blanket, look up at the starlit
sky, and give thanks to a Providence that he believed was ever guarding and
guiding him.Early in September he left for Pittsburg where he spent one month scouring
the country for birds and continuing his drawings.In October, he was on
his way down the Ohio in a skiff, in company with "a doctor, an artist and
an Irishman."The weather was rainy, and at Wheeling his companions left
the boat in disgust.He sold his skiff and continued his voyage to
Cincinnati in a keel boat.Here he obtained a loan of fifteen dollars and
took deck passage on a boat to Louisville, going thence to Shipping Port to
see his son Victor.In a few days he was off for Bayou Sara to see his
wife, and with a plan to open a school there."I arrived at Bayou Sara with rent and wasted clothes, and uncut hair, and
altogether looking like the Wandering Jew."In his haste to reach his wife and child at Mr.Percy's, a mile or more
distant through the woods, he got lost in the night, and wandered till
daylight before he found the house.He found his wife had prospered in his absence, and was earning nearly
three thousand dollars a year, with which she was quite ready to help him
in the publication of his drawings.He forthwith resolved to see what he
could do to increase the amount by his own efforts.Receiving an offer to
teach dancing, he soon had a class of sixty organised.But the material
proved so awkward and refractory that the master in his first lesson broke
his bow and nearly ruined his violin in his excitement and impatience.Then
he danced to his own music till the whole room came down in thunders of
applause.The dancing lessons brought him two thousand dollars; this sum,
together with his wife's savings, enabled him to foresee a successful issue
to his great ornithological work.John moved to the kitchen.John journeyed to the garden.On May, 1826, he embarked at New Orleans on board the ship _Delos_ for
Liverpool.His journal kept during this voyage abounds in interesting
incidents and descriptions.He landed at Liverpool, July 20, and delivered
some of his letters of introduction.Lord Stanley said in
looking over his drawings: "This work is unique, and deserves the patronage
of the Crown."In a letter to his wife at this time, Audubon said: "I am
cherished by the most notable people in and around Liverpool, and have
obtained letters of introduction to Baron Humboldt, Sir Walter Scott, Sir
Humphry Davy, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Hannah More, Miss Edgeworth, and your
distinguished cousin, Robert Bakewell."Mark his courtesy to his wife in
this gracious mention of her relative--a courtesy which never forsook
him--a courtesy which goes far toward retaining any woman's affection.Mary went back to the hallway.His paintings were put on exhibition in the rooms of the Royal Institution,
an admittance of one shilling being charged.From this source he soon
realised a hundred pounds.He then went to Edinburgh, carrying letters of introduction to many well
known literary and scientific men, among them Francis Jeffrey and
"Christopher North."Professor Jameson, the Scotch naturalist, received him coldly, and told
him, among other things, that there was no chance of his seeing Sir Walter
Scott--he was too busy.thought I; "I
SHALL, if I have to crawl on all fours for a mile."On his way up in the
stage coach he had passed near Sir Walter's seat, and had stood up and
craned his neck in vain to get a glimpse of the home of a man to whom, he
says, he was indebted for so much pleasure.He and Scott were in many ways
kindred spirits, men native to the open air, inevitable sportsmen, copious
and romantic lovers and observers of all forms and conditions of life.Of
course he will want to see Scott, and Scott will want to see him, if he
once scents his real quality.Later, Professor Jameson showed Audubon much kindness and helped to
introduce him to the public.In January, the opportunity to see Scott came to him.I was painting diligently when Captain Hall
came in, and said: 'Put on your coat, and come with me to Sir Walter Scott;
he wishes to see you _now_.'In a moment I was ready, for I really
believe my coat and hat came to me instead of my going to them.My heart
trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished it over.Had not his
wondrous pen penetrated my soul with the consciousness that here was a
genius from God's hand?I felt overwhelmed at the thought of meeting Sir
Walter, the Great Unknown.We reached the house, and a powdered waiter was
asked if Sir Walter were in.We were shown forward at once, and entering a
very small room Captain Hall said: 'Sir Walter, I have brought Mr.Sir Walter came forward, pressed my hand warmly, and said he was
'glad to have the honour of meeting me.'His long, loose, silvery locks
struck me; he looked like Franklin at his best.He also reminded me of
Benjamin West; he had the great benevolence of William Roscoe about him and
a kindness most prepossessing.I could not forbear looking at him, my eyes
feasted on his countenance.I watched his movements as I would those of a
celestial being; his long, heavy, white eyebrows struck me forcibly.Daniel went back to the bedroom.His
little room was tidy, though it partook a good deal of the character of a
laboratory.He was wrapped in a quilted morning-gown of light purple silk;
he had been at work writing on the 'Life of Napoleon.'He writes close
lines, rather curved as they go from left to right, and puts an immense
deal on very little paper.After a few minutes had elapsed, he begged
Captain Hall to ring a bell; a servant came and was asked to bid Miss Scott
come to see Mr.Miss Scott came, black haired and black-dressed,
not handsome but said to be highly accomplished, and she is the daughter of
Sir Walter Scott.I talked but little, but,
believe me, I listened and observed, careful if ignorant.Knowing that I was a
candidate for the electorate of the society, I felt very uncomfortable and
would gladly have been hunting on Tawapatee Bottom."It may be worth while now to see what Scott thought of Audubon.Under the
same date, Sir Walter writes in his journal as follows: "_January_ 22,
1827.Audubon, the ornithologist, who has
followed the pursuit by many a long wandering in the American forests.He
is an American by naturalisation, a Frenchman by birth; but less of a
Frenchman than I have ever seen--no dust or glimmer, or shine about him,
but great simplicity of manners and behaviour; slight in person and plainly
dressed; wears long hair, which time has not yet tinged; his countenance
acute, handsome, and interesting, but still simplicity is the predominant
characteristic.I wish I had gone to see his drawings; but I had heard so
much about them that I resolved not to see them--'a crazy way of mine, your
honour.'"Two days later Audubon again saw Scott, and writes in his journal as
follows: "_January 24_.My second visit to Sir Walter Scott was much
more agreeable than my first.My portfolio and its contents were matters on
which I could speak substantially, and I found him so willing to level
himself with me for awhile that the time spent at his home was agreeable
and valuable.His daughter improved in looks the moment she spoke, having
both vivacity and good sense."John went to the bedroom.Scott's impressions of the birds as recorded in his journal, was that the
drawings were of the first order, but he thought that the aim at extreme
correctness and accuracy made them rather stiff.In February Audubon met Scott again at the opening of the Exhibition at the
rooms of the Royal Institution.This was the grand, long promised, and much
wished-for day of the opening of the Exhibition at the rooms of the Royal
Institution.At one o'clock I went, the doors were just opened, and in a
few minutes the rooms were crowded.Sir Walter Scott was present; he came
towards me, shook my hand cordially, and pointing to Landseer's picture
said: 'Many such scenes, Mr.Audubon, have I witnessed in my younger days.'We talked much of all about us, and I would gladly have joined him in a
glass of wine, but my foolish habits prevented me, and after inquiring of
his daughter's health, I left him, and shortly afterwards the rooms; for I
had a great appetite, and although there were tables loaded with
delicacies, and I saw the ladies particularly eating freely, I must say to
my shame I dared not lay my fingers on a single thing.In the evening I
went to the theatre where I was much amused by 'The Comedy of Errors,' and
afterwards, 'The Green Room.'I admire Miss Neville's singing very much;
and her manners also; there is none of the actress about her, but much of
the lady."Audubon somewhere says of himself that he was "temperate to an intemperate
degree"--the accounts in later years show that he became less strict in
this respect.He would not drink with Sir Walter Scott at this time, but he
did with the Texan Houston and with President Andrew Jackson, later on.In September we find him exhibiting his pictures in Manchester, but without
satisfactory results.In the lobby of the exchange where his pictures were
on exhibition, he overheard one man say to another: "Pray, have you seen
Mr.I am told it is well worth a shilling;
suppose we go now."it is all a hoax; save your shilling for better use.I have seen
them; the fellow |
bedroom | Where is John? | In 1827, in Edinburgh, he seems to have issued a prospectus for his work,
and to have opened books of subscription, and now a publisher, Mr.Lizars,
offers to bring out the first number of "Birds of America," and on November
28, the first proof of the first engraving was shown him, and he was
pleased with it.With a specimen number he proposed to travel about the country in quest of
subscribers until he had secured three hundred.In his journal under date
of December 10, he says: "My success in Edinburgh borders on the
miraculous.John went back to the bedroom.My book is to be published in numbers containing four [in
another place he says five] birds in each, the size of life, in a style
surpassing anything now existing, at two guineas a number.The engravings
are truly beautiful; some of them have been, and are now on
exhibition."Audubon's journal, kept during his stay in Edinburgh, is copious, graphic,
and entertaining.It is a mirror of everything he saw and felt.Among others he met George Combe, the phrenologist, author of the once
famous _Constitution of Man_, and he submitted to having his head
"looked at."The examiner said: "There cannot exist a moment of doubt that
this gentleman is a painter, colourist, and compositor, and, I would add,
an amiable though quick tempered man."Audubon was invited to the annual feast given by the Antiquarian Society at
the Waterloo Hotel, at which Lord Elgin presided.After the health of many
others had been drunk, Audubon's was proposed by Skene, a Scottish
historian."Whilst he was engaged in a handsome panegyric, the perspiration
poured from me.But he survived the ordeal and
responded in a few appropriate words.He was much dined and wined, and
obliged to keep late hours--often getting no more than four hours sleep,
and working hard painting and writing all the next day.He often wrote in
his journals for his wife to read later, bidding her Good-night, or rather
Good-morning, at three A.M.Audubon had the bashfulness and awkwardness of the backwoodsman, and
doubtless the naivete and picturesqueness also; these traits and his very
great merits as a painter of wild life, made him a favourite in Edinburgh
society.One day he went to read a paper on the Crow to Dr.John moved to the kitchen.Brewster, and
was so nervous and agitated that he had to pause for a moment in the midst
of it.Brewster and when he got it back again
was much shocked: "He had greatly improved the style (for I had none), but
he had destroyed the matter."During these days Audubon was very busy writing, painting, receiving
callers, and dining out.He grew very tired of it all at times, and longed
for the solitude of his native woods.Some days his room was a perfect
levee.Audubon there; I only hope they
will not make a conceited fool of Mr.There seems to have
been some danger of this, for he says: "I seem in a measure to have gone
back to my early days of society and fine dressing, silk stockings and
pumps, and all the finery with which I made a popinjay of myself in my
youth.... I wear my hair as long as usual, I believe it does as much for
me as my paintings."He wrote to Thomas Sully of Philadelphia, promising to send him his first
number, to be presented to the Philadelphia Society--"an institution which
thought me unworthy to be a member," he writes.About this time he was a guest for a day or two of Earl Morton, at his
estate Dalmahoy, near Edinburgh.John journeyed to the garden.He had expected to see an imposing
personage in the great Chamberlain to the late queen Charlotte.Mary went back to the hallway.What was
his relief and surprise, then, to see a "small, slender man, tottering on
his feet, weaker than a newly hatched partridge," who welcomed him with
tears in his eyes.The countess, "a fair, fresh-complexioned woman, with
dark, flashing eyes," wrote her name in his subscription book, and offered
to pay the price in advance.The next day he gave her a lesson in drawing.On his return to Edinburgh he dined with Captain Hall, to meet Francis
Jeffrey."Jeffrey is a little man," he writes, "with a serious face and
dignified air.Daniel went back to the bedroom.He looks both shrewd and cunning, and talks with so much
volubility he is rather displeasing.... Mrs.Jeffrey was nervous and very
much dressed."Early in January he painted his "Pheasant attacked by a Fox."This was his
method of proceeding: "I take one [a fox] neatly killed, put him up with
wires, and when satisfied with the truth of the position, I take my palette
and work as rapidly as possible; the same with my birds.John went to the bedroom.If practicable, I
finish the bird at one sitting,--often, it is true, of fourteen hours,--so
that I think they are correct, both in detail and in composition."In pictures by Landseer and other artists which he saw in the galleries of
Edinburgh, he saw the skilful painter, "the style of men who know how to
handle a brush, and carry a good effect," but he missed that closeness and
fidelity to Nature which to him so much outweighed mere technique.Landseer's "Death of a Stag" affected him like a farce.It was pretty, but
not real and true.He did not feel that way about the sermon he heard
Sydney Smith preach: "It was a sermon to _me_.He made me smile and he
made me think deeply.He pleased me at times by painting my foibles with
due care, and again I felt the colour come to my cheeks as he portrayed my
sins."Later, he met Sydney Smith and his "fair daughter," and heard the
latter sing.Afterwards he had a note from the famous divine upon which he
remarks: "The man should study economy; he would destroy more paper in a
day than Franklin would in a week; but all great men are more or less
eccentric.Walter Scott writes a diminutive hand, very difficult to read,
Napoleon a large scrawling one, still more difficult, and Sydney Smith goes
up hill all the way with large strides."Having decided upon visiting London, he yielded to the persuasions of his
friends and had his hair cut before making the trip.He chronicles the
event in his journal as a very sad one, in which "the will of God was
usurped by the wishes of man."Shorn of his locks he probably felt humbled
like the stag when he loses his horns.Quitting Edinburgh on April 5, he visited, in succession, Newcastle, Leeds,
York, Shrewsbury, and Manchester, in quest of subscribers to his great
work.A few were obtained at each place at two hundred pounds per head.At
Newcastle he first met Bewick, the famous wood engraver, and conceived a
deep liking for him.We find him in London on May 21, 1827, and not in a very happy frame of
mind: "To me London is just like the mouth of an immense monster, guarded
by millions of sharp-edged teeth, from which, if I escape unhurt, it must
be called a miracle."It only filled him with a strong desire to be in his
beloved woods again.His friend, Basil Hall, had insisted upon his
procuring a black suit of clothes.When he put this on to attend his first
dinner party, he spoke of himself as "attired like a mournful raven," and
probably more than ever wished himself in the woods.He early called upon the great portrait painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, who
inspected his drawings, pronounced them "very clever," and, in a few days,
brought him several purchasers for some of his animal paintings, thus
replenishing his purse with nearly one hundred pounds.Considering Audubon's shy disposition, and his dread of persons in high
places, it is curious that he should have wanted to call upon the King, and
should have applied to the American Minister, Mr.Gallatin, to help him to
do so.Gallatin laughed and said: "It is impossible, my dear sir, the
King sees nobody; he has the gout, is peevish, and spends his time playing
whist at a shilling a rubber.I had to wait six weeks before I was
presented to him in my position of ambassador."But his work was presented
to the King who called it fine, and His Majesty became a subscriber on the
usual terms.Other noble persons followed suit, yet Audubon was despondent.He had removed the publication of his work from Edinburgh to London, from
the hands of Mr.Lizars into those of Robert Havell.But the enterprise did
not prosper, his agents did not attend to business, nor to his orders, and
he soon found himself at bay for means to go forward with the work.At this
juncture he determined to make a sortie for the purpose of collecting his
dues and to add to his subscribers.He visited Leeds, York, and other
towns.Under date of October 9, at York, he writes in his journal: "How
often I thought during these visits of poor Alexander Wilson.Then
travelling as I am now, to procure subscribers he, as well as myself, was
received with rude coldness, and sometimes with that arrogance which
belongs to _parvenus."_
A week or two later we find him again in Edinburgh where he breakfasted
with Professor Wilson ("Christopher North"), whom he greatly enjoyed, a man
without stiffness or ceremonies: "No cravat, no waistcoat, but a fine frill
of his own profuse beard, his hair flowing uncontrolled, and his speech
dashing at once at the object in view, without circumlocution.... He gives
me comfort by being comfortable himself."In early November he took the coach for Glasgow, he and three other
passengers making the entire journey without uttering a single word: "We
sat like so many owls of different species, as if afraid of one another."Early in January he is back in London arranging with Mr.Havell for the
numbers to be engraved in 1828.One day on looking up to the new moon he
saw a large flock of wild ducks passing over, then presently another flock
passed.The sight of these familiar objects made him more homesick than
ever.He often went to Regent's Park to see the trees, and the green grass,
and to hear the sweet notes of the black birds and starlings.The black birds' note revived his drooping spirits: to his wife he writes,
"it carries my mind to the woods around thee, my Lucy."Now and then a subscriber withdrew his name, which always cut him to the
quick, but did not dishearten him.I received a letter from D. Lizars to-day announcing to
me the loss of four subscribers; but these things do not dampen my spirits
half so much as the smoke of London.Sandra travelled to the garden.In February he learned that it was Sir Thomas Lawrence who prevented the
British Museum from subscribing to his work: "He considered the drawings
so-so, and the engraving and colouring bad; when I remember how he praised
these same drawings _in my presence,_ I wonder--that is all."The rudest man he met in England was the Earl of Kinnoul: "A small man with
a face like the caricature of an owl."He sent for Audubon to tell him that
all his birds were alike, and that he considered his work a swindle."He
may really think this, his knowledge is probably small; but it is not the
custom to send for a gentleman to abuse him in one's own house."Audubon
heard his words, bowed and left him without speaking.In March he went to Cambridge and met and was dined by many learned men.The University, through its Librarian, subscribed for his work.He was introduced to a judge who wore a wig that
"might make a capital bed for an Osage Indian during the whole of a cold
winter on the Arkansas River."On his way to Oxford he saw them turn a stag from a cart "before probably a
hundred hounds and as many huntsmen.A curious land, and a curious custom,
to catch an animal and then set it free merely to catch it again."At
Oxford he received much attention, but complains that not one of the
twenty-two colleges subscribed for his work, though two other institutions
did.Early in April we find him back in London lamenting over his sad fate in
being compelled to stay in so miserable a place.He could neither write nor
draw to his satisfaction amid the "bustle, filth, and smoke."His mind and
heart turned eagerly toward America, and to his wife and boys, and he began
seriously to plan for a year's absence from England.He wanted to renew and
to improve about fifty of his drawings.During this summer of 1828, he was
very busy in London, painting, writing, and superintending the colouring of
his plates.Under date of August 9, he writes in his journal: "I have been
at work from four every morning until dark; I have kept up my large
correspondence.My publication goes on well and regularly, and this very
day seventy sets have been distributed, yet the number of my subscribers
has not increased; on the contrary, I have lost some."He made the
acquaintance of Swainson, and the two men found much companionship in each
other, and had many long talks about birds: "Why, Lucy, thou wouldst think
that birds were all that we cared for in this world, but thou knowest this
is not so."Swainson planned a trip to Paris, which they
carried out early in September.It tickled Audubon greatly to find that the
Frenchman at the office in Calais, who had never seen him, had described
his complexion in his passport as copper red, because he was an American,
all Americans suggesting aborigines.In Paris they early went to call upon
Baron Cuvier.They were told that he was too busy to be seen: "Being
determined to look at the Great Man, we waited, knocked again, and with a
certain degree of firmness, sent in our names.The messenger returned,
bowed, and led the way up stairs, where in a minute Monsieur le Baron, like
an excellent good man, came to us.He had heard much of my friend Swainson,
and greeted him as he deserves to be greeted; he was polite and kind to me,
though my name had never made its way to his ears.Daniel went back to the office.He cannot be accused of exaggeration, when, surveying the
thousands of new graves at Andersonville, he could say with a quiet
chuckle that he was "doing more to kill off the Yankees than twenty
regiments at the front."No twenty regiments in the Rebel Army ever
succeeded in slaying anything like thirteen thousand Yankees in six
months, or any other time.His cold blooded cruelty was such as to
disgust even the Rebel officers.Colonel D. T. Chandler, of the Rebel
War Department, sent on a tour of inspection to Andersonville, reported
back, under date of August 5, 1864:
"My duty requires me respectfully to recommend a change in the officer in
command of the post, Brigadier General John H. Winder, and the
substitution in his place of some one who unites both energy and good
judgment with some feelings of humanity and consideration for the welfare
and comfort, as far as is consistent with their safe keeping, of the vast
number of unfortunates placed under his control; some one who, at least,
will not advocate deliberately, and in cold blood, the propriety of
leaving them in their present condition until their number is
sufficiently reduced by death to make the present arrangements suffice
for their accommodation, and who will not consider it a matter of
self-laudation and boasting that he has never been inside of the
Stockade--a place the horrors of which it is difficult to describe, and
which is a disgrace to civilization--the condition of which he might, by
the exercise of a little energy and judgment, even with the limited
means at his command, have considerably improved."In his examination touching this report, Colonel Chandler says:
"I noticed that General Winder seemed very indifferent to the welfare of
the prisoners, indisposed to do anything, or to do as much as I thought
he ought to do, to alleviate their sufferings.I remonstrated with him
as well as I could, and he used that language which I reported to the
Department with reference to it--the language stated in |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | John went back to the bedroom.When
I spoke of the great mortality existing among the prisoners, and pointed
out to him that the sickly season was coming on, and that it must
necessarily increase unless something was done for their relief--the
swamp, for instance, drained, proper food furnished, and in better
quantity, and other sanitary suggestions which I made to him--he replied
to me that he thought it was better to see half of them die than to take
care of the men."It was he who could issue such an order as this, when it was supposed
that General Stoneman was approaching Andersonville:
HEADQUARTERS MILITARY PRISON,
ANDERSONVILLE, Ga., July 27, 1864.The officers on duty and in charge of the Battery of Florida Artillery at
the time will, upon receiving notice that the enemy has approached within
seven miles of this post, open upon the Stockade with grapeshot, without
reference to the situation beyond these lines of defense.JOHN H. WINDER,
Brigadier General Commanding.This man was not only unpunished, but the Government is to-day supporting
his children in luxury by the rent it pays for the use of his property
--the well-known Winder building, which is occupied by one of the
Departments at Washington.I confess that all my attempts to satisfactorily analyze Winder's
character and discover a sufficient motive for his monstrous conduct have
been futile.Even if we imagine him inspired by a hatred of the people
of the North that rose to fiendishness, we can not understand him.John moved to the kitchen.It seems impossible for the mind of any man to cherish so deep and
insatiable an enmity against his fellow-creatures that it could not be
quenched and turned to pity by the sight of even one day's misery at
Andersonville or Florence.No one man could possess such a grievous
sense of private or national wrongs as to be proof against the daily
spectacle of thousands of his own fellow citizens, inhabitants of the
same country, associates in the same institutions, educated in the same
principles, speaking the same language--thousands of his brethren in
race, creed, and all that unite men into great communities, starving,
rotting and freezing to death.There is many a man who has a hatred so intense that nothing but the
death of the detested one will satisfy it.A still fewer number thirst
for a more comprehensive retribution; they would slay perhaps a
half-dozen persons; and there may be such gluttons of revenge as would
not be satisfied with the sacrifice of less than a score or two, but
such would be monsters of whom there have been very few, even in
fiction.How must they all bow their diminished heads before a man
who fed his animosity fat with tens of thousands of lives.But, what also militates greatly against the presumption that either
revenge or an abnormal predisposition to cruelty could have animated
Winder, is that the possession of any two such mental traits so strongly
marked would presuppose a corresponding activity of other intellectual
faculties, which was not true of him, as from all I can learn of him his
mind was in no respect extraordinary.It does not seem possible that he had either the brain to conceive, or
the firmness of purpose to carry out so gigantic and long-enduring a
career of cruelty, because that would imply superhuman qualities in a man
who had previously held his own very poorly in the competition with other
men.The probability is that neither Winder nor his direct superiors--Howell
Cobb and Jefferson Davis--conceived in all its proportions the gigantic
engine of torture and death they were organizing; nor did they comprehend
the enormity of the crime they were committing.But they were willing to
do much wrong to gain their end; and the smaller crimes of to-day
prepared them for greater ones to-morrow, and still greater ones the day
following.Killing ten men a day on Belle Isle in January, by starvation
and hardship, led very easily to killing one hundred men a day in
Andersonville, in July, August and September.Probably at the beginning
of the war they would have felt uneasy at slaying one man per day by such
means, but as retribution came not, and as their appetite for slaughter
grew with feeding, and as their sympathy with human misery atrophied from
long suppression, they ventured upon ever widening ranges of
destructiveness.Had the war lasted another year, and they lived, five
hundred deaths a day would doubtless have been insufficient to disturb
them.Winder doubtless went about his part of the task of slaughter coolly,
leisurely, almost perfunctorily.His training in the Regular Army was
against the likelihood of his displaying zeal in anything.He instituted
certain measures, and let things take their course.That course was a
rapid transition from bad to worse, but it was still in the direction of
his wishes, and, what little of his own energy was infused into it was in
the direction of impetus,-not of controlling or improving the course.To have done things better would have involved soma personal discomfort.He was not likely to incur personal discomfort to mitigate evils that
were only afflicting someone else.By an effort of one hour a day for
two weeks he could have had every man in Andersonville and Florence given
good shelter through his own exertions.He was not only too indifferent
and too lazy to do this, but he was too malignant; and this neglect to
allow--simply allow, remember--the prisoners to protect their lives by
providing their own shelter, gives the key to his whole disposition,
and would stamp his memory with infamy, even if there were no other
charges against him.ONE INSTANCE OF A SUCCESSFUL ESCAPE--THE ADVENTURES OF SERGEANT WALTER
HARTSOUGH, OF COMPANY K, SIXTEENTH ILLINOIS CAVALRY--HE GETS AWAY FROM
THE REBELS AT THOMASVILLE, AND AFTER A TOILSOME AND DANGEROUS JOURNEY
OF SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES, REACHES OUR LINES IN FLORIDA.John journeyed to the garden.While I was at Savannah I got hold of a primary geography in possession
of one of the prisoners, and securing a fragment of a lead pencil from
one comrade, and a sheet of note paper from another, I made a copy of the
South Carolina and Georgia sea coast, for the use of Andrews and myself
in attempting to escape.The reader remembers the ill success of all our
efforts in that direction.When we were at Blackshear we still had the
map, and intended to make another effort, "as soon as the sign got
right."One day while we were waiting for this, Walter Hartsough, a
Sergeant of Company g, of our battalion, came to me and said:
"Mc., I wish you'd lend me your map a little while.I handed it over to him, and never saw him more, as almost immediately
after we were taken out "on parole" and sent to Florence.Mary went back to the hallway.I heard from
other comrades of the battalion that he had succeeded in getting past the
guard line and into the Woods, which was the last they ever heard of him.Whether starved to death in some swamp, whether torn to pieces by dogs,
or killed by the rifles of his pursuers, they knew not.The reader can
judge of my astonishment as well as pleasure, at receiving among the
dozens of letters which came to me every day while this account was
appearing in the BLADE, one signed "Walter Hartsough, late of Co.It was like one returned from the grave,
and the next mail took a letter to him, inquiring eagerly of his
adventures after we separated.I take pleasure in presenting the reader
with his reply, which was only intended as a private communication to
myself.The first part of the letter I omit, as it contains only gossip
about our old comrades, which, however interesting to myself, would
hardly be so to the general reader.GENOA, WAYNE COUNTY, IA.,
May 27, 1879.:
.....................
I have been living in this town for ten years, running a general store,
under the firm name of Hartsough & Martin, and have been more successful
than I anticipated.I made my escape from Thomasville, Ga., Dec.7, 1864, by running the
guards, in company with Frank Hommat, of Company M, and a man by the name
of Clipson, of the Twenty-First Illinois Infantry.I had heard the
officers in charge of us say that they intended to march us across to the
other road, and take us back to Andersonville.We concluded we would
take a heavy risk on our lives rather than return there.By stinting
ourselves we had got a little meal ahead, which we thought we would bake
up for the journey, but our appetites got the better of us, and we ate it
all up before starting.Daniel went back to the bedroom.We were camped in the woods then, with no
Stockade--only a line of guards around us.We thought that by a little
strategy and boldness we could pass these.Clipson was to go to the right, Hommat in the center, and myself to the
left.Our rendezvous was to be
the center of a small swamp, through which flowed a small stream that
supplied the prisoners with water.John went to the bedroom.Hommat and I got together soon after
passing the guard lines, and we began signaling for Clipson.We laid
down by a large log that lay across the stream, and submerged our limbs
and part of our bodies in the water, the better to screen ourselves from
observation.Sandra travelled to the garden.Pretty soon a Johnny came along with a bunch of turnip
tops, that he was taking up to the camp to trade to the prisoners.As he
passed over the log I could have caught him by the leg, which I intended
to do if he saw us, but he passed along, heedless of those concealed
under his very feet, which saved him a ducking at least, for we were
resolved to drown him if he discovered us.Daniel went back to the office.Waiting here a little longer
we left our lurking place and made a circuit of the edge of the swamp,
still signaling for Clipson.But we could find nothing of him, and at
last had to give him up.We were now between Thomasville and the camp, and as Thomasville was the
end of the railroad, the woods were full of Rebels waiting
transportation, and we approached the road carefully, supposing that it
was guarded to keep their own men from going to town.We crawled up to
the road, but seeing no one, started across it.At that moment a guard
about thirty yards to our left, who evidently supposed that we were
Rebels, sang out:
"Whar ye gwine to thar boys?"I answered:
"Jest a-gwine out here a little ways."Frank whispered me to run, but I said, "No; wait till he halts us, and
then run."He walked up to where we had crossed his beat--looked after
us a few minutes, and then, to our great relief, walked back to his post.After much trouble we succeeded in getting through all the troops, and
started fairly on our way.The country was very swampy, the night rainy and dark, no stars were out
to guide us, and we made such poor progress that when daylight came we
were only eight miles from our starting place, and close to a road
leading from Thomasville to Monticello.Finding a large turnip patch,
we filled our pockets, and then hunted a place to lie concealed in during
the day.We selected a thicket in the center of a large pasture.We
crawled into this and laid down.Some <DW64>s passed close to us, going
to their work in an adjoining field.They had a bucket of victuals with
them for dinner, which they hung on the fence in such a way that we could
have easily stolen it without detection.The temptation to hungry men
was very great, but we concluded that it was best and safest to let it
alone.As the <DW64>s returned from work in the evening they separated, one old
man passing on the opposite side of the thicket from the rest.We halted
him and told him that we were Rebs, who had taken a French leave of
Thomasville; that we were tired of guarding Yanks, and were going home;
and further, that we were hungry, and wanted something to eat.He told
us that he was the boss on the plantation.He, himself, did not have much to eat, but he would show us
where to stay, and when the folks went to bed he would bring us some
food.Passing up close to the <DW64> quarters we got over the fence and
lay down behind it, to wait for our supper.We had been there but a short time when a young <DW64> came out, and
passing close by us, went into a fence corner a few panels distant and,
kneeling down, began praying aloud, and very, earnestly, and stranger
still, the burden of his supplication was for the success of our armies.I thought it the best prayer I ever listened to.Finishing his devotions
he returned to the house, and shortly after the old man came with a good
supper of corn bread, molasses and milk.He said that he had no meat,
and that he had done the best he could for us.Mary went back to the bedroom.After we had eaten, he
said that as the young people had gone to bed, we had better come into
his cabin and rest awhile, which we did.Hommat had a full suit of Rebel clothes, and I had stolen sacks enough at
Andersonville, when they were issuing rations, to make me a shirt and
pantaloons, which a sailor fabricated for me.I wore these over what was
left of my blue clothes.The old <DW64> lady treated us very coolly.In
a few minutes a young <DW64> came in, whom the old gentleman introduced as
his son, and whom I immediately recognized as our friend of the prayerful
proclivities.He said that he had been a body servant to his young
master, who was an officer in the Rebel army.says he, "if you 'uns had stood a little longer at Stone River,
our men would have run."I turned to him sharply with the question of what he meant by calling us
"You 'uns," and asked him if he believed we were Yankees.He surveyed us
carefully for a few seconds, and then said:
"Yes; I bleav you is Yankees."He paused a second, and added:
"Yes, I know you is."I asked him how he knew it, and he said that we neither looked nor talked
like their men.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.I then acknowledged that we were Yankee prisoners,
trying to make our escape to our lines.This announcement put new life
into the old lady, and, after satisfying herself that we were really
Yankees, she got up from her seat, shook hands with us, and declared we
must have a better supper than we had had.She set immediately about
preparing it for us.Taking up a plank in the floor, she pulled out a
nice flitch of bacon, from which she cut as much as we could eat, and
gave us some to carry with us.She got up a real substantial supper,
to which we did full justice, in spite of the meal we had already eaten.They gave us a quantity of victuals to take with us, and instructed us as
well as possible as to our road.They warned us to keep away from the
young <DW64>s, but trust the old ones implicitly.Thanking them over and
over for their exceeding kindness, we bade them good-by, and started
again on our journey.Our supplies lasted two days, during which time we
made good progress, keeping away from the roads, and flanking the towns,
which were few and insignificant.We occasionally came across <DW64>s,
of whom we cautiously inquired as to the route and towns, and by the
assistance of our map and the stars, got along very well indeed, until we
came to the Suwanee River.We had intended to cross |
garden | Where is Mary? | When within six miles of the river we stopped at some <DW64>
huts to get some food.The lady who owned the <DW64>s was a widow, who
was born and raised in Massachusetts.Her husband had died before the
war began.An old <DW64> woman told her mistress that we were at the
quarters, and she sent for us to come to the house.She was a very
nice-looking lady, about thirty-five years of age, and treated us with
great kindness.Hommat being barefooted, she pulled off her own shoes
and stockings and gave them to him, saying that she would go to Town the
next day and get herself another pair.She told us not to try to cross
the river near Columbus, as their troops had been deserting in great
numbers, and the river was closely picketed to catch the runaways.She
gave us directions how to go so as to cross the river about fifty miles
below Columbus.We struck the river again the next night, and I wanted
to swim it, but Hommat was afraid of alligators, and I could not induce
him to venture into the water.We traveled down the river until we came to Moseley's Ferry, where we
stole an old boat about a third full of water, and paddled across.There
was quite a little town at that place, but we walked right down the main
street without meeting any one.Six miles from the river we saw an old
<DW64> woman roasting sweet potatos in the back yard of a house.We were
very hungry, and thought we would risk something to get food.Hommat
went around near her, and asked her for something to eat.She told him
to go and ask the white folks.This was the answer she made to every
question.He wound up by asking her how far it was to Mossley's Ferry,
saying that he wanted to go there, and get something to eat.She at last
ran into the house, and we ran away as fast as we could.We had gone but
a short distance when we heard a horn, and soon-the-cursed hounds began
bellowing.We did our best running, but the hounds circled around the
house a few times and then took our trail.For a little while it seemed
all up with us, as the sound of the baying came closer and closer.But
our inquiry about the distance to Moseley's Ferry seems to have saved us.They soon called the hounds in, and started them on the track we had
come, instead of that upon which we were going.The baying shortly died
away in the distance.We did not waste any time congratulating ourselves
over our marvelous escape, but paced on as fast as we could for about
eight miles farther.On the way we passed over the battle ground of
Oolustee, or Ocean Pond.Coming near to Lake City we fell in with some <DW64>s who had been brought
from Maryland.We stopped over one day with them, to rest, and two of
them concluded to go with us.We were furnished with a lot of cooked
provisions, and starting one night made forty-two miles before morning.We kept the <DW64>s in advance.I told Hommat that it was a poor command
that could not afford an advance guard.After traveling two nights with
the <DW64>s, we came near Baldwin.Here I was very much afraid of
recapture, and I did not want the <DW64>s with us, if we were, lest we
should be shot for slave-stealing.About daylight of the second morning
we gave them the slip.We had to skirt Baldwin closely, to head the St.Mary's River, or cross
it where that was easiest.After crossing the river we came to a very
large swamp, in the edge of which we lay all day.Before nightfall we
started to go through it, as there was no fear of detection in these
swamps.We got through before it was very dark, and as we emerged from
it we discovered a dense cloud of smoke to our right and quite close.We decided this was a camp, and while we were talking the band began to
play.This made us think that probably our forces had come out from
Fernandina, and taken the place.I proposed to Hommat that we go forward
and reconnoiter.He refused, and leaving him alone, I started forward.I had gone but a short distance when a soldier came out from the camp
with a bucket.He began singing, and the song he sang convinced me that
he was a Rebel.Rejoining Hommat, we held a consultation and decided to
stay where we were until it became darker, before trying to get out.It was the night of the 22d of December, and very cold for that country.The camp guard had small fires built, which we could see quite plainly.After starting we saw that the pickets also had fires, and that we were
between the two lines.Mary went to the garden.This discovery saved us from capture, and keeping
about an equal distance between the two, we undertook to work our way
out.We first crossed a line of breastworks, then in succession the Fernandina
Railroad, the Jacksonville Railroad, and pike, moving all the time nearly
parallel with the picket line.Hommat was
suffering greatly with his feet.The shoes that had been given him by
the widow lady were worn out, and his feet were much torn and cut by the
terribly rough road we had traveled through swamps, etc.We sat down on
a log, and I, pulling off the remains of my army shirt, tore it into
pieces, and Hommat wrapped his feet up in them.A part I reserved and
tore into strips, to tie up the rents in our pantaloons.Going through
the swamps and briers had torn them into tatters, from waistband to hem,
leaving our skins bare to be served in the same way.We started again, moving slowly and bearing towards the picket fires,
which we could see for a distance on our left.After traveling some
little time the lights on our left ended, which puzzled us for a while,
until we came to a fearful big swamp, that explained it all, as this,
considered impassable, protected the right of the camp.We had an awful
time in getting through.In many places we had to lie down and crawl
long distances through the paths made in the brakes by hogs and other
animals.As we at length came out, Hommat turned to me and whispered
that in the morning we would have some Lincoln coffee.He seemed to
think this must certainly end our troubles.We were now between the Jacksonville Railroad and the St.We kept about four miles from the railroad, for fear of running into the
Rebel outposts.We had traveled but a few miles when Hommat said he
could go no farther, as his feet and legs were so swelled and numb that
he could not tell when he set them upon the ground.I had some matches
that a <DW64> had given me, and gathering together a few pine knots we
made a fire--the first that we had lighted on the trip--and laid down
with it between us.We had slept but a few minutes when I awoke and
found Hommat's clothes on fire.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Rousing him we put out the flames before
he was badly burned, but the thing had excited him so as to give him new
life, and be proposed to start on again.By sunrise we were within eight miles of our lines, and concluding that
it would be safe to travel in the daytime, we went ahead, walking along
the railroad.The excitement being over, Hommat began to move very
slowly again.His feet and legs were so swollen that he could scarcely
walk, and it took us a long while to pass over those eight miles.At last we came in sight of our pickets.They halted
us, and Hommat went forward to speak to them.They called for the
Officer of the Guard, who came, passed us inside, and shook hands
cordially with us.His first inquiry was if we knew Charley Marseilles,
whom you remember ran that little bakery at Andersonville.General Scammon was in
command of the post, and had only been released but a short time from
prison, so he knew how it was himself.I never expect to enjoy as happy
a moment on earth as I did when I again got under the protection of the
old flag.Hommat went to the hospital a few days, and was then sent
around to New York by sea.Oh, it was a fearful trip through those Florida swamps.We would very
often have to try a swamp in three or four different places before we
could get through.Some nights we could not travel on account of its
being cloudy and raining.There is not money enough in the United States
to induce me to undertake the trip again under the same circumstances.Our friend Clipson, that made his escape when we did, got very nearly
through to our lines, but was taken sick, and had to give himself up.He was taken back to Andersonville and kept until the next Spring, when
he came through all right.There were sixty-one of Company K captured at
Jonesville, and I think there was only seventeen lived through those
horrible prisons.You have given the best description of prison life that I have ever seen
written.The only trouble is that it cannot be portrayed so that persons
can realize the suffering and abuse that our soldiers endured in those
prison hells.Your statements are all correct in regard to the treatment
that we received, and all those scenes you have depicted are as vivid in
my mind today as if they had only occurred yesterday.Wishing you success in all your undertakings, I remain
your friend,
WALTER, HARTSOUGH,
Late of K Company, Sixteenth Illinois Volunteer of Infantry.THE PECULIAR TYPE OF INSANITY PREVALENT AT FLORENCE--BARRETT'S WANTONNESS
OF CRUELTY--WE LEARN OF SHERMAN'S ADVANCE INTO SOUTH CAROLINA--THE REBELS
BEGIN MOVING THE PRISONERS AWAY--ANDREWS AND I CHANGE OUR TACTICS, AND
STAY BEHIND--ARRIVAL OF FIVE PRISONERS FROM SHERMAN'S COMMAND--THEIR
UNBOUNDED CONFIDENCE IN SHERMAN'S SUCCESS, AND ITS BENEFICIAL EFFECT UPON
US.One terrible phase of existence at Florence was the vast increase of
insanity.We had many insane men at Andersonville, but the type of the
derangement was different, partaking more of what the doctors term
melancholia.Prisoners coming in from the front were struck aghast by
the horrors they saw everywhere.Men dying of painful and repulsive
diseases lined every step of whatever path they trod; the rations given
them were repugnant to taste and stomach; shelter from the fiery sun
there was none, and scarcely room enough for them to lie down upon.Under these discouraging circumstances, home-loving, kindly-hearted men,
especially those who had passed out of the first flush of youth, and had
left wife and children behind when they entered the service, were
speedily overcome with despair of surviving until released; their
hopelessness fed on the same germs which gave it birth, until it became
senseless, vacant-eyed, unreasoning, incurable melancholy, when the
victim would lie for hours, without speaking a word, except to babble of
home, or would wander aimlessly about the camp--frequently stark
naked--until he died or was shot for coming too near the Dead Line.Soldiers must not suppose that this was the same class of weaklings who
usually pine themselves into the Hospital within three months after
their regiment enters the field.They were as a rule, made up of
seasoned soldiery, who had become inured to the dangers and hardships of
active service, and were not likely to sink down under any ordinary
trials.The insane of Florence were of a different class; they were the boys who
had laughed at such a yielding to adversity in Andersonville, and felt a
lofty pity for the misfortunes of those who succumbed so.But now the
long strain of hardship, privation and exposure had done for them what
discouragement had done for those of less fortitude in Andersonville.The faculties shrank under disuse and misfortune, until they forgot their
regiments, companies, places and date of capture, and finally, even their
names.I should think that by the middle of January, at least one in
every ten had sunk to this imbecile condition.It was not insanity so
much as mental atrophy--not so much aberration of the mind, as a
paralysis of mental action.The sufferers became apathetic idiots, with
no desire or wish to do or be anything.If they walked around at all
they had to be watched closely, to prevent their straying over the Dead
Line, and giving the young brats of guards the coveted opportunity of
killing them.Very many of such were killed, and one of my Midwinter
memories of Florence was that of seeing one of these unfortunate
imbeciles wandering witlessly up to the Dead Line from the Swamp, while
the guard--a boy of seventeen--stood with gun in hand, in the attitude of
a man expecting a covey to be flushed, waiting for the poor devil to come
so near the Dead Line as to afford an excuse for killing him.Two sane
prisoners, comprehending the situation, rushed up to the lunatic, at the
risk of their own lives, caught him by the arms, and drew him back to
safety.The brutal Barrett seemed to delight in maltreating these demented
unfortunates.He either could not be made to understand their condition,
or willfully disregarded it, for it was one of the commonest sights to
see him knock down, beat, kick or otherwise abuse them for not instantly
obeying orders which their dazed senses could not comprehend, or their
feeble limbs execute, even if comprehended.In my life I have seen many wantonly cruel men.I have known numbers of
mates of Mississippi river steamers--a class which seems carefully
selected from ruffians most proficient in profanity, obscenity and
swift-handed violence; I have seen <DW64>-drivers in the slave marts of
St.Louis, Memphis and New Orleans, and overseers on the plantations of
Mississippi and Louisiana; as a police reporter in one of the largest
cities in America, I have come in contact with thousands of the
brutalized scoundrels--the thugs of the brothel, bar-room and alley--who
form the dangerous classes of a metropolis.But in
all this exceptionally extensive and varied experience, I never met a man
who seemed to love cruelty for its own sake as well as Lieutenant
Barrett.He took such pleasure in inflicting pain as those Indians who
slice off their prisoners' eyelids, ears, noses and hands, before burning
them at the stake.That a thing hurt some one else was always ample reason for his doing it.The starving, freezing prisoners used to collect in considerable numbers
before the gate, and stand there for hours gazing vacantly at it.There
was no special object in doing this, only that it was a central point,
the rations came in there, and occasionally an officer would enter, and
it was the only place where anything was likely to occur to vary the
dreary monotony of the day, and the boys went there because there was
nothing else to offer any occupation to their minds.It became a
favorite practical joke of Barrett's to slip up to the gate with an
armful of clubs, and suddenly opening the wicket, fling them one after
another, into the crowd, with all the force he possessed.Many were
knocked down, and many received hurts which resulted in fatal gangrene.If he had left the clubs lying where thrown, there would have been some
compensation for his meanness, but he always came in and carefully
gathered up such as he could get, as ammunition for another time.I have heard men speak of receiving justice--even favors from Wirz.I never heard any one saying that much of Barrett.Like Winder, if he
had a redeeming quality it was carefully obscured from the view of all
that I ever met who knew him.Where the fellow came from, what State was entitled to the discredit of
producing and raising him, what he was before the War, what became of him
after he left us, are matters of which I never heard even a rumor, except
a very vague one that he had been killed by our cavalry, some returned
prisoner having recognized and shot him.Colonel Iverson, of the Fifth Georgia, was the Post Commander.He was a
man of some education, but had a violent, ungovernable temper, |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | At other times he would show a
disposition towards fairness and justice.The worst point in my
indictment against him is that he suffered Barrett to do as he did.Let the reader understand that I have no personal reasons for my opinion
of these men.They never did anything to me, save what they did to all
of my companions.I held myself aloof from them, and shunned intercourse
so effectually that during my whole imprisonment I did not speak as many
words to Rebel officers as are in this and the above paragraphs, and most
of those were spoken to the Surgeon who visited my hundred.I do not
usually seek conversation with people I do not like, and certainly did
not with persons for whom I had so little love as I had for Turner, Ross,
Winder, Wirz, Davis, Iverson, Barrett, et al.Possibly they felt badly
over my distance and reserve, but I must confess that they never showed
it very palpably.As January dragged slowly away into February, rumors of the astonishing
success of Sherman began to be so definite and well authenticated as to
induce belief.We knew that the Western Chieftain had marched almost
unresisted through Georgia, and captured Savannah with comparatively
little difficulty.We did not understand it, nor did the Rebels around
us, for neither of us comprehended the Confederacy's near approach to
dissolution, and we could not explain why a desperate attempt was not
made somewhere to arrest the onward sweep of the conquering armies of the
West.It seemed that if there was any vitality left in Rebeldom it would
deal a blow that would at least cause the presumptuous invader to pause.As we knew nothing of the battles of Franklin and Nashville, we were
ignorant of the destruction of Hood's army, and were at a loss to account
for its failure to contest Sherman's progress.The last we had heard of
Hood, he had been flanked out of Atlanta, but we did not understand that
the strength or morale of his force had been seriously reduced in
consequence.Mary went to the garden.Soon it drifted in to us that Sherman had cut loose from Savannah, as
from Atlanta, and entered South Carolina, to repeat there the march
through her sister State.Our sources of information now were confined
to the gossip which our men--working outside on parole,--could overhear
from the Rebels, and communicate to us as occasion served.These
occasions were not frequent, as the men outside were not allowed to come
in except rarely, or stay long then.Still we managed to know
reasonably, soon that Sherman was sweeping resistlessly across the State,
with Hardee, Dick Taylor, Beauregard, and others, vainly trying to make
head against him.It seemed impossible to us that they should not stop
him soon, for if each of all these leaders had any command worthy the
name the aggregate must make an army that, standing on the defensive,
would give Sherman a great deal of trouble.That he would be able to
penetrate into the State as far as we were never entered into our minds.By and by we were astonished at the number of the trains that we could
hear passing north on the Charleston & Cheraw Railroad.Day and night
for two weeks there did not seem to be more than half an hour's interval
at any time between the rumble and whistles of the trains as they passed
Florence Junction, and sped away towards Cheraw, thirty-five miles north
of us.We at length discovered that Sherman had reached Branchville, and
was singing around toward Columbia, and other important points to the
north; that Charleston was being evacuated, and its garrison, munitions
and stores were being removed to Cheraw, which the Rebel Generals
intended to make their new base.As this news was so well confirmed as
to leave no doubt of it, it began to wake up and encourage all the more
hopeful of us.Did he intend to vest supreme
power absolutely in an assembly elected by manhood, or nearly manhood,
suffrage?For the Crown, Gladstone’s reverence went at least as far as to any but
believers in political fetichism would seem meet, or as we feel to be
perfectly consistent with the dignity of one so eminent and the real
head of the State.Yet, it was understood that he was not a favourite
at Court, and it is pretty evident that Her Majesty did not eagerly
embrace the opportunity of calling on him to form a Government.With all
her personal virtues and graces, she was a true granddaughter of George
III., cherishing, as we have been told, apparently on the best authority,
ideas of Divine Right, and liking to connect herself not so much with the
Hanoverians as with the Stuarts.To her, progressive Liberalism could
hardly be very congenial.Moreover, she was a woman, and in a competition
in flattery Gladstone would have had no chance with his rival.It is rather startling to learn from this Life how much there is of
interference on the part of irresponsibility with the responsible
Government of the Kingdom, and what drafts are made upon the time and
energy of one who has the burden of Atlas on his shoulders by the demands
of correspondence with the Court.Another thing of which the friends of
personal government, who have been labouring so hard by pageantry and
personal worship to stimulate the monarchical sentiment, may well take
note, is the confidential employment of Court Secretaries, like Sir
Herbert Taylor under George IV., in communications between the Sovereign
and the Minister.They might find, when they had revived the personal
power, that it was really wielded, not by Royalty itself, but by some
aspiring member or members of the household.Gladstone’s declaration, at a critical juncture of the American War,
that Jefferson Davis had made a nation, gave deep offence to the friends
of the North both in the United States and in England.But he atoned
for it by frank and honourable repentance.As a statement of fact, it
lacked truth only in so far that Davis, instead of making the South a
nation, had found it one already made.The schism between the Free and
Slave States was inevitable, and the war was from the outset one between
nations.That Gladstone subscribed to the Confederate loan was false, nor
is there the slightest reason for believing that he was less faithful
than any of his colleagues to the policy of strict neutrality, however
ready he may have been, in common with the rest, to tender good offices
in a contest in which, as it deprived millions of British artisans of the
materials of their industry, Great Britain had a manifest and pressing
interest.It might be rash to assert that the son of a slave-owner felt
the same intense abhorrence of slavery as Wilberforce, or that a High
Churchman fully equalled in his zeal for emancipation the Evangelicals
whose special heritage it was.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.But Gladstone’s actuating motives,
certainly, were his regard for the bread of the British artisan, and his
sympathy with all who were struggling to be free.With a view, probably,
to the satisfaction of mortified friends of the North in England, he
wrote to me suggesting that, if the North thought fit to let the South
go, it might in time be indemnified by the union of Canada with the
Northern States.As the letter, on consideration, seemed unlikely to
have the desired effect, and not unlikely at some future time to prove
embarrassing to the writer, no use was made of it, and it was destroyed.Had it been possible for the son of a Jamaica proprietor to be an ardent
emancipationist and a warm friend of the <DW64>, Gladstone could hardly
have failed to show his feelings on the occasion of the Jamaica massacre,
that most atrocious outpouring of white hatred, rage, and panic on the
black peasantry of Jamaica.However, he had the general sentiment of the
upper classes and of the clergy upon his side.Peel, as Premier, had been master of the Government, as well as head, in
the last resort, of every Department.His habit had been to hear what all
the members of his Cabinet had to say, and then make up his mind.In his
time, there was no voting in the Cabinet nor any disclosure of Cabinet
proceedings.John went to the office.Disclosure of Cabinet proceedings is, in fact, at variance
with the Privy Councillor’s oath.Gladstone, it appears, put questions
to the vote.He also allowed a member of the Cabinet to set forth on
a political adventure of his own and proclaim a policy independent of
that of his chief and his colleagues, as the same politician is now
again doing.The Cabinet system itself under Gladstone’s Premiership
was apparently beginning to give way.There was a commencement of the
change which has now made the Cabinet an unwieldy body, meeting at long
intervals and almost publicly, while the real power and the direction of
policy centre in an inner conclave, something like that which, in the
reign of Charles II., was called the Cabal.Not only the Cabinet system but the party system, on which the Cabinet
system was based, had begun to show signs of disintegration.Sectionalism
had set in, as it was pretty sure to do when political speculation
had grown more free and there was no controlling issue, like that
of Parliamentary Reform in 1832, to hold a party together.Personal
ambition was also becoming restless and difficult to control.More than
once, Gladstone’s Government was defeated by the bolting of its own
supporters.Allowance must be made
for this, when we compare the measure of Gladstone’s success as head of
the Government with that of his predecessors, and with the measure of his
own success as Chancellor of the Exchequer, giving life and force to the
Government by his triumphs in finance.Of the truth of the charges of want of knowledge of men and of personal
tact, often brought against Gladstone as Premier, I cannot pretend to
judge.There was certainly no lack in him of social affability or charm.He may not have practised the jovial familiarities of Palmerston or had a
counterpart of Lady Palmerston’s salon.But the lack of such things, or a
want of what is called personal magnetism, will hardly deprive a great
leader, such as Pitt or Peel, of the devotion of partisans, much less of
the trust and attachment of the people.Once, however, it must be owned, Gladstone as Premier was guilty of
a mistake in tactics at anyrate, which could not fail to shake the
confidence of his party.I happened to be revisiting England and was at
Manchester, when, like a bolt out of the blue, without notice or warning
of any kind, came upon us the dissolution of 1874.All Liberals saw at
once that it was ruin.It seems that the leader himself contemplated,
and almost counted on, defeat.What was it, then, that moved him to
this desperate act?His Chancellor and devoted friend, Lord Selborne
(Roundell Palmer), did not doubt that it was a legal dilemma in which
he had involved himself, by taking the Chancellorship of the Exchequer
in addition to the First Lordship of the Treasury without going to
his constituents for re-election, a violation, there was reason to
apprehend, of the law.The only escape from that dilemma, according to
the Chancellor, was dissolution.Morley, to whose authority I should
willingly defer, strenuously repels this explanation, and points to
another ground, assigned by Mr.Gladstone was, of course,
sure to assign another ground, and equally sure to persuade himself that
it was the real one.It was, in fact,
that the Government was sick, and that the election would put it out
of its misery, thereby declaring the situation.Gladstone
overlook the fact that he would be depriving a number of his followers of
their seats?On the other hand, the charge
of bribing the constituencies by promising to repeal the income tax, Mr.Morley is perfectly right in dismissing as baseless.Such expectations
are held out by all competitors for power.What is the game of party but
that of outbidding the other side?After this defeat, Achilles retired in dudgeon to his tent.Gladstone
insisted on resigning the leadership.But everybody foresaw that his
return to it was inevitable; and it was difficult to fix on a man of
sufficient eminence to take his place, and yet not too eminent to give
it up when the great man might see fit to return.Lord Hartington was
chosen as one whose comparative youth would make the surrender easy in
his case, while his high rank would continue to sustain his position.Whenever there was fighting to be done for the party, either in
Parliamentary debate or on the stump, Gladstone was the man.His
Midlothian campaign displayed his almost miraculous powers as a speaker,
while it called forth the enthusiastic feeling of the people for the
man in whom they thought, and rightly, that they saw their heartiest
friend and the most powerful advocate of their interests.Three speeches
in one day and an address this prodigy of nature could deliver, and
the speeches were not flummery and clap-trap, but addressed to the
intelligence of the people.Yet one cannot help being rather sorry that
the stump should have been so much dignified by Gladstone’s practice.To say nothing of its effect upon the passions of the
audience, it wears out the statesman; it deprives him, in the intervals
of Parliament, of leisure for study and reflection; worst of all, it
tempts him imprudently to commit himself.In the case of armed intervention in Egypt, Gladstone seemed to swerve
from his usual fidelity to a policy of moderation and peace.It lost him
Bright, to whom as he advanced in Liberalism he had been drawing closer,
and who had been induced to take office in his Government.Bright would
have nothing to do with aggrandizement or war, and in private his words
were strong, though in public he showed chivalrous forbearance towards
his friends.Mary moved to the hallway.Seeing that Egypt lay on the road to India and commanded the
Suez Canal, it does not appear that the illustrious Quaker would have
had much reason for finding fault with Gladstone and his Government, so
far as the main scope of their policy was concerned.The fatal mistake,
as it turned out, was the employment of Gordon, a heroic enthusiast,
whose action no one could well foresee, who perhaps could hardly foresee
his own, and who was not the best agent to be selected for carrying out
a policy of retreat.That Gladstone went to the opera after receiving
news of Gordon’s death, as his malignant enemies said, was denied.But,
even if he had, would any real want of feeling have been implied in his
continuing to take his ordinary relief from the load of toil and anxiety
which he bore?In the case of the Transvaal Republic, Gladstone had the moral courage,
in face of the agitation caused by Majuba Hill, to avow that he shrank
from “blood-guiltiness,” and to keep the nation in the path of honour
and justice.His biographer, in dealing with this case and its sequel,
has been evidently restrained by his desire not to multiply points of
controversy.He might otherwise have greatly strengthened his proof
that the claim of suzerainty was a fraud.Not such would have been the
treatment of a breach of the plighted faith of the nation had Gladstone
lived.The last act of this wonderful life and its closing scene connect
themselves with the history of Ireland, and are scarcely of a brighter
hue than the rest of that sad story.The history of the case with
which, at this juncture, statesmanship had to deal, if it was clearly
apprehended, was never, so far as I remember, very clearly set forth,
either by Mr.Gladstone or by anyone who took part in the discussion.Cromwell had given Ireland, with union, the indispensable boon of
free trade with Great Britain.Succeeding Governments, less wise and
magnanimous, had allowed British protectionism to kill the great Irish
industries, the cattle trade and the wool trade.The people were thus
thrown for subsistence entirely on the cultivation of the soil, in an
island far the greater part of which is too wet for profitable tillage,
and lends itself only to grazing.Then came the Penal Code, and to
economical destitution was added utter social degradation.The people
were reduced to a state bordering on absolute barbarism, a state in which
they could look for nothing beyond bare food, while even bare food,
the treacherous potato being its staple, periodically failed.In such
a condition, all social and prudential restraints on the increase of
population were lost, and the people multiplied with animal recklessness
far beyond the capacity of the island to maintain them.Desperately
contending for the soil on which they solely depended for their
maintenance, they became, in the most miserable sense, tenants-at-will,
|
bathroom | Where is John? | All the
improvements of the tenant were confiscated by the owner of the soil.The only remedy for over-population, apart from the fell agencies of
famine and disease, was emigration.The remedy for the agrarian evil and
grievance, so far as it could be reached by legislation, apparently was
some measure which would give the Irish tenant-at-will the same security
for his holding which had been given to the English copyholder by custom
and the favour of the courts.To buy out the Irish landlord was hardly
just to the British people, and was a measure in itself of dangerous
import.The abolition of the Irish gentry by any means, if it could be
avoided, was a social mistake.The peasantry would thereby be deprived of
the social chiefs, whose influence it specially needed, and there would
be danger of handing the island over to the demagogue or the priest.The political part of the problem, which concerned the relations between
the two islands, had, when Mr.Gladstone came to deal with the question,
assumed the aspect of a struggle for Home Rule.This was an ostensibly
reduced and mitigated version of the struggle for the repeal of the
Union, which had been set on foot by O’Connell, and, passing from him
into more violent hands, had in 1848, under Smith O’Brien, come after a
feeble outbreak to an unhappy end.Mary went to the garden.The political movement, apart from
the agrarian insurrection, had never shown much force.It was not on
political change that the heart of the Irish people was set, but on the
secure possession of their holdings and their deliverance from the grasp
of famine.But the new leader, Charles Stewart Parnell, a real statesman
in his way, combined the two objects, and the movement, carrying the
people with it, became formidable in its political as well as in its
agrarian form.There had been, as we know, an immense Irish emigration to the United
States.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.This, while it had somewhat relieved the pressure of population,
had in another respect greatly added to the difficulty of the case.It had given birth to American Fenianism, with its Clan-na-Gael, an
agitation wholly political, sanguinary in spirit, formidable from
the influence of the Irish vote on American politicians, having its
headquarters and its centre beyond the reach of British repression.Gladstone had been in Ireland only for three weeks, and then, Mr.Morley
says, he had not gone beyond a very decidedly English circle.There
is, at all events, no trace of his having studied on the spot the
character of the people with whom he had to deal, the influences which
were at work, the various forces, political, ecclesiastical, social, and
economical, to the play of which he was going to deliver the island.Had
he done this, he might have known why it was that Irish Liberals, like
Lord O’Hagan and Sir Alexander Macdonald, while they were Irish patriots
to the core, and because they were Irish patriots to the core, shrank
with horror from the dissolution of the legislative Union.John went to the office.He might have
seen the probable futility of any clause of a Home Rule Act forbidding
preference of a particular religion, and the ease with which it could
have been practically nullified by the Roman Catholic hierarchy and
priesthood, wielding the influence which they possessed over the people
and over popular elections.He might also have more vividly realized
the danger attending the relation of Protestant and Saxon Ulster to the
Celtic and Catholic part of Ireland, when they came to face each other in
a separate arena and their conflict was uncontrolled.Gladstone undertook to deal by means of
land legislation, purchasing for the people, or giving them the means of
purchasing, the freehold of their lots.The operation, as has been said,
was perilous, as it involved exceptional dealing with contracts, as well
as an unusual employment of public money; and in its course it exposed
Mr.Gladstone to angry charges, not only of violent legislation, but of
deception, to which colour may have been given by some shifting of his
ground.A simple Act of the character above suggested, if it had been
practicable, might possibly have solved the problem with less of a shock
to the sanctity of contracts and less disturbance of any kind.The political part of the Parnell movement Mr.Gladstone had for some
time strenuously and vehemently opposed.He denounced Parnell’s policy as
leading through rapine to dismemberment.He applied coercion vigorously
to Irish outrage, imprisoned a number of Parnellites as suspects, and
himself proclaimed the arrest of Parnell to an applauding multitude at
Guild Hall.He allowed his colleague to rise night after night from
his side, and denounce the Home Rule movement in language even stronger
than his own.But, having been defeated in the election of 1885 by the
combined forces of Conservatives and Parnellites, he suddenly, to the
amazement of everybody, and the general consternation of his party,
turned round, declared in favour of Home Rule, and coalesced with
Parnell, by whose assistance he ousted the Conservative Government of
Lord Salisbury, and reinstalled himself in power.It is not necessary
to charge him with being actuated by love of power, or to say that his
conversion was not sincere.It is due to him to bear in mind that the
Conservative leaders, in what was called the Maamtrasma debate, had
unquestionably coquetted with Parnellism, one of them, Sir Michael Hicks
Beach, courting Parnellite favour by censuring Lord Spencer; and that
by this conduct on their part the aspect of the question had undergone
a certain change.On the other hand, it is impossible to forget that
Gladstone’s position was that of leader of the Opposition, wishing to
reinstate his party in power, and seeing that this could be done only by
the help of the Irish vote.Nor can we easily bring ourselves to accept
the account of his gradual conversion to Home Rule put forth in his
_History of an Idea_.If he felt that his mind was moving on the subject,
how could he have deemed it right not only to mask his own misgivings
by vehement denunciations of Home Rule, but to lead his party and the
nation on what he had begun to feel might prove to be the wrong line?His
honesty, I repeat, need not be questioned.But neither his consistency
nor the perfect singleness of his motive can very easily be maintained.Mary moved to the hallway.He was a party leader; a full believer in the party system; and his party
wanted to prevail over its rival.It is only by contention for power that
party government can be carried on.Gladstone proposed in effect to break the legislative Union by giving
Ireland a Parliament of her own.This Parliament he styled “statutory.”
Restrictions were to be laid upon it which would have made its relation
to the British Parliament one of vassalage, and against which it would
almost certainly have commenced, from the moment of its birth, a struggle
for equality and independence.If it was baffled in that struggle, it
might even have held out its hands for aid to the foreign enemies of
Great Britain.The framer of the measure apparently had not distinctly
made up his mind whether he would include the Irish in the Parliament of
Great Britain or exclude them from it.That he should have rushed into
legislation so momentous, legislation affecting the very existence of
the United Kingdom, without having thoroughly made up his mind on the
vital point, is surely a proof that, great as he was in finance, mighty
as he was in debate, powerful as he was in framing and carrying measures
of reform, when, as in dealing with Irish Disestablishment or the
Universities, a clear case was put into his hands, he was hardly one of
those sure-footed statesmen to whom can be safely intrusted the supreme
destinies of a nation.If after the equitable settlement of the agrarian question and the
reduction of the population to the number which the island can maintain,
the political enmity generated by the long struggle continues unassuaged,
and the Irish contingent remains, as it has now for many years been,
an alien and rebellious element in the British Parliament, disturbing
and distracting British councils, there may be a sufficient reason for
letting Ireland go.It would be folly to keep her as a mere thorn in the
side of Great Britain.It would be more than folly to attempt to hold
her in bondage.It is not unlikely that, after a trial of independence,
she might of her own accord come back to the Union.But all wise
statesmen have united in saying that there must be legislative Union or
independence.[1]
The announcement of Gladstone’s plan was followed by terrible searching
of heart in his party, ending in a split.John went to the bathroom.Lord Hartington undertook the
leadership of the Unionist-Liberals, and showed energy and striking
ability in his new part.The fatal blow was the declared opposition of
Bright, the great pillar of political righteousness, and the lifelong
advocate of justice to Ireland.The stoutest opposition and that which did most to save the integrity
of the United Kingdom was made, as I shall always hold, by _The Times_.The error into which it fell with regard to the Parnell Letters was a
trifling matter compared with the memorable service which it rendered on
the whole to the Unionist cause.When the contest had begun, Gladstone’s pugnacity broke all bounds.He
appealed to separatist sentiment in Scotland and Wales, as well as in
Ireland.He appealed to the “masses” against the “classes.” He appealed
to ignorance against intelligence and the professions.One of the most
eminent of his lifelong friends and admirers, who had held high office
in his Government, said of him in a letter to me, “Gladstone is morally
insane.” He had lost the personal influences by which his impulses had
been controlled.Graham, Newcastle, Sidney Herbert, Cardwell, all were
gone.Cardwell especially, a man eminently sure-footed and cool-headed,
had, I suspect, while he lived, exercised an important and salutary
though unfelt restraint.Carried away by his excitement, Gladstone traduced the authors of the
Union and their work, a work which he had once coupled with the treaty
of commerce with France as supremely honourable to Pitt.“A horrible
and shameful history, for no epithets weaker than these can in the
slightest degree describe or indicate ever so faintly the means by which,
in defiance of the national sentiment of Ireland, consent to the Union
was attained.” Such is his language, and he compares the transaction
in atrocity to the worst crimes in history.Consent to the Union was
attained by the absolute necessity, plain to men of sense, of putting
an end to murderous anarchy and averting a renewal of ’98.It has been
clearly shown that there was no serious bribery of a pecuniary kind.The
indemnities for the owners of pocket boroughs were paid, in accordance
with the notions of the day and under an Act of Parliament, alike to
those who had voted for the Union and to those who had voted against it.The oligarchy to whose local reign the measure put an end was appeased
with peerages and appointments, the scramble for which might well disgust
a high-minded man like Cornwallis.Satisfactorily to obtain the national consent was impossible.The Parliament was a Protestant oligarchy, the Catholics being still
excluded, and it was deeply stained with the atrocities of repression.Ireland, in fact, was not a nation, or capable of giving a national
consent; it was a country divided between two races antagonistic in
religion and at deadly enmity with each other.The submission of the
question to the constituencies by the holding of a general election,
five-sixths of the population being excluded from Parliament, would have
been futile, and would very likely have revived the civil war.Pitt, it
is true, held out to the Catholics a hope of political emancipation.That hope he did his best to fulfil, but he was prevented by the fatuous
obstinacy of the King; and Mr.Gladstone, who was a devout monarchist,
might have been challenged to say what, when met by the Royal veto, Pitt
could have done.The promise remained in abeyance for one generation, at
the end of which it was fulfilled.These bitter appeals to Irish hatred
of the Union and belief that it was a deadly and inexpiable wrong, did
not come well from the author of a measure intended, as he professed, to
pluck the thorn out of the Irish heart.The Bill was defeated in the House of Commons by a majority of thirty
votes; and, on an appeal to the country, the Liberal-Unionists combining
with the Conservatives on the special question, the Opposition won by
upwards of a hundred.Six years afterwards, by another turn of the
wheel, the Salisbury Government losing strength, Gladstone found himself
again at the head of the Government, but with a weak majority made up
largely of the Irish vote.Then came the catastrophe of Parnell, who,
at the critical moment, was convicted of _crim.con._ It is impossible
to read Mr.Morley’s account of the scene of distraction which ensued,
matrimonial morality struggling with political convenience, and of the
sorrowful decision that _crim.con._ would be an awkward thing to carry
in face of the Nonconformist conscience, without feeling the presence of
a comic element in the narrative.Home Rule, however, was again put to the vote, and in its strangest form,
Ireland being given a Parliament of her own, and, at the same time, a
representation in the British Parliament with full liberty of voting on
all British questions.That the Irish delegation would barter its vote
to British parties for Irish objects, and especially for the relaxation
of restrictions on its plenary power, was what nobody could fail to
foresee.A more extraordinary proposal, surely, never was made to any
legislature.The one recommendation that Home Rule had was, that it
would rid the British Parliament of an alien and hostile element.That
element Gladstone’s Bill would have retained in its worst form.The Bill,
however, was carried in the Commons by a majority of thirty-four, some of
the English members probably giving a party vote in the assurance that
the Bill would be thrown out by the House of Lords.The use of the clôture in forcing through the House of Commons such a
measure as Home Rule surely could not be defended.The clôture by which
our overbearing Government is able to gag the House of Commons, even on
the most vital question, remains a mark of Gladstone’s impetuousity and
inability to brook opposition when what seemed to him an object of prime
importance was in view.After trying to raise a storm against the Lords, Gladstone resigned, as
was reported, on a difference with the Admiralty about naval expenditure.One of the most memorable careers in English history came to an end.The
party which Gladstone led was utterly shattered, and shattered it still
remains.Palmerston, could he have looked upon the scene, might have
said that his cynical prophecy had been really fulfilled.Gladstone, in addition to his immense amount of public work, was a
voluminous author; the more voluminous because his style, formed by
public and _ex tempore_ speaking, though perfectly clear and correct,
was certainly diffuse.His biographer shows good judgment by dwelling no
more than he can help on this part of the subject.Readers of _Homeric
Studies_ and _Juventus Mundi_ must wonder how such things can have been
written and given to the press by so great a man.Stranger things have
seldom come from any pen than the pages of the Traditive Element in
Homeric Theo-Mythology, connecting Latona with the Virgin, Apollo with
the Deliverer of mankind, and Ate with the Tempter.All these volumes
are full of fantastic and baseless speculation.The fancy that there was
an Egyptian epoch in the early history of Greece appears to be partly
suggested by an accidental similarity between the name of an Egyptian and
that of a Bœotian city.Daniel moved to the kitchen.Not on such reasonings were the famous budgets
based.I was with Gladstone one day, when, our business having been done, he
began to talk of Homer, and imparted to me a theory which he had just
woven out of some fancied philological discovery.I felt sure that the
theory was baseless, and tried to convince him that it was.But he was
never very open to argument.Just as I had succumbed, the door opened
and his brother-in-law, Lord Lyttelton, |
hallway | Where is Mary? | Lord Lyttelton was
a first-rate classical scholar, and I felt sure that he would see the
question aright and prevail.See the question aright he did; prevail he
did not; and the discovery has probably taken its place beside that of
the Traditive Element.Before the publication of _Juventus Mundi_, I think it was, there was a
Homeric dinner at which, with Cornewall Lewis, Milman, and some other
scholars I had the honour of being present.No one could be more charming socially than our host.But I
doubt whether the critical result was great.Gladstone had in part put off his Establishmentarianism, but his
orthodoxy and belief in the inspiration of the Bible remained unimpaired.This deprives his theological writings of serious value, though
they still have interest as the work of a mind at once powerful and
intensely religious, dealing with topics of the highest concern.It is
not difficult to meet Hume’s philosophic objection to miracles, which
seems little more than an assumption of the absolute impossibility of a
sufficient amount of evidence.If the death of a man and his restoration
to life were witnessed and certified by a great body of men of science,
in circumstances such as to preclude the possibility of imposture, we
should not withhold our belief, however contrary the occurrence might be
to the ordinary course of nature.But we cannot believe anything contrary
to the ordinary course of nature on the testimony of an anonymous
gospel of uncertain authorship, of uncertain date, the product of an
uncritical age, containing matter apparently mythical, and written in the
interest of a particular religion.From considering the authenticity and
sufficiency of the evidence, Gladstone, by his faith in the Bible, is
debarred.So, in his critical work on Butler, he is debarred from free
and fruitful discussion by the assumption, which he all the time carries
with him, of the authenticity of Revelation.Mary went to the garden.His faith in the inspiration
of the Bible seems to go so far as to include belief in the longevity of
the Patriarchs before the flood.[2]
Venturing to break a lance with Huxley about the truth of the account
of creation in Genesis, he could not fail to be overthrown.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.His apology
seems to amount to this; that the Creator in imparting an account of
the creation to Moses, was so near the truth that the account could, by
dint of very ingenious interpretation, be made not wholly irreconcilable
with scientific fact.Gladstone continued greatly to venerate Newman,
and apparently allowed himself to be influenced in his reasoning by
the _Grammar of Assent_, a sort of _vade mecum_ of self-illusion,
the characteristic purport of the Cardinal’s very subtle but not very
masculine and very flexible mind.To me, Gladstone’s life is specially interesting as that of a man who
was a fearless and powerful upholder of humanity and righteousness in
an age in which faith in both was growing weak, and Jingoism, with its
lust of war and rapine, was taking possession of the world.The man who,
breaking through the restraints of diplomatic prudery, pleaded before
Europe with prevailing eloquence the cause of oppressed Italy; who dared,
after Majuba Hill, in face of public excitement, to keep the path of
justice and honour in dealing with the Transvaal; whose denunciation of
the Bulgarian atrocities made the Turkish Assassin tremble on his throne
of iniquity; who, if he had lived so long, would surely have striven
to save the honour of the country by denouncing the conspiracy against
the liberty of the South African republics; who, if he were now living,
would be protesting, not in vain, against the indifference of England
to her responsibility for Turkish horrors; has a more peculiar hold on
my veneration and gratitude than the statesman whose achievements and
merits, very great as they were, have never seemed to me quite so great
as, in Mr.John went to the office.Morley’s admirably executed picture, they appear.Not that
I would undervalue Gladstone’s statesmanship or its fruits.Wonderful
improvements in finance, great administrative reforms, the opening
of the Civil Service, the Postal Savings Bank, the liberation of the
newspaper press from the paper duty, the abolition of purchase in the
army, the reform of the Universities followed by that of the endowed
schools, the disestablishment of the Irish Church, and the commercial
treaty with France, make up a mighty harvest of good work; even if we
leave the re-settlement of the franchise open to question and carry Home
Rule to the wrong side of the account.Very striking is the contrast, in
this respect, between Gladstone’s career and that of his principal rival,
who gave his mind little to practical improvement, and almost entirely
to the game of party and the struggle for power.Moreover, Gladstone
filled the nation with a spirit of common enthusiasm and hopeful effort
for the general good, especially for the good of the masses, to which
there was nothing corresponding on the part of his rival for power,
whose grand game was that of setting two classes, the highest and the
lowest, against the third.Gladstone was, in the best sense, a man of
the people; and the heart of the people seldom failed to respond to his
appeal.As an embodiment of some great qualities, especially of loyalty
to righteousness, he has left no equal behind him, and deeply in this
hour of trial we feel his loss.FOOTNOTES
[1] I used to think that an occasional session, or even a single session,
of the United Parliament at Dublin, for the special settlement of Irish
affairs, Irish character being what it is, might have a good effect on
the Irish heart.It might put an end to the feeling which at present
prevails, that the United Parliament is alien to Ireland and almost a
foreign power.The suggestion was considered, but the inconvenience was
deemed too great.Yet, inconvenience would have been cheaply incurred if
the measure could have answered its purpose.A more feasible course might
be to allow the Irish members to meet in College Green and legislate on
purely Irish questions, subject to the ultimate allowance or disallowance
of the Imperial Parliament, in which the Irish members would still sit.[2] “The immense longevity of the early generations of mankind was
eminently favourable to the preservation of pristine traditions.Each
individual, instead of being, as now, a witness of, or an agent in, one
or two transmissions from father to son, would observe or share in ten
times as many.Mary moved to the hallway.According to the Hebrew Chronology, Lamech, the father
of Noah, was of mature age before Adam died; and Abraham was of mature
age before Noah died.Original or early witnesses, remaining so long as
standards of appeal, would evidently check the rapidity of the darkening
and destroying process.”--_Studies on Homer and the Homeric Age_, II.For caprice,
tyranny, or avarice might be satisfied by forcing an unfortunate ward
into marriage.Frequently, the unscrupulous baron forced his ward to
marry the highest bidder, or proposed some absolutely impossible
candidate for her hand merely to have her buy her freedom."You will
either marry this decrepit old knight, to whose rank and wealth you
cannot reasonably object, or you will pay me so much."We can well
imagine that the impulse of youth would suggest surrender of almost any
worldly wealth to have "freedom in her love."The romances are full of
incidents akin to this, where the authority of either father or guardian
was exerted in vain; and the romances, however fantastic in some
respects, are but the reflections of actual conditions.The unmarried woman, whether princess or mere demoiselle, was in a
condition almost as dependent as the serf.If she did not choose to
marry, or if her face or her fortune could not tempt anyone to ask her
in marriage, she might enter a monastery.Indeed, a father unwilling or
unable to provide a suitable dower for her might force her to become a
nun.If the patrimony were
small and the family large, younger sons had to fend for themselves, and
daughters had to take what they could get.The convent was the cheapest
and the safest place in which to establish them.Yet in the age of feudalism there were certain safeguards for women,
whether these were altogether of feudal origin or merely survivals of
homely, common-sense custom.To cite but a few examples, we find in the
_Assises de Jerusalem_ most stringent provisions for the punishment of
seduction or crimes of violence against women.The statute provides that
the seducer, if he be able to do so and is approved by the parents,
shall marry the girl.In another connection, we learn that in Paris it
was for a while customary to marry such a couple, whether they would or
not, in the obscure little church of Sainte-Marine, and with a ring of
straw as a symbol of their shame.John went to the bathroom.In case marriage was not acceptable to
the parents of the girl, the seducer might provide for her suitably in a
convent, and he himself might be punished by mutilation, confiscation of
his goods, and banishment.The husband had to secure to his wife a
certain proportion of, if not all, her dowry, and in the book of the
customs of Anjou we find it definitely stated that: _Il est usage que
gentil home puit doer sa fame a porte de mostier dou tierz de sa terre_
(It is the custom for a gentleman to endow his wife with the third of
his goods at the church door).Then, to protect widows from oppressive
feudal reliefs, as they were called, the _Etablissements de Saint Louis_
ordain that "no lady shall pay a redemption fee (to secure succession to
the fief), except in case she marry.But if she marry, her husband shall
pay the fee to the seigneur whose vassal she is.And if what is offered
does not please the seigneur, he can claim but the revenues of the fief
for one year."Once admitted to the recognized class of the nobility, either as a wife
or as one of the greater vassals, a woman's position was decidedly
improved.Her rights were not many, but yet the feudal chatelaine
occupied a position of some dignity and importance.She was regarded as
in some sort the representative of her husband during his presence as
well as during his absence.The _Assises de Jerusalem_ provide, among
other things, that she shall not be proceeded against in court as the
representative of her husband until a respite of a year and a day has
elapsed, to allow for his possible return; and in the chateau, at all
times the lady had charge of domestic affairs, and on state occasions
shared the dignity of her husband.The feudal chateau of a great baron was not only a fortress to secure
him against his enemies; it was also a home for his family and for
scores of dependents and retainers, and frequently a hostelry for the
entertainment of travellers of high and low degree.The moat, the
drawbridge and portcullis, the strong walls pierced with narrow slits to
admit scant light and air in time of peace and to deliver arrows in time
of war, the battlements, and the lofty tower of strength, all these are
familiar in our conceptions of the feudal castle.Many of us have
followed Marmion in his mad dash under the descending portcullis and
across the drawbridge of Lord Angus's castle; and we have watched the
arrows flying against the walls of Front de Boeuf's donjon and old mad
Ursula raving on its battlements.But the other features of the
dwellings, though sometimes described with equal care by the great Sir
Walter and his disciples, attract less attention and fade sooner from
our memories.Such a manor hall as that of Cedric the Saxon should be
kept in mind if we wish to get a fair idea of the actual life of the
better classes, not only in England but in France, for the main features
of the architecture and of the furnishings were the same.The nature and
extent of the fortifications might vary greatly, according to the power
or ambition of the owner; but the domestic arrangements of the feudal
home would be substantially the same in all.The main portion of the house was given up to a huge hall.Entering the
gateway of the outer wall, one found one's self in a court, around which
were ranged the great hall, the smaller sleeping apartments, the
domestic offices, and the stables.Every possible provision was made for
men and animals to live within the enclosure in case of siege.The great
hall itself was usually at least thirty or forty feet in length, and
often so wide that its high, vaulted roof had to be supported on a row
of columns extending down the middle.In the ceiling was a hole, or
_louvre_, to allow the smoke to escape when fire was lighted on the
hearth in the centre of the floor for chimneys were used as yet, if at
all, only in the smaller rooms.At one end of the hall there was
probably a slightly elevated dais, or platform, on which were the seats
for the lord and lady, and perhaps for distinguished guests.In the tall
ogival windows, which were glazed only in the houses of the very
wealthy, were window seats, and along the rude board or table in the
body of the hall were rough benches and stools for the retainers and
guests of lesser rank.And if the lord were rich, there would be a
gallery, at the opposite end from the dais, for the minstrels who played
during banquets.Armorial bearings and weapons and armor hung upon the
walls.If the roof were so broad as to require the support of pillars,
these and the arches of the roof were decorated with carving.Daniel moved to the kitchen.Sometimes
a further effect of color might be added by tapestries upon the walls,
and sometimes, though rarely, by mural paintings, as we are told in the
lay of _Guingamor_:
"La chambre est paint tut entur;
Venus, la devesse d'amur,
Fu tres bein en la paintur."(The room is painted all about; Venus, the goddess of Love, was
beautifully pictured in the painting.)The floor of the hall might be of wood, though at the early period of
which we write it was very commonly of earth.There were no carpets,
except in palaces of great luxury, even at a much later date; instead,
the floor was covered with rushes or straw.Straw was anciently one of
the symbols of investiture; in the Salic law the person conveying an
estate cast a wisp of straw into the bosom of him to whom the property
was to be conveyed.With this custom in mind, we can understand the
anecdote told by Alberic des Troisfontaines of William the Conqueror.The floor of the room in which he was born was covered with straw.The
newborn child, having been placed on the floor for a moment, seized in
his tiny hands a bit of the straw, which he held vigorously."_
cried the midwife, _"cet enfant commence jeune a conquerir."_ Obviously,
the anecdote, with its allusion to the Conquest, was made up long after
the event, but it serves to show that even in the mansions of the well
to do straw was the usual floor covering; and even much later we do not
find the old coverings of rushes, branches, or straw displaced by
carpets.John went to the kitchen.In 1373 the inhabitants of a certain town (Aubervilliers) were
exempted from a feudal tax on condition of their furnishing annually
forty cartloads of straw to the hotel, or palace, of Charles V., twenty
to that of the queen, and ten to that of the dauphin.Daniel went to the bedroom.On special
occasions the ordinary straw might be displaced by fresh green boughs
upon the floor and against the walls.Froissart tells us that on a very
warm day "the count of Foix entered his chamber and found it all strewn
with verdure and full of fresh new boughs; the walls all about were
covered with green boughs to make the room more fresh and fragrant....
When he felt himself in this fresh new chamber, he said: 'This greenery
refreshes me greatly, for assuredly this has been a hot day.'"When the
rushes or straw remained long on the |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Mary went to the garden.This must have been the case in many a private house, but
especially in such public places as the great churches and the great
university of the Sorbonne, whose students sat on the floor upon straw,
and had to pay twenty-five sous each to the chancellor for furnishing
it.In the hall of the castle thus rudely furnished the inmates lived a
large part of their lives.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.There the minstrel, if one chanced to be present, recited his romance.There the lord in person, or his seneschal or baillie, held his court to
administer justice.It was the common room of the house, and usually
contained all there was in the way of decoration.Comfort even here was
hardly to be found; one can fancy that the fire on the open hearth gave
out more smoke than heat, and the windows, often entirely unglazed and
ill-fitting, let in more cold than light.The smaller apartments were even less pretentious in the way of comfort.Opening out of the hall, or arranged around the court, were little
cubby-holes of places to serve as sleeping apartments.The furniture in
them was of the simplest description, and one was not even sure of
finding a bedstead; for unless the occupant were outrageously affected
by what the old folks doubtless called the degenerate effeminacy of the
age--in the year 1000--his bed was apt to be made on the floor, or in a
bunk against the wall.Sometimes there was a larger apartment opening
from the rear of the hall and destined for the private use of the lord
and his lady.As luxury increased, this apartment gradually became
better furnished, and at length there developed the lady's bower, where
she might retire with her maids.John went to the office.Of these there would often be a goodly
number, some mere domestics, some young girls of good family sent to
learn polite manners and domestic arts under the lady of the castle.In
the bower also tapestries would be hung on the walls, and, in place of
arms, perhaps there would be the various musical instruments in popular
use, particularly the harp, in various forms, known as _psalterions,
cythares, decacordes_; the rote, which was what we should now call a
viol; various forms of violins, such as the rebec and the lute; guitars;
and perhaps flutes.The use of these instruments was, of course, not
unknown to the ladies themselves, and we find many references in the
romances to maidens at the courts playing upon the harp and singing,
though the professional minstrel or the page in training was oftener the
performer.In the bower, the lady was not occupied with mere amusements.Mary moved to the hallway.We are apt
to forget that our more complex civilization has taught us to rely upon
others to do many things which even our great-grand-mothers had to do
for themselves.John went to the bathroom.Placed in the position of Robinson Crusoe, even with the
help of the simple tools which Defoe allows him to have, how helpless
would be the average man of to-day, simply because, from long dependence
on the little conveniences of modern life,--from Lucifer matches and
cooking stoves to ready-made clothing and ready-made houses,--he would
have lost the use of the most elementary faculties.So the female
Crusoe, in a feudal castle lone island, far from the conveniences of
town and shops, must, if she expected to get any comfort for herself and
those around her, know how to do innumerable small things that even the
modern shopgirl finds done for her as a matter of course.She must know how to make bread, without question.In the romance of
King Florus a faithful wife disguises herself as a page and accompanies
her husband without his recognizing her.They fall upon evil days, and
the wife-page earns a living for herself and her master by starting a
bakery and eventually an inn.The lady of the manor must not only know
how to make the greater part of the clothing that she wears, but must
know how to weave the cloth of which her gown is made, and to spin the
yarn from which cloth and thread alike must come, and to card the wool
or prepare the flax before that.If soap be considered necessary,--and
there seems to have been no excessive use of it,--it would be wise for
her to know how to make it, since there might be no place near by where
soap could be bought.Candles, too, of a rude sort, or some sort of
rushlight, for domestic use, it would be well to know how to make; and,
of course, she should know how to make cheeses and to cure meats for use
during the long months when fresh meats might not be had.Even on the
tables of the rich, salt meats were the staple article.Daniel moved to the kitchen.Unable to
provide for the feeding of large flocks through the winter--forage was
scarce, root crops were little cultivated for stock, and the omnipotent
potato had not yet come to its own,--the lord's steward would have a
large number of animals slaughtered just at the beginning of winter, and
the flesh of these had to be salted down.The good housewife would, of
course, know something of the process.Though in large households the
management of the male servants, the outdoor servants generally, fell to
the steward or baillie, the lady even here undoubtedly had to give a
general supervision, and had to provide work for and maintain discipline
among the women of the household.It must have required no small amount
of ability and tact, therefore, successfully to be the lady of the
chateau.We need not pause here to consider the amusements and the traditional
occupations of women, such as fine sewing and embroidery, or music and
the care of flowers.These can best be noticed when we examine the
romances of a later age.John went to the kitchen.For women of the upper classes feudalism was not, we may say, entirely
unjust or evil in its operations; but as feudalism meant oppression
verging on slavery for Jacques Bonhomme, the peasant, his wife Jeanne
could hardly have been in better case.With peasant marriages the
seigneur could interfere even more tyrannically than with those of his
feudal wards.In some places the bride and groom owed to the seigneur
certain gifts called _mets de manage_.On the day of the wedding these
"must be brought to the chateau by the bride, accompanied by musicians;
the said mets shall consist of a leg of mutton, two fowls, two quarts of
wine, four loaves of bread, four candles, and some salt, under pain of a
fine of sixty sous."In some places that most infamous right known _par
excellence_ as the _droit du seigneur_ was claimed, and we find a writer
even as late as the seventeenth century recording the fact that the
husband was sometimes required to purchase his bride's exemption from
this right.At the early date of which we write, however, there is little or no
information to be had about the peasantry; the monkish chroniclers
mention them but rarely, and then unsympathetically.Daniel went to the bedroom.Popular literature,
with its _lais, contes, fabliaux_, or rude dramas in which Jacques and
Jeanne appear, did not yet exist.We may, however, guess from the
barbarity with which they were treated how near to that of the brutes
was their condition.About the year 997, soon after the death of the glorious Duke Robert the
Fearless, the peasants of Normandy began to murmur against the wrongs
they had to suffer."The seigneurs," they said, "only do us harm; on
account of them we have neither gain nor profit from our labor.Every
day they take from us our work animals for feudal services.And then
there are the laws, old and new, and pleas and lawsuits without end,
about coinage, about forest rights, about roads, about milling our
grain, about _hommage_.There are so many constables and bailiffs that
we have not one hour of peace; every day they are pouncing down on us,
seizing our goods, chasing us away from our land.There is no guarantee
for us against the seigneurs and their men, and no contract holds good
with them.Why do we allow ourselves to be treated thus, instead of
trying to right our wrongs?Let us therefore bind ourselves together by an oath, swearing
to sustain each other.And if they make war upon us, have we not, for
one knight, thirty or even forty young peasants, active, and fit to
fight with clubs, with pikes, with bows and arrows, yea, with stones if
there be no better weapons?Let us learn how to resist the knights, and
we shall be free to cut the trees, to hunt, to fish at our own sweet
will; and we will do as we please upon the water, in the fields, and in
the forests."They held secret meetings, and finally formed some sort of
an organization.But the seigneurs got wind of their designs.The young
Duke Richard sent for his uncle, Raoul, Count of Evreux."Sire," said
Raoul, "do not you stir a foot, but leave it all to me."He collected a
force of knights and men at arms, and, informed by a spy of the meeting
place of the peasants, bore down upon them suddenly and arrested all the
ringleaders.Then came the punishment, the like of which was not
uncommon, though the victims were more numerous than usual.Some were
empaled outright; some were cooked before a slow fire; some were
sprinkled with molten lead.Others had their eyes torn out, their hands
cut off, their legs scorched; and of these victims the few who survived
were sent back among their fellows to inspire terror.One can well believe that these horrors and the ever present sight of
those who had suffered from them kept the peasants in awe, as the old
chroniclers exultantly tell us.The account as given in Wace's _Roman de
Rou_ has in our eyes a pathos and a poetic grandeur far greater than the
chronicler's enthusiastic record of the deeds of the great Norman dukes.With us the democratic spirit, or mere humanity, is so much stronger
than with him that we read his lines with feelings of pity and
indignation quite unforeseen by him.Is it not pitiful, this cry of the
peasants?"Nus sumes homes cum il sunt,
Tex membres avum cum il unt,
Et altresi grant cors avum,
Et altretant sofrir poum."(We are men even as they are, we have limbs and bodies like theirs, and
can suffer as much.)One hears the echo of Shy lock's "Hath not a Jew
eyes?Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,
passions?"The feudal ages would have answered Jew and peasant alike
with an emphatic "No!"The barbarism in the suppression of this revolt is merely a typical
instance of the prevailing cruelty of manners.It was not the peasant
alone, regarded as hardly the same flesh and blood, to whom the seigneur
was cruel.Let us look at a few of these famous knights, and first at
the deeds of one notoriously wicked even in his own day.This was
Foulques, surnamed Nerra, the black, Count of Anjou, and ancestor of the
Plantagenet line.His first wife,
Elizabeth, accused of adultery--probably because he wished to get rid of
her,--he disposed of by violent methods.One account reports that he had
her burned alive; another, that he had her thrown over a precipice; and
as she survived this, he, scandalized by her refusal to die in this more
picturesque fashion, stabbed her himself.One is reminded of Nero, that
most cheerful of the Roman murderer-emperors, who contrived an elaborate
machine to drown his mother, and, when she swam ashore, was so irritated
by the failure of his scheme that he had her summarily decapitated.Foulques's second wife was so ill used that she fled to the Holy Land.The pious count once burned down the church of Saint-Florent at Saumur,
calling out to the saint: "Let me burn your old church here, and I'll
build you a far finer one in Angers."And later he did build a huge
abbey, which no one of the neighboring bishops would consecrate; but a
judicious application to Rome, backed by a present, brought a cardinal
to consecrate it; and the wrath of Heaven was shown, says the
chronicler, for the new church was destroyed by lightning.At length the
devout Foulques, who had made two previous pilgrimages to the Holy Land,
was so smitten by remorse that he undertook a third.When he arrived at
Jerusalem he had himself tied to a hurdle and dragged through the
streets, while two of his servants flogged him, and he cried out at
every blow: "Have mercy, O Lord, on the perjured traitor, Foulques!"We
are not told--but it is probable--that the servants who did the flogging
either did not survive very long, or else were wise enough to flog very
gently.Foulques, however, died on his way back from Jerusalem.Then there is the story of the chatelaine of the magnificent castle of
Ivri, Alberede, or Aubree, wife of Raoul, Count of Evreux, half-brother
of Richard I. She employed Lanfred, the most accomplished architect of
the time, who had built the strong castle of Ponthiviers (about 1090),
to build the castle of Ivri, stronger and more cunningly devised than
any other.When he had finished, in order that he might build no better
castle, or might not reveal the secrets of the fortifications of Ivri,
she had his head cut off.But Count Raoul was a prudent man, and took
the hint.One Norman gentleman, Ascelin de Goel, having had the good luck to
capture his feudal lord, held him for ransom; and in order that he might
be encouraged to pay more, had him exposed at an open north window, in
his shirt, and poured cold water over him, that the winter winds might
freeze it.And even the mild and saintly King Robert, in his war against
the Duke of Burgundy, laid waste the country far and wide, massacred
defenceless peasants, and did not spare even monasteries and churches,
since peasants and monasteries alike were regarded as but the goods of
the duke, which it was his right to destroy.The Church had some redress for the evils suffered.Mary went to the kitchen.The pious and
superstitious king was tormented nearly all his life by the threats of
eternal damnation which the Church held over him.This brings us to a
consideration of the influence of the Church upon manners in general and
upon the condition of women.Though there were many ambitious, greedy, and cruel priests; though many
of them lived in open defiance of the Church's prohibition of marriage
among the clergy,--there were several married bishops at an earlier
period, and one of these, the Bishop of Dole, actually plundered his
church to dower his daughters,--the Church as a whole unquestionably
stood for the best in manners and in morals.After Charlemagne's vain
attempts to revive popular education, what learning there was existed
only among the clergy.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Though themselves forming part of the feudal
nobility and holding fiefs for which they owed military service, the
bishops, abbots, and priors almost always espoused the cause of the weak
and the oppressed.Within the precincts of the church the poor fugitive
from violence done in the name of justice was offered sanctuary, and the
right of sanctuary was usually respected.Within the walls of the monastery women were offered safety.There were
many, of course, who might choose the quiet and the comparative ease of
the cloister life from motives little better than worldly, and others
who might enter with sentiments of romantic devoutness which it is hard
for most of us to appreciate in this day; and both were doubtless
satisfied with what they found in the convent.But there were many
others who had been forced into a life absolutely distasteful to them
and alien to their temperaments.How many of these withered away in
discontent!how many revolted more actively and led lives that brought
reproach and disgrace upon the Church!Among the earliest of the satires
against social abuses we find those against hypocritical, avaricious, |
garden | Where is Daniel? | Monks live in the _pays de Cocagne_, to gain
admittance to which one had to wallow seven years in filth; monks and
nuns are in Rabelais's _Abbe de Theleme_, and _en leur reigle n'estoit
que ceste clause: fais ce que vouldra_; and monks and nuns again play
anything but edifying roles in the _fabliaux_ and their successors, the
short tales such as one finds in the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_.Monasteries for women abounded all over France, most of them under some
form of the Benedictine rule.Within their own monasteries women could
govern themselves, though the whole convent was usually dependent upon
male ecclesiastical control, either attached to a neighboring monastery,
or under the jurisdiction of a bishop.In the great double monastic
community of Fontevrault, established about noo by Robert d'Arbrissel,
women were exalted above men; the nuns sang and prayed, the monks
worked, and the entire establishment was under the guidance of the
abbess.The abbess or prioress occupied a position of responsibility and dignity
not unlike that of the chatelaine.She too had the control of a large
domestic establishment, and she was responsible not only for religious
discipline but for the temporal provision for her nuns.The abbess had
the power of a bishop within the limits of her convent, and bore a
crosier as the sign of her rank.She might even hold some feudal tenure
in the name of her convent.She drew revenues from her holdings and was
in every sense the executive head of her house.At first--always under
some of the stricter rules--the abbess carried on business outside the
convent through some male agent.Greater freedom undoubtedly prevailed
at times, however, and the rule against her leaving the convent was
ignored.She was in some cases appointed, but usually elected from among
the nuns, though cases are found, of course, where the abbess was the
mere creature of some powerful lay or ecclesiastical authority.To
become abbess of a nunnery was not considered beneath even a princess of
the blood; and in some convents probably the same caste distinctions
were observed as prevailed outside, and the nuns were nothing more than
elegant retired ladies of birth and fashion.The abbess appointed her subordinates, who varied in number and rank
according to the power of the convent.There was generally a
sub-prioress, second in authority to the abbess, and certain minor
executive officers, whose duties were nevertheless important, such as
the chaplain, the sexton, and the cellaress.The chaplain was in most
cases a monk chosen to celebrate Mass for the nuns, since women were not
allowed to become actual priests; but in some cases the officer called
the chaplain was a nun, whether or not she could officiate in all
capacities.The sexton was a nun whose duties were to ring the bells for
services, to keep in order the chapel, the altar, and the sacred
vessels, and sometimes to act as a treasurer.The most interesting of
these officers, however, and the one whose position must have been
really most trying, was the cellaress.It was she who had general
supervision of the commissariat.She was usually chosen upon the advice,
if not by the election, of the whole community, and it was especially
important that she should be a tactful person and a judicious manager.As housekeeper of the establishment, she had to control the servants and
to satisfy the nuns.In providing food and drink for the household, she
had to manage receipts and disbursements of considerable amounts.Very
frequently a farm was attached to the nunnery, or there were several
farms whose produce was to be used for the support of the institution.For whatever was bought or sold the cellaress had to make an accounting.With the proceeds of her sales or of the rent of the farms under her
control, or with the money allowed her, she had to buy such provisions
as were needed: grain, flesh, fish,--usually a very large item,
especially in the Lenten season,--condiments, such as preserved fruits,
spices, salt, etc., and, where the rule did not utterly forbid it, wine
or ale.Of these details we shall speak more fully in connection with
the rules for a model nunnery which Abelard wrote for Heloise and upon
which she based her government of the famous monastery of the Paraclete.[Illustration 2:
DROIT DU SEIGNEUR.After the painting by Lucien Melingue.As feudalism meant oppression verging on slavery for Jacques Bonhomme,
the peasant, his wife Jeanne could hardly have been in better case.With
peasant marriages the seigneur could interfere even more tyrannically
than with those of his feudal wards.In some places the bride and groom
owed to the seigneur certain gifts called _mets de mariage...._ and that
most infamous right known as the _droit du seigneur_ was claimed, and we
find a writer even as late as the seventeenth century recording the fact
that the husband was sometimes required to purchase his bride's
exemption from this right.]Aside from the protection they afforded to women who might otherwise
have been utterly lost in the rough world, the monasteries were of great
importance in other ways.Whatever it may have become during the period
of the decline of monastic purity, the life in the nunneries, even in
the comparatively dark period about the year 1000, was not an idle one.The day was carefully portioned off into periods of work, of religious
devotion, and of leisure, which long custom fixed into a routine.The
occupations included what we should now class chiefly as artistic work,
though much of it was at the time really useful in a more homely
way,--weaving of hangings and tapestries for the church, embroidery,
painting and illuminating, and copying of manuscripts.This last was, of
course, work of the highest utility, though the artistic skill displayed
in the writing itself and in the beautiful illuminations made it also an
art.We have few names of actual scribes of either sex, since they
rarely signed the manuscripts they copied; but among these few there are
some of women.The magnificent tapestries, sometimes large enough to
cover in one piece the side of a church, are perhaps the most noteworthy
of the products of the monasteries.So famous was the work of the nuns
in this particular that tradition assigned to them, though perhaps
mistakenly, the production of one of the most famous historical
authorities for the Norman Conquest, the Bayeux tapestries, said to have
been wrought for Bishop Odo of Bayeux by nuns under the direction of
Queen Matilda.Most important of all in the activities of the convent was education.At
the time of which we write, the standard of learning in the convents was
higher than one would think, and higher than it was some centuries
later; for Latin was still used familiarly among some of the women
educated in convents.The most famous instance of learning is that of
the Saxon nun Hrotsvith, or Roswitha, of the tenth century, who wrote
legends of the saints, dramas on the model of the comedies of Terence,
and chronicles.There were other learned nuns, though none famous in the
French literature of the time, all of whom gained their knowledge in
convents; for it was in convents alone that women could ordinarily
receive any education at all.One of the main purposes of the convent
was to train young girls.Sometimes there was only such training as
would fit them to became novices and eventually nuns, and the degree of
education was of course determined in part by social standing; that is,
a princess would be more carefully trained than a mere demoiselle; but
some convents became famous schools, where education was given for its
own sake, not merely to train those who meant to become nuns.In many
cases, children of both sexes were taught, and girls and boys together
learned Latin.In the romance of _Flore et Blancheflore_, the hero
recalls how he and Blancheflore loved when they were children at school,
"and told each other of our love in Latin, and none understood us."But
the girls were probably better educated, in our sense of the word, than
the boys; for teaching a boy to avoid breaking Priscian's head was then
less necessary than teaching him to break that of his opponent in
battle.Leaving the convents out of the question, the Church helped the cause of
woman and of humanity by its constant endeavor to repress violence.About the year 1030 France was afflicted by a succession of bad crops,
resulting, together with the constant waste and ravages of petty wars,
in the most frightful famine.The people in their misery became almost
inhuman; men died in such multitudes that it was impossible to bury
them, and the wolves fed on their flesh; human flesh was actually
offered for sale in the market of Tournus; and one monster, near Macon,
living as a hermit, enticed unwary travellers into his den and there
slew and devoured them!When found out he had a pile of forty-eight
human skulls, those of his victims.In the midst of this horrible state
of affairs the bishops and abbots of all parts of France met in council
and decreed punishment upon whoever should carry arms, and upon whoever
should use violence against defenceless persons, merchants, monks, and
women; not even the refuge of the altar was to protect him who disobeyed
this decree.Raising their hands to heaven all those present cried out,
_Pax!pax!_ in witness of the eternal peace compact, the _Paix de
Dieu_--the Peace of God.Wars had caused much of their distress, and the
kingdom was indeed weary of war, but the millennium had not yet
come,--philosophers still tell us that it is "just beyond the sky
line,"--and the Peace of God was ineffective.Failing to suppress war, the Church next sought, with more practical
wisdom, to modify its horrors.Daniel went back to the kitchen.In 1041 was proclaimed the _Treve de
Dieu_--the Truce of God.All private feuds were to cease during the
period from Wednesday evening to Monday morning, under penalty of fine,
banishment, and exclusion from Christian communion.Then the days of the
great feasts were included in the period of truce, as well as Advent and
Lent."Churches and unfortified cemeteries," says the chronicler Ranulph
Glaber, "as well as the persons of all clerks and monks, provided they
did not carry arms, were put under the perpetual protection of the Truce
of God.For the future, when making war upon the seigneur, men were
forbidden to kill, to mutilate, or to carry off as captives the poor
people of the country, or to destroy maliciously implements of labor and
crops."Of
course, powerful barons broke the truce again and again; but it was
there as a real moral force of restraint, and the Church did not forget
to contend for its observance, so that it must have had some effect.To
no class in society could peace have been more welcome, more essential,
than to women, always the sufferers in war.We have left to the last one most important question in considering the
moral influence of the Church.Surely, the sanctity of the marriage tie
is one of the foundation stones of morality and of civilization; upon it
rests the home, where woman has always found her greatest and surest
happiness.The Church had been struggling for centuries, and was to
struggle some time longer, to make effective its opposition to marriage
among the clergy.Among the secular priests, those not connected with a
monastic order, marriage or concubinage had not by any means ceased, and
we find even bishops leading scandalous lives.But the Church continued
to fulminate its decrees, and the evil grew slowly less and less, till
it existed only among the lower orders of the clergy and in
out-of-the-way places.Monks and nuns alike took the three vows of
poverty, of chastity, and of obedience.We are not concerned with the
general question of whether or not priests should be married, or whether
or not it is wisdom to force the observance of a vow of perpetual
chastity upon young men and women who may have taken such a vow without
duly considering their own temperaments, or who have been compelled to
take it against their wills.Despite the scandals,--scandal has always a
noisy tongue,--there should be no doubt that in the great majority of
cases the vow of chastity was sincerely kept.They thought they heard a long moan come up from the waters; but
Civil saw his mother's chimney beginning to smoke, and with the fair
lady in her sea-green gown he hastened to the good dame's cottage."The whole village were woke up that morning with cries of 'Welcome
back, my son!'for the mournful lady knew
it was her lost daughter, Faith Feignless, whom the fisherman had
brought back, and all the neighbours assembled to hear their story.When
it was told, everybody praised Civil for the prudence he had shown in
his difficulties, except Sour and his mother: they did nothing but rail
upon him for losing such great chances of making himself and the whole
country rich.At last, when they heard over and over again of the
merman's treasures, neither mother nor son would consent to stay any
longer in the west country, and as nobody persuaded them, and they would
not take Civil's direction, Sour got out his boat and steered away with
his mother toward the Merman's Rock.From that voyage they never came
back to the hamlet.Some say they went down and lived among the
sea-people; others say--I know not how they learned it--that Sour and
his mother grumbled and growled so much that even the sea-people grew
weary of them, and turned them and their boat out on the open sea.What
part of the world they chose to land on nobody is certain: by all
accounts they have been seen everywhere, and I should not be surprised
if they were in this good company.As for Civil, he married Faith
Feignless, and became a great lord."Here the voice ceased, and two that were clad in sea-green silk, with
coronets of pearls, rose up, and said--
"That's our story.""Oh, mamma, if we could get down to that country!""And bring all the treasures back with us!""Except the tale of yesterday, and the four that went before it, I have
not heard such a story since my brother Wisewit went from me, and was
lost in the forest," said King Winwealth."Readyrein, the second of my
pages, rise, and bring this maiden a purple velvet mantle."Daniel moved to the garden.The mantle was brought, and Snowflower having thanked the king, went
down upon her grandmother's chair; but that night the little girl went
no further than the lowest banquet hall, where she was bidden to stay
and share the feast, and sleep hard by in a wainscot chamber.That she
was well entertained there is no doubt, for King Winwealth had been
heard to say that it was not clear to him how he could have got through
the seven days' feast without her grandmother's chair and its stories;
but next day being the last of the seven, things were gayer than ever in
the palace.The music had never been so merry, the dishes so rich, or
the wines so rare; neither had the clamours at the gate ever been so
loud, nor the disputes and envies so many in the halls.Perhaps it was these doings that brought the low spirits earlier than
usual on King Winwealth, for after dinner his majesty fell into them so
deeply that a message came down from the highest banquet hall, and the
cupbearer told Snowflower to go up with her chair, for King Winwealth
wished to hear another story.Now the little girl put on all her finery, from the pink shoes to the
purple mantle, and went up with her chair, looking so like a princess
that the whole company rose to welcome her.But having made her
courtesy, and laid down her head, saying, "Chair of my grandmother, tell
me a story," the clear voice from under the cushion answered--
"Listen to the Story of Merrymind."CHAPTER VIII
THE STORY OF MERRYMIND
"Once upon a time there lived in the north country a certain poor man
and his wife, who had two corn-fields, three cows, five sheep, and
thirteen children.Twelve of these children were called by names common
in the north country--Hardhead, Stiffneck, Tightfingers |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | Their thirteen children grew taller and stronger every year, and
they had hard work to keep them in bread; but when the youngest was old
enough to look after his father's sheep, there happened the great fair,
to which everybody in the north country went, because it came only once
in seven years, and was held on midsummer-day,--not in any town or
village, but on a green plain, lying between a broad river and a high
hill, where it was said the fairies used to dance in old and merry
times."Merchants and dealers of all sorts crowded to that fair from far and
near.There was nothing known in the north country that could not be
bought or sold in it, and neither old nor young were willing to go home
without a fairing.The poor man who owned this large family could afford
them little to spend in such ways; but as the fair happened only once
in seven years, he would not show a poor spirit.Therefore, calling them
about him, he opened the leathern bag in which his savings were stored,
and gave every one of the thirteen a silver penny."The boys and girls had never before owned so much pocket-money; and,
wondering what they should buy, they dressed themselves in their holiday
clothes, and set out with their father and mother to the fair.When they
came near the ground that midsummer morning, the stalls, heaped up with
all manner of merchandise, from gingerbread upwards, the tents for fun
and feasting, the puppet-shows, the rope-dancers, and the crowd of
neighbours and strangers, all in their best attire, made those simple
people think their north country fair the finest sight in the world.Daniel went back to the kitchen.The
day wore away in seeing wonders, and in chatting with old friends.It
was surprising how far silver pennies went in those days; but before
evening twelve of the thirteen had got fairly rid of their money.One
bought a pair of brass buckles, another a crimson riband, a third green
garters; the father bought a tobacco-pipe, the mother a horn
snuffbox--in short, all had provided themselves with fairings except
Merrymind."The cause of the silver penny remaining in his pocket was that he had
set his heart upon a fiddle; and fiddles enough there were in the
fair--small and large, plain and painted: he looked at and priced the
most of them, but there was not one that came within the compass of a
silver penny.His father and mother warned him to make haste with his
purchase, for they must all go home at sunset, because the way was long.[Illustration: Merrymind at the fair.]"The sun was getting low and red upon the hill; the fair was growing
thin, for many dealers had packed up their stalls and departed; but
there was a mossy hollow in the great hill-side, to which the outskirts
of the fair had reached, and Merrymind thought he would see what might
be there.The first thing was a stall of fiddles, kept by a young
merchant from a far country, who had many customers, his goods being
fine and new; but hard by sat a little grey-haired man, at whom
everybody had laughed that day, because he had nothing on his stall but
one old dingy fiddle, and all its strings were broken.Nevertheless, the
little man sat as stately, and cried, 'Fiddles to sell!'as if he had
the best stall in the fair."'Buy a fiddle, my young master?''You shall have it cheap: I ask but a silver penny for it; and if the
strings were mended, its like would not be in the north country.'"Merrymind thought this a great bargain.He was a handy boy, and could
mend the strings while watching his father's sheep.So down went the
silver penny on the little man's stall, and up went the fiddle under
Merrymind's arm."'Now, my young master,' said the little man, 'you see that we merchants
have a deal to look after, and if you help me to bundle up my stall, I
will tell you a wonderful piece of news about that fiddle.'"Merrymind was good-natured and fond of news, so he helped him to tie up
the loose boards and sticks that composed his stall with an old rope,
and when they were hoisted on his back like a fagot, the little man
said--
"'About that fiddle, my young master: it is certain the strings can
never be mended, nor made new, except by threads from the
night-spinners, which, if you get, it will be a good pennyworth;' and up
the hill he ran like a greyhound."Merrymind thought that was queer news, but being given to hope the
best, he believed the little man was only jesting, and made haste to
join the rest of the family, who were soon on their way home.When they
got there every one showed his bargain, and Merrymind showed his fiddle;
but his brothers and sisters laughed at him for buying such a thing when
he had never learned to play.His sisters asked him what music he could
bring out of broken strings; and his father said--
"'Thou hast shown little prudence in laying out thy first penny, from
which token I fear thou wilt never have many to lay out.'"In short, everybody threw scorn on Merrymind's bargain except his
mother.She, good woman, said if he laid out one penny ill, he might lay
out the next better; and who knew but his fiddle would be of use some
day?To make her words good, Merrymind fell to repairing the strings--he
spent all his time, both night and day, upon them; but, true to the
little man's parting words, no mending would stand, and no string would
hold on that fiddle.Merrymind tried everything, and wearied himself to
no purpose.At last he thought of inquiring after people who spun at
night; and this seemed such a good joke to the north country people,
that they wanted no other till the next fair."In the meantime Merrymind lost credit at home and abroad.Everybody
believed in his father's prophecy; his brothers and sisters valued him
no more than a herd-boy; the neighbours thought he must turn out a
scapegrace.Still the boy would not part with his fiddle.It was his
silver pennyworth, and he had a strong hope of mending the strings for
all that had come and gone; but since nobody at home cared for him
except his mother, and as she had twelve other children, he resolved to
leave the scorn behind him, and go to seek his fortune."The family were not very sorry to hear of that intention, being in a
manner ashamed of him; besides, they could spare one out of thirteen.His father gave him a barley cake, and his mother her blessing.All his
brothers and sisters wished him well.Most of the neighbours hoped that
no harm would happen to him; and Merrymind set out one summer morning
with the broken-stringed fiddle under his arm."There were no highways then in the north country--people took whatever
path pleased them best; so Merrymind went over the fair ground and up
the hill, hoping to meet the little man, and learn something of the
night-spinners.The hill was covered with heather to the top, and he
went up without meeting any one.On the other side it was steep and
rocky, and after a hard scramble down, he came to a narrow glen all
overgrown with wild furze and brambles.Merrymind had never met with
briars so sharp, but he was not the boy to turn back readily, and
pressed on in spite of torn clothes and scratched hands, till he came to
the end of the glen, where two paths met: one of them wound through a
pine-wood, he knew not how far, but it seemed green and pleasant.Daniel moved to the garden.The
other was a rough, stony way leading to a wide valley surrounded by high
hills, and overhung by a dull, thick mist, though it was yet early in
the summer evening."Merrymind was weary with his long journey, and stood thinking of what
path to choose, when, by the way of the valley, there came an old man as
tall and large as any three men of the north country.His white hair and
beard hung like tangled flax about him; his clothes were made of
sackcloth; and on his back he carried a heavy burden of dust heaped high
in a great pannier."'Listen to me, you lazy vagabond!'he said, coming near to Merrymind:
'if you take the way through the wood I know not what will happen to
you; but if you choose this path you must help me with my pannier, and I
can tell you it's no trifle.'"'Well, father,' said Merrymind, 'you seem tired, and I am younger than
you, though not quite so tall; so, if you please, I will choose this
way, and help you along with the pannier.'"Scarce had he spoken when the huge man caught hold of him, firmly bound
one side of the pannier to his shoulders with the same strong rope that
fastened it on his own back, and never ceased scolding and calling him
names as they marched over the stony ground together.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.It was a rough way
and a heavy burden, and Merrymind wished himself a thousand times out of
the old man's company, but there was no getting off; and at length, in
hopes of beguiling the way, and putting him in better humour, he began
to sing an old rhyme which his mother had taught him.By this time they
had entered the valley, and the night had fallen very dark and cold.The
old man ceased scolding, and by a feeble glimmer of the moonlight, which
now began to shine, Merrymind saw that they were close by a deserted
cottage, for its door stood open to the night winds.Here the old man
paused, and loosed the rope from his own and Merrymind's shoulders."'For seven times seven years,' he said, 'have I carried this pannier,
and no one ever sang while helping me before.Night releases all men, so
I release you.Where will you sleep--by my kitchen fire, or in that cold
cottage?'"Merrymind thought he had got quite enough of the old man's society,
and therefore answered--
"'The cottage, good father, if you please.'said the old man, and he went off with
his pannier."Merrymind stepped into the deserted cottage.The moon was shining
through door and window, for the mist was gone, and the night looked
clear as day; but in all the valley he could hear no sound, nor was
there any trace of inhabitants in the cottage.The hearth looked as if
there had not been a fire there for years.A single article of furniture
was not to be seen; but Merrymind was sore weary, and, laying himself
down in a corner, with his fiddle close by, he fell fast asleep."The floor was hard, and his clothes were thin, but all through his
sleep there came a sweet sound of singing voices and spinning-wheels,
and Merrymind thought he must have been dreaming when he opened his eyes
next morning on the bare and solitary house.The beautiful night was
gone, and the heavy mist had come back.There was no blue sky, no bright
sun to be seen.The light was cold and grey, like that of mid-winter;
but Merrymind ate the half of his barley cake, drank from a stream hard
by, and went out to see the valley."It was full of inhabitants, and they were all busy in houses, in
fields, in mills, and in forges.The men hammered and delved; the women
scrubbed and scoured; the very children were hard at work: but Merrymind
could hear neither talk nor laughter among them.Every face looked
careworn and cheerless, and every word was something about work or gain."Merrymind thought this unreasonable, for everybody there appeared rich.The women scrubbed in silk, the men delved in scarlet.Crimson curtains,
marble floors, and shelves of silver tankards were to be seen in every
house; but their owners took neither ease nor pleasure in them, and
every one laboured as it were for life."The birds of that valley did not sing--they were too busy pecking and
building.The cats did not lie by the fire--they were all on the watch
for mice.The dogs went out after hares on their own account.The cattle
and sheep grazed as if they were never to get another mouthful; and the
herdsmen were all splitting wood or making baskets."In the midst of the valley there stood a stately castle, but instead of
park and gardens, brew-houses and washing-greens lay round it.The gates
stood open, and Merrymind ventured in.They were making cheese
on the dais, and spinning and weaving in all its principal chambers.In
the highest tower of that busy castle, at a window from which she could
see the whole valley, there sat a noble lady.Her dress was rich, but of
a dingy drab colour.Her hair was iron-grey; her look was sour and
gloomy.Round her sat twelve maidens of the same aspect, spinning on
ancient distaffs, and the lady spun as hard as they, but all the yarn
they made was jet black."No one in or out of the castle would reply to Merrymind's salutations,
nor answer him any questions.The rich men pulled out their purses,
saying, 'Come and work for wages!'The poor men said, 'We have no time
to talk!'A <DW36> by the wayside wouldn't answer him, he was so busy
begging; and a child by a cottage-door said it must go to work.All day
Merrymind wandered about With his broken-stringed fiddle, and all day he
saw the great old man marching round and round the valley with his heavy
burden of dust."'It is the dreariest valley that ever I beheld!''And no place to mend my fiddle in; but one would not like to go away
without knowing what has come over the people, or if they have always
worked so hard and heavily.'"By this time the night again came on: he knew it by the clearing mist
and the rising moon.The people began to hurry home in all directions.Silence came over house and field; and near the deserted cottage
Merrymind met the old man."'Good father,' he said, 'I pray you tell me what sport or pastime have
the people of this valley?'cried the old man, in great wrath.'Where did you
hear of the like?There is no sport
in Dame Dreary's land!'and, with a hearty scolding for his idleness and
levity, he left Merrymind to sleep once more in the cottage."That night the boy did not sleep so sound: though too drowsy to open
his eyes, he was sure there had been singing and spinning near him all
night; and, resolving to find out what this meant before he left the
valley, Merrymind ate the other half of his barley cake, drank again
from the stream, and went out to see the country."The same heavy mist shut out sun and sky; the same hard work went
forward wherever he turned his eyes; and the great old man with the
dust-pannier strode on his accustomed round.Merrymind could find no one
to answer a single question; rich and poor wanted him to work still more
earnestly than the day before; and fearing that some of them might press
him into service, he wandered away to the furthest end of the valley."There, there was no work, for the land lay bare and lonely, and was
bounded by grey crags, as high and steep as any castle-wall.There was
no passage or outlet, but through a great iron gate secured with a heavy
padlock: close by it stood a white tent, and in the door a tall soldier,
with one arm, stood smoking a long pipe.He was the first idle man
Merrymind had seen in the valley, and his face looked to him like that
of a friend; so coming up with his best bow, the boy said--
"'Honourable master soldier, please to tell me what country is this, and
why do the people work so hard?'"'Are you a stranger in this place, that you ask such questions?'Mary moved to the bathroom."'Yes,' said Merrymind; 'I came but the evening before yesterday.'"'Then I am sorry for you, for here you must remain.My orders are to
let everybody in and nobody out; and the giant with the dust-pannier
guards the other |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | "'That is bad news,' said Merrymind; 'but since I am here, please to
tell me why were such laws made, and what is the story of this valley?'"'Hold my pipe, and I will tell you,' said the soldier, 'for nobody else
will take the time.This valley belongs to the lady of yonder castle,
whom, for seven times seven years, men have called Dame Dreary.She had
another name in her youth--they called her Lady Littlecare; and then the
valley was the fairest spot in all the north country.The sun shone
brightest there; the summers lingered longest.Fairies danced on the
hill-tops; singing-birds sat on all the trees.Strongarm, the last of
the giants, kept the pine-forest, and hewed yule logs out of it, when he
was not sleeping in the sun.Two fair maidens, clothed in white, with
silver wheels on their shoulders, came by night, and spun golden
threads by the hearth of every cottage.The people wore homespun, and
drank out of horn; but they had merry times.There were May-games,
harvest-homes and Christmas cheer among them.Shepherds piped on the
hill-sides, reapers sang in the fields, and laughter came with the red
firelight out of every house in the evening.All that was changed,
nobody knows how, for the old folks who remembered it are dead.Some say
it was because of a magic ring which fell from the lady's finger; some
because of a spring in the castle-court which went dry.However it was,
the lady turned Dame Dreary.Hard work and hard times overspread the
valley.The mist came down; the fairies departed; the giant Strongarm
grew old, and took up a burden of dust; and the night-spinners were seen
no more in any man's dwelling.They say it will be so till Dame Dreary
lays down her distaff, and dances; but all the fiddlers of the north
country have tried their merriest tunes to no purpose.The king is a
wise prince and a great warrior.He has filled two treasure-houses, and
conquered all his enemies; but he cannot change the order of Dame
Dreary's land.Daniel went back to the kitchen.I cannot tell you what great rewards he offered to any
who could do it; but when no good came of his offers, the king feared
that similar fashions might spread among his people, and therefore made
a law that whomsoever entered should not leave it.His majesty took me
captive in war, and placed me here to keep the gate, and save his
subjects trouble.If I had not brought my pipe with me, I should have
been working as hard as any of them by this time, with my one arm.Young
master, if you take my advice you will learn to smoke.'"'If my fiddle were mended it would be better,' said Merrymind; and he
sat talking with the soldier till the mist began to clear and the moon
to rise, and then went home to sleep in the deserted cottage."It was late when he came near it, and the moonlight night looked lovely
beside the misty day.Merrymind thought it was a good time for trying to
get out of the valley.There was no foot abroad, and no appearance of
the giant; but as Merrymind drew near to where the two paths met, there
was he fast asleep beside a fire of pinecones, with his pannier at his
head, and a heap of stones close by him.thought the boy to himself, and he tried to steal past; but Strongarm
started up, and pursued him with stones, and calling him bad names, half
way back to the cottage."Merrymind was glad to run the whole way for fear of him.The door was
still open, and the moon was shining in; but by the fireless hearth
there sat two fair maidens, all in white, spinning on silver wheels, and
singing together a blithe and pleasant tune like the larks on
May-morning.Merrymind could have listened all night, but suddenly he
bethought him that these must be the night-spinners, whose threads would
mend his fiddle; so, stepping with reverence and good courage, he said--
"'Honourable ladies, I pray you give a poor boy a thread to mend his
fiddle-strings.'"'For seven times seven years,' said the fair maidens, 'have we spun by
night in this deserted cottage, and no mortal has seen or spoken to us.Go and gather sticks through all the valley to make a fire for us on
this cold hearth, and each of us will give you a thread for your pains.'"Merrymind took his broken fiddle with him, and went through all the
valley gathering sticks by the moonlight; but so careful were the people
of Dame Dreary's land, that scarce a stick could be found, and the moon
was gone, and the misty day had come before he was able to come back
with a small fagot.The cottage-door was still open; the fair maidens
and their silver wheels were gone; but on the floor where they sat lay
two long threads of gold."Merrymind first heaped up his fagot on the hearth, to be ready against
their coming at night, and next took up the golden threads to mend his
fiddle.Then he learned the truth of the little man's saying at the
fair, for no sooner were the strings fastened with those golden threads
than they became firm.The old dingy fiddle too began to shine and
glisten, and at length it was golden also.This sight made Merrymind so
joyful, that, unlearned as he was in music, the boy tried to play.Scarce had his bow touched the strings when they began to play of
themselves the same blithe and pleasant tune which the night-spinners
sang together."'Some of the workers will stop for the sake of this tune,' said
Merrymind, and he went out along the valley with his fiddle.The music
filled the air; the busy people heard it; and never was such a day seen
in Dame Dreary's land.The men paused in their delving; the women
stopped their scrubbing; the little children dropped their work; and
every one stood still in their places while Merrymind and his fiddle
passed on.When he came to the castle, the coopers cast down their tools
in the court; the churning and cheesemaking ceased in the banquet hall;
the looms and spinning-wheels stopped in the principal chambers; and
Dame Dreary's distaff stood still in her hand."Merrymind played through the halls and up the tower-stairs.As he came
near, the dame cast down her distaff, and danced with all her might.All
her maidens did the like; and as they danced she grew young again--the
sourness passed from her looks, and the greyness from her hair.They
brought her the dress of white and cherry-colour she used to wear in her
youth, and she was no longer Dame Dreary, but the Lady Littlecare, with
golden hair, and laughing eyes, and cheeks like summer roses.[Illustration: Dame Dreary dances and grows strong.]"Then a sound of merrymaking came up from the whole valley.The heavy
mist rolled away over the hills; the sun shone out; the blue sky was
seen; a clear spring gushed up in the castle-court; a white falcon came
from the east with a golden ring, and put it on the lady's finger.After
that Strongarm broke the rope, tossed the pannier of dust from his
shoulder, and lay down to sleep in the sun.That night the fairies
danced on the hill-tops; and the night-spinners, with their silver
wheels, were seen by every hearth, and no more in the deserted cottage.Everybody praised Merrymind and his fiddle; and when news of his
wonderful playing came to the king's ears, he commanded the iron gate
to be taken away; he made the captive soldier a free man; and promoted
Merrymind to be his first fiddler, which under that wise monarch was the
highest post in his kingdom."As soon as Merrymind's family and neighbours heard of the high
preferment his fiddle had gained for him, they thought music must be a
good thing, and man, woman, and child took to fiddling.It is said that
none of them ever learned to play a single tune except Merrymind's
mother, on whom her son bestowed great presents."Daniel moved to the garden.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.Here the voice ceased, and one clothed in green and russet-
velvet rose up with a golden fiddle in his hand, and said--
"That's my story.""Excepting yesterday's tale, and the five that went before it," said
King Winwealth, "I have not heard such a story as that since my brother
Wisewit went from me, and was lost in the forest.Fairfortune, the first
of my pages, go and bring this maiden a golden girdle.And since her
grandmother's chair can tell such stories, she shall go no more into
low company, but feast with us in our chief banquet hall, and sleep in
one of the best chambers of the palace!"CHAPTER IX
PRINCE WISEWIT'S RETURN
Snowflower was delighted at the promise of feasting with those noble
lords and ladies, whose wonderful stories she had heard from the chair.Her courtesy was twice as low as usual, and she thanked King Winwealth
from the bottom of her heart.All the company were glad to make room for
her, and when her golden girdle was put on, little Snowflower looked as
fine as the best of them."Mamma," whispered the Princess Greedalind, while she looked ready to
cry for spite, "only see that low little girl who came here in a coarse
frock and barefooted, what finery and favour she has gained by her
story-telling chair!All the court are praising her and overlooking me,
though the feast was made in honour of my birthday.Mamma, I must have
that chair from her.What business has a common little girl with
anything so amusing?""So you shall, my daughter," said Queen Wantall--for by this time she
saw that King Winwealth had, according to custom, fallen asleep on his
throne.So calling two of her pages, Screw and Hardhands, she ordered
them to bring the chair from the other end of the hall where Snowflower
sat, and directly made it a present to Princess Greedalind.Nobody in that court ever thought of disputing Queen Wantall's commands,
and poor Snowflower sat down to cry in a corner; while Princess
Greedalind, putting on what she thought a very grand air, laid down her
head on the cushion, saying--
"Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story."Mary moved to the bathroom.cried the clear voice from under the
cushion; and up went the chair with such force as to throw Princess
Greedalind off on the floor, where she lay screaming, a good deal more
angry than hurt.All the courtiers tried in vain to comfort her.But Queen Wantall,
whose temper was still worse, vowed that she would punish the impudent
thing, and sent for Sturdy, her chief woodman, to chop it up with his
axe.At the first stroke the cushion was cut open, and, to the astonishment
of everybody, a bird, whose snow-white feathers were tipped with purple,
darted out and flew away through an open window.[Illustration: Prince Wisewit, disguised as a bird, escapes out of the
window.]cried the queen and the princess; and all but King
Winwealth, who still slept on his throne, rushed out after the bird.It
flew over the palace garden and into a wild common, where houses had
been before Queen Wantall pulled them down to search for a gold mine,
which her majesty never found, though three deep pits were dug to come
at it.To make the place look smart at the feast time these pits had
been covered over with loose boughs and turf.All the rest of the
company remembered this but Queen Wantall and Princess Greedalind.They
were nearest to the bird, and poor Snowflower, by running hard, came
close behind them, but Fairfortune, the king's first page, drew her back
by the purple mantle, when, coming to the covered pit, boughs and turf
gave way, and down went the queen and the princess.Everybody looked for the bird, but it was nowhere to be seen; but on
the common where they saw it alight, there stood a fair and royal
prince, clad in a robe of purple and a crown of changing colours, for
sometimes it seemed of gold and sometimes of forest leaves.Most of the courtiers stood not knowing what to think, but all the fairy
people and all the lords and ladies of the chair's stories, knew him,
and cried, "Welcome to Prince Wisewit!"King Winwealth heard that sound where he slept, and came out glad of
heart to welcome back his brother.When the lord high chamberlain and
her own pages came out with ropes and lanthorns to search for Queen
Wantall and Princess Greedalind, they found them safe and well at the
bottom of the pit, having fallen on a heap of loose sand.The pit was of
great depth, but some daylight shone down, and whatever were the yellow
grains they saw glittering among the sand, the queen and the princess
believed it was full of gold.They called the miners false knaves, lazy rogues, and a score of bad
names beside, for leaving so much wealth behind them, and utterly
refused to come out of the pit; saying, that since Prince Wisewit was
come, they could find no pleasure in the palace, but would stay there
and dig for gold, and buy the world with it for themselves.King
Winwealth thought the plan was a good one for keeping peace in his
palace.He commanded shovels and picks to be lowered to the queen and
the princess.The two pages, Screw and Hardhands, went down to help
them, in hopes of halving the profits, and there they stayed, digging
for gold.John went back to the office.Some of the courtiers said they would find it; others believed
they never could; and the gold was not found when this story was
written.As for Prince Wisewit, he went home with the rest of the company,
leading Snowflower by the hand, and telling them all how he had been
turned into a bird by the cunning fairy Fortunetta, who found him off
his guard in the forest; how she had shut him up under the cushion of
that curious chair, and given it to old Dame Frostyface; and how all his
comfort had been in little Snowflower, to whom he told so many stories.King Winwealth was so rejoiced to find his brother again, that he
commanded another feast to be held for seven days.All that time the
gates of the palace stood open; all comers were welcome, all complaints
heard.The houses and lands which Queen Wantall had taken away were
restored to their rightful owners.There were no more clamours without, nor discontents within the palace;
and on the seventh day of the feast who should arrive but Dame
Frostyface, in her grey hood and mantle.Snowflower was right glad to see her grandmother--so were the king and
prince, for they had known the Dame in her youth.They kept the feast
for seven days more; and when it was ended everything was right in the
kingdom.King Winwealth and Prince Wisewit reigned once more together;
and because Snowflower was the best girl in all that country, they chose
her to be their heiress, instead of Princess Greedalind.From that day
forward she wore white velvet and satin; she had seven pages, and lived
in the grandest part of the palace.Dame Frostyface, too, was made a
great lady.They put a new velvet cushion on her chair, and she sat in a
gown of grey cloth, edged with gold, spinning on an ivory wheel in a
fine painted parlour.Prince Wisewit built a great summer-house covered
with vines and roses, on the spot where her old cottage stood.He also
made a highway through the forest, that all good people might come and
go there at their leisure; and the cunning fairy Fortunetta, finding
that her reign was over in those parts, set off on a journey round the
world, and did not return in the time of this story.Good boys and
girls, who may chance to read it, that time is long ago.Daniel went back to the bathroom.Great wars,
work, and learning, have passed over the world since then, |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | Kings make no seven-day feasts for all comers now.Queens and princesses, however greedy, do not mine for gold.Wells work no wonders; and there are no such doings on
hills and forests, for the fairies dance no more.Some say it was the
hum of schools--some think it was the din of factories that frightened
them; but nobody has been known to have seen them for many a year,
except, it is said, one Hans Christian Andersen, in Denmark, whose tales
of the fairies are so good that they must have been heard from
themselves.It is certain that no living man knows the subsequent history of King
Winwealth's country, nor what became of all the notable characters who
lived and visited at his palace.Yet there are people who believe that
the monarch still falls asleep on his throne, and into low spirits after
supper; that Queen Wantall and Princess Greedalind have found the gold,
and begun to buy; that Dame Frostyface yet spins--they cannot tell
where; that Snowflower may still be seen at the new year's time in her
dress of white velvet, looking out for the early spring; that Prince
Wisewit has somehow fallen under a stronger spell and a thicker cushion,
that he still tells stories to Snowflower and her friends, and when both
cushion and spell are broken by another stroke of Sturdy's
hatchet--which they expect will happen some time--the prince will make
all things right again, and bring back the fairy times to the world.The Frenchwoman's expression was impassive.Her scorn for the wretch
before her was tempered with the knowledge that his cowardly plan was
doomed to defeat.It was she who had checkmated him, and she was glad.Now and again her eyes sought the clock, while she silently calculated
the time to elapse before Arthur Weldon arrived.There would be a pretty
scene then, Cerise would have much enjoyment in witnessing the
encounter."Now, then, take me to Louise," commanded Mershone, suddenly."Oh, not yet, m'sieur!"She will not waken for an hour--perhaps two."We'll waken her now, and give her an idea of the change
of program."The poor thing has but now sobbed
herself to sleep, after many bitter hours.Can you not wait a brief
hour, having waited five days?"As he came toward her the woman drew
away."See here, Cerise, I intend to be obeyed.I won't endure any nonsense at
this stage of the game, believe me," he announced fiercely."In order to
win, there's just one way to manage this affair, and I insist upon your
following my instructions.she returned, the bead-like eyes glittering as they met
his angry gaze.She did not move, nor did she answer him.Daniel went back to the kitchen.At her waist hung a small
bunch of household keys and this he seized with a sudden movement and
jerked loose from its cord.Daniel moved to the garden.he muttered, inflamed with anger at her opposition."If you propose to defend this girl and defy me, you'll find I'm able to
crush you as I will her.While I'm gone I expect you to come to your
senses, and decide to obey me."With these words he advanced to the door of the little room and opened
it.Just outside stood Fogerty, smiling genially."Glad to meet you again, Mr.While Mershone stood bewildered by this unexpected apparition the
detective entered the room, closed the door carefully, and putting his
back to it bowed politely to Madame Cerise."Pardon this seeming intrusion, ma'am," said he."I'm here on a little
matter of business, having a warrant for the arrest of Mr.Charles
Connoldy Mershone."CHAPTER XXII
GONE
The grim face of Madame Cerise relaxed to allow a quaint smile to flit
across it.She returned Fogerty's bow with a deep curtsy.Mershone, after one brief exclamation of dismay, wrested from him by
surprise, threw himself into the chair again and stared at the fire.For a few moments there was intense stillness in the little room."How easy it is," said Fogerty, in soft, musing tones, "to read one's
thoughts--under certain circumstances.Mershone,
that I'm a boy, and not very strong, while you are an athlete and can
easily overpower me.I have come at a disagreeable time, and all your
plans depend on your ability to get rid of me.But I've four good men
within call, who are just now guarding the approaches to this house.They'd like to come in, I know, because it's very cold and disagreeable
outside; but suppose we allow them to freeze for a time?Ah, I thought
you'd agree with me, sir--I overheard you say you were about to visit
Miss Merrick, who is confined in a room upstairs, but I'd like you to
postpone that while we indulge in a little confidential chat together.You see--"
The door-bell rang violently.Fogerty glanced at Madame Cerise."What's your price, Fogerty?""For getting out of here--making tracks and leaving me alone.Every man
has his price, and I'm trapped--I'm willing to pay anything--I'll--"
"Cut it out, sir."Have you really a warrant for my arrest?"It's no use, Mershone, the game's up and
you may as well grin and bear it."Mershone was about to reply when the door opened and Diana Von Taer came
in with a swift, catlike tread and confronted him with flaming eyes.How dare you come here to
annoy and browbeat that poor girl?"she cried in clear, cutting accents,
without noticing the presence of Fogerty."Oh, shut up, Di, you're in it as deep as I am," he retorted, turning
away with a flushed face.Never have I countenanced this wicked, criminal act," she
declared."I have come here to-day to save Louise from your wiles and
carry her back to her friends.I dare you, or your confederates," with a
scornful look at the detective, "to interfere with me in any way."Then
she turned to Cerise and continued: "Where is Miss Merrick now?""In your own room, ma'm'seile."Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.With a defiant glance at Mershone she turned haughtily and left the
room.Cerise followed obediently, somewhat astonished at the queer turn
of events.Left alone with Mershone, Fogerty chuckled gleefully."Why, it seems I wasn't needed, after all," said he, "and we've both of
us taken a lot of trouble for nothing, Mershone.The chances are Miss
Von Taer would have turned the trick in any event, don't you think so?"She wouldn't have interfered if she
hadn't been scared out," growled the other."She's sacrificed me to save
herself, that's all.""You may be right about that," admitted Fogerty; and then he got up to
answer the door-bell, which once more rang violently.An automobile stood outside, and from it an excited party trooped into
the hallway, disregarding the cutting wind and blinding snowflakes that
assailed them as they passed in.There was Arthur Weldon and Uncle John,
Patricia and Beth; and all, as they saw the detective, cried with one
voice:
"Where's Louise?"Fogerty had just managed to close the door against the wintry blast when
the answer came from the stairway just above:
"She is gone!"The voice was shrill and despairing, and looking up they saw Diana
standing dramatically posed upon the landing, her hands clasped over her
heart and a look of fear upon her face.Over her shoulder the startled
black eyes of old Cerise peered down upon the group below.The newcomers were evidently bewildered by this reception.They had come
to rescue Louise, whom they imagined confined in a lonely deserted villa
with no companion other than the woman who guarded her.Arthur's own
detective opened the door to them and Diana Von Taer, whom they
certainly did not expect to meet here, confronted them with the
thrilling statement that Louise had gone.Mary moved to the bathroom.Arthur was the first to recover his wits.Within an hour, wasn't it, Cerise?""At ten o'clock I left her, now she is gone," said the old woman, who
appeared as greatly agitated as her mistress.you don't mean to say she's left the house in this
storm?"exclaimed Patsy, aghast at the very thought.Cerise turned to show him the way, and
the others followed in an awed group.The key was in the lock of the door to the missing girl's room, but the
door itself now stood ajar.Fogerty entered, cast a sharp look around
and walked straight to the window.As the others came in, glancing
curiously about them and noting the still smouldering fire and the
evidences of recent occupation, the detective unlatched the French
window and stepped out into the snow that covered the roof of the little
porch below.Arthur sprang out beside him, leaving the rest to shiver in
the cold blast that rushed in upon them from the open window.Fogerty, on his knees, scanned the snow carefully, and although Weldon
could discover no sign of a footprint the young detective nodded his
head sagaciously and slowly made his way to the trellis at the end.Here
it was plain that the accumulation of snow had recently been brushed
away from the frail framework."It was strong enough to hold her,
though," declared Fogerty, looking over the edge of the roof."I'll
descend the same way, sir.Go back by the stairs and meet me below."He grasped the lattice and began cautiously to lower himself to the
ground, and Arthur turned to rejoin his friends in the room."That is the way she escaped, without doubt," he said to them."Poor
child, she had no idea we were about to rescue her, and her long
confinement had made her desperate.""Did she have a cloak, or any warm clothes?"Madame Cerise
hurriedly examined the wardrobe in the closets."Yes, ma'm'selle; she has taken a thick coat and a knit scarf," she
answered.But I am sure she had no gloves, and her shoes were very
thin.""How long do you think she has been gone?"Mershone, and--"
"Mershone!"He is in my room downstairs--or was when you came," said the woman."That accounts for her sudden flight," declared the young man, bitterly."She doubtless heard his voice and in a sudden panic decided to fly."No, m'sieur," replied Cerise.With one accord they descended to the lower hall and the caretaker led
the way to her room.To their surprise they found Mershone still seated
in the chair by the fire, his hands clasped behind his head, a cigarette
between his lips."Here is another crime for you to account for!"cried Arthur, advancing
upon him angrily.Mershone raised one hand in mild protest."Don't waste time cursing me," he said."Try to find Louise before it is
too late."Merrick
said:
"He is right.I'll go help Fogerty, and you must stay here and look
after the girls until we return."As he went out he passed Diana
without a look.She sat in a corner of the room sobbing miserably.Beth
was thoughtful and quiet, Patsy nervous and indignant.Uncle John was
apparently crushed by the disaster that had overtaken them.Mershone's
suggestion that Louise might perish in the storm was no idle one; the
girl was not only frail and delicate but worn out with her long
imprisonment and its anxieties."I believe," said Mershone, rising abruptly, "I'll go and join the
search.Fogerty has arrested me, but you needn't worry about my trying
to escape.John went back to the office.I don't care what becomes of me, now, and I'm going straight
to join the detective."They allowed him to go without protest, and he buttoned his coat and set
out in the storm to find the others.Fogerty and Arthur were by this
time in the lane back of the grounds, where the detective was advancing
slowly with his eyes fixed on the ground."The tracks are faint, but easily followed," he was saying, "The high
heels of her shoes leave a distinct mark."When Mershone joined them Arthur scowled at the fellow but said nothing.From the lane the tracks, already nearly obliterated by the fast falling
snow, wandered along nearly a quarter of a mile to a crossroads, where
they became wholly lost.Fogerty looked up and down the roads and shook his head with a puzzled
expression."We've surely traced her so far," said he, "but now we must guess at her
further direction.It may have
passed fifteen minutes or an hour ago.The hoof tracks of the horses are
covered, so I'm not positive which way they headed; I only know there
are indications of hoof tracks, which proves it a farmer's wagon.The
question is, whether the young lady met it, and caught a ride, or
whether she proceeded along some of the other trails.I can't find any
indication of those high-heeled shoes from this point, in any direction.Weldon, and run east a few miles, keeping sharp
watch of the wagon tracks on the way.Daniel went back to the bathroom.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.It was a heavy wagon, for the
wheels cut deep.Mershone and I will go west.When you've driven far
enough to satisfy yourself you're going the wrong direction, you may
easily overtake us on your return.Sandra went to the bathroom.Then, if we've discovered nothing on
this road, we'll try the other."Arthur ran back at once to the house
and in a few minutes had started on his quest.The motor car was
powerful enough to plow through the deep snow with comparative ease.Those left together in Madam Cerise's little room were more to be pitied
than the ones engaged in active search, for there was nothing to relieve
their fears and anxieties.Diana, unable to bear the accusing looks of
Patsy and Beth, resolved to make a clean breast of her complicity in the
affair and related to them every detail of her connection with her
cousin's despicable plot.She ended by begging their forgiveness, and
wept so miserably that Uncle John found himself stroking her hair while
Patsy came close and pressed the penitent girl's hand as if to comfort
and reassure her.She could not find it in her heart as yet to forgive
Diana's selfish conspiracy against her cousin's happiness.If Louise
perished in this dreadful storm the proud Diana Von Taer could not
escape the taint of murder.CHAPTER XXIII
THE CRISIS
Mershone and Fogerty plodded through the snow together, side by side.They were facing the wind, which cut their faces cruelly, yet neither
seemed to mind the bitterness of the weather."Keep watch along the
roadside," suggested Mershone; "she may have fallen anywhere, you know.asked Fogerty, not
unsympathetically.That was why I made such a struggle to get her."Provided a woman is won by force or trickery
she's never worth getting.If she doesn't care for you it's better to
give her up.""You're a bright fellow, Mershone, a clever fellow.It's a pity you
couldn't direct your talents the right way.I've done with it,
and the sooner I go to the devil the better.If only I could be sure
Louise was safe I'd toss every care--and every honest thought--to the
winds, from this moment."During the silence that followed Fogerty was thoughtful.Indeed, his
mind dwelt more upon the defeated and desperate man beside him than upon
the waif he was searching for.Mershone," he said, after a time, "can't be
helped now.The future of every man is always a bigger proposition than
his past--whoever he may be.With your talents and genius you could yet
make of yourself a successful and prosperous man, respected by the
community--if you could get out of this miserable rut that has helped
to drag you down.""But I can't," said the other, despondently.But you'll have to strike for a place |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | Go West, forget your past, and carve out an honest future
under a new name and among new associates."They'll give me a jail sentence for this folly,
as sure as fate, and that will be the end of me."See here, Mershone, it won't help any of those people
to prosecute you.If the girl escapes with her life no real harm has
been done, although you've caused a deal of unhappiness, in one way or
another.For my part, I'd like to see you escape, because I'm sure this
affair will be a warning to you that will induce you to give up all
trickery in the future.Daniel went back to the kitchen.Money wouldn't bribe me, as you know, but
sympathy and good fellowship will.Daniel moved to the garden.If you'll promise to skip right now,
and turn over a new leaf, you are free.""There's a town a mile ahead of us; I can see the buildings now and
then.You've money, for you offered it to me.I haven't any assistants
here, I'm all alone on the job.That talk about four men was only a
bluff.Push me over in the snow and make tracks.I'll tell Weldon you've
escaped, and advise him not to bother you.Mershone stopped short, seized the detective's hand and wrung it
gratefully."You're a good fellow, Fogerty.In
the first place, I can't rest in peace until Louise is found, or I know
her fate.Secondly, I'm game to give an account for all my deeds, now
that I've played the farce out, and lost.I--I really haven't the
ambition, Fogerty, to make a new start in life, and try to reform.Perhaps he realized the case was entirely
hopeless.But he had done what he could to save the misguided fellow and
give him a chance, and he was sorry he had not succeeded.Meantime Arthur Weldon, almost dazed by the calamity that had overtaken
his sweetheart, found an able assistant in his chauffeur, who, when the
case was explained to him, developed an eager and intelligent interest
in the chase.Fortunately they moved with the storm and the snow
presently moderated in volume although the wind was still blowing a
fierce gale.This gave them a better opportunity than the others to
observe the road they followed.Jones had good eyes, and although the trail of the heavy wagon was lost
at times he soon picked it up again and they were enabled to make fairly
good speed."I believe," said Arthur, presently, "that the marks are getting
clearer.""I know they are, sir," agreed Jones."Then we've come in the right direction, for it is proof that the wagon
was headed this way."This back section was thinly settled and the occasional farm-houses they
passed were set well back from the road.It was evident from the closed
gates and drifted snowbanks that no teams had either left these places
or arrived during a recent period.Arthur was encouraged, moreover, by
the wagon ruts growing still more clear as they proceeded, and his
excitement was great when Jones abruptly halted and pointed to a place
where the wheels had made a turn and entered a farm yard."Here's the place, sir," announced the chauffeur."It's pretty deep, sir, but I'll try."The snow was crisp and light, owing to the excessive cold, and the
machine plowed through it bravely, drawing up at last to the door of an
humble cottage.As Arthur leaped out of the car a man appeared upon the steps, closing
the door softly behind him.The man placed his finger on his lips, although the wind prevented any
sound of voices being heard within."Gently, sir, don't make a noise--but come in."The farmer, a man of advanced
years, led him to a front room, and again cautioning him to be silent,
motioned him to enter.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.Mary moved to the bathroom.A sheet-iron stove made the place fairly comfortable.By a window sat a
meek-faced woman, bent over some sewing.On a couch opposite lay Louise,
covered by a heavy shawl.She was fast asleep, her hair disheveled and
straying over her crimson cheeks, flushed from exposure to the weather.Her slumber seemed the result of physical exhaustion, for her lips were
parted and she breathed deeply.Arthur, after gazing at her for a moment with a beating-heart, for the
mysterious actions of the old farmer had made him fear the worst, softly
approached the couch and knelt beside the girl he loved, thanking; God
in his inmost heart for her escape.Then he leaned over and pressed a
kiss upon her cheek.Louise slowly opened her eyes, smiled divinely, and threw her arms
impulsively around his neck."I knew you would come for me, dear," she whispered.CHAPTER XXIV
A MATTER OF COURSE
All explanations were barred until the girl had been tenderly taken to
her own home and under the loving care of her mother and cousins had
recovered to an extent from the terrible experiences she had undergone.Then by degrees she told them her story, and how, hearing the voice of
her persecutor Mershone in the hall below she had become frantic with
fear and resolved to trust herself to the mercies of the storm rather
than submit to an interview with him.Before this she had decided that
she could climb down the trellis, and that part of her flight she
accomplished easily.Then she ran toward the rear of the premises to
avoid being seen and managed to find the lane, and later the
cross-roads.It was very cold, but her excitement and the fear of
pursuit kept her warm until suddenly her strength failed her and she
sank down in the snow without power to move.At this juncture the farmer
and his wife drove by, having been on a trip to the town.The man sprang
out and lifted her in, and the woman tenderly wrapped her in the robes
and blankets and pillowed her head upon her motherly bosom.By the time
they reached the farm-house she was quite warm again, but so exhausted
that with a brief explanation that she was lost, but somebody would be
sure to find her before long, she fell upon the couch and almost
immediately lost consciousness.So Arthur found her, and one look into his eyes assured her that all her
troubles were over.They did not prosecute Charlie Mershone, after all.Fogerty pleaded for
him earnestly, and Uncle John pointed out that to arrest the young man
would mean to give the whole affair to the newspapers, which until now
had not gleaned the slightest inkling of what had happened.Publicity
was to be avoided if possible, as it would set loose a thousand
malicious tongues and benefit nobody.The only thing to be gained by
prosecuting Mershone was revenge, and all were willing to forego that
doubtful satisfaction.However, Uncle John had an interview with the young man in the office of
the prosecuting attorney, at which Mershone was given permission to
leave town quietly and pursue his fortunes in other fields.If ever he
returned, or in any way molested any of the Merricks or his cousin
Diana, he was assured that he would be immediately arrested and
prosecuted to the full extent of the law.John went back to the office.Mershone accepted the conditions and became an exile, passing at once
out of the lives of those he had so deeply wronged.The joyful reunion of the lovers led to an early date being set for the
wedding.They met all protests by pleading their fears of another
heartrending separation, and no one ventured to oppose their desire.Merrick quickly recovered her accustomed spirits during the
excitement of those anxious weeks preceding the wedding.Cards were
issued to "the very best people in town;" the _trousseau_ involved
anxiety by day and restless dreams by night--all eminently enjoyable;
there were entertainments to be attended and congratulations to be
received from every side.Society, suspecting nothing of the tragedy so lately enacted in these
young lives, was especially gracious to the betrothed.Louise was the
recipient of innumerable merry "showers" from her girl associates, and
her cousins, Patsy and Beth, followed in line with "glass showers" and
"china showers" until the prospective bride was stocked with enough
wares to establish a "house-furnishing emporium," as Uncle John proudly
declared.Merrick, by this time quite reconciled and palpably pleased at the
approaching marriage of his eldest niece, was not to be outdone in
"social stunts" that might add to her happiness.He gave theatre parties
and banquets without number, and gave them with the marked success that
invariably attended his efforts.The evening before the wedding Uncle John and the Major claimed Arthur
for their own, and after an hour's conference between the three that
left the young fellow more happy and grateful than ever before, he was
entertained at his last "bachelor dinner," where he made a remarkable
speech and was lustily cheered.Of course Beth and Patsy were the bridesmaids, and their cousin Kenneth
Forbes came all the way from Elmhurst to be Arthur's best man.No one
ever knew what it cost Uncle John for the wonderful decorations at the
church and home, for the music, the banquet and all the other details
which he himself eagerly arranged on a magnificent scale and claimed was
a part of his "wedding present."When it was all over, and the young people had driven away to begin the
journey of life together, the little man put a loving arm around Beth
and Patsy and said, between smiles and tears:
"Well, my dears, I've lost one niece, and that's a fact; but I've still
two left.How long will they remain with me, I wonder?"Daniel went back to the bathroom."Dear me, Uncle John," said practical Patsy; "your necktie's untied and
dangling; like a shoestring!I hope it wasn't that way at the wedding.""It was, though," declared the Major, chuckling."If all three of ye get
married, my dears, poor Uncle John will come to look like a scarecrow
--and all that in the face of swell society!""Aren't we about through with swell society now?"It caused all our troubles,
you know.""Society," announced Beth, complacently, "is an excellent thing in the
abstract.It has its black sheep, of course; but I think no more than
any other established class of humanity."cried Uncle John; "you once denounced society.""That," said she, "was before I knew anything at all about it."Starting from that
epoch he sees, as it were, a constant struggle between two sorts of
rival and incompatible societies: between the decent and ingenuous
society of which Anne de Bretagne had given the idea, and the licentious
society of which the mistresses of the king, women like the Duchesse
d’Étampes and Diane de Poitiers, procured the triumph.These two
societies, to his mind, never ceased to co-exist during the sixteenth
century; on the one hand was an emulation of virtue and merit on the
part of the noble heiresses, alas, too eclipsed, of Anne de Bretagne, on
the other an emulation with high bidding of gallantry, by the giddy
pupils of the school of François I. To Rœderer the Hôtel de
Rambouillet, that perfected salon, founded towards the beginning of the
seventeenth century, is only a tardy return to the traditions of Anne de
Bretagne, the triumph of merit, virtue, and polite manners over the
license to which all the kings, from François I., including Henri IV.,
had paid tribute.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.Reaching thus the Hôtel de Rambouillet and holding henceforth an
unbroken thread in hand, Rœderer divides and subdivides at pleasure.He marks the divers periods and the divers shades of transition, the
growth and the decline that he discerns.The first years of Louis XIV.’s
youth cause him some distress; a return is being made to the ways of
François I., to the brilliant mistresses.Rœderer, not concerning
himself with the displeasure he will cause the classicists, lays a
little of the blame for this return on the four great poets, Molière, La
Fontaine, Racine, and Boileau himself, all accomplices, more or less, in
the laudation of victor and lover.Sandra went to the bathroom.grows temperate in turn, and a woman, issuing from the very purest
centre of Mme.de Rambouillet’s society, and who was morally its
heiress, a woman accomplished in tone, in cultivation of mind, in
precision of language, and in the sentiment of propriety,--Mme.de
Maintenon,--knows so well how to seize the opportunity that she seats
upon the throne, in a modest half-light, all the styles of mind and
merit which made the perfection of French society in its better days.de Maintenon is that of polite society itself; Anne
de Bretagne has found her pendant at the other extremity of the chain
after the lapse of two centuries.SAINTE-BEUVE, _Causeries du Lundi_, Vol.CATHERINE DE’ MEDICI, QUEEN, AND MOTHER OF OUR LAST KINGS.I have wondered and been astonished a hundred times that, so many good
writers as we have had in our day in France, none of them has been
inquisitive enough to make some fine selection of the life and deeds of
the queen-mother, Catherine de’ Medici, inasmuch as she has furnished
ample matter, and cut out much fine work, if ever a queen did--as said
the Emperor Charles to Paolo Giovio [Italian historian] when, on his
return from his triumphant voyage in the “Goulette” intending to make
war upon King François, he gave him a provision of ink and paper, saying
he would cut him out plenty of work.So it is true that this queen cut
out so much that a good and zealous writer might make an Iliad of it;
but they have all been lazy,--or ungrateful, for she was never niggardly
to learned men; I could name several who have derived good benefits from
this queen, from which, in consequence, I accuse them of ingratitude.There is one, however, who did concern himself to write of her, and made
a little book which he entitled “The Life of Catherine;”[3] but it is an
imposture and not worthy of belief, as she herself said when she saw it;
such falsities being apparent to every one, and easy to note and reject.He that wrote it wished her mortal harm, and was an enemy to her name,
her condition, her life, her honour, and nature; and that is why he
should be rejected.Daniel went back to the hallway.As for me, I would I knew how to speak well, or
that I had a good pen, well mended, at my command, that I might exalt
and praise her as she deserves.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.At any rate, such as my pen is, I shall
now employ it at all hazards.[Illustration: _Catherine de’ Medici_]
This queen is extracted, on the father’s side, from the race of the
Medici, one of the noblest and most illustrious families, not only in
Italy, but in Christendom.Whatever may be said, she was a foreigner to
these shores because the alliances of kings cannot commonly be chosen in
their kingdom; for it is not best to do so; foreign marriages being as
useful and more so than near ones.The House of the Medici has always
been allied and confederated with the crown of France, which still bears
the _fleur-de-lys_ that King Louis XI.gave that house in sign of
alliance and perpetual confederation [the _fleur de Louis_, which then
became the Florentine lily].On the mother’s side she issued originally from one of the noblest
families of France; and so was truly French in race, heart, and
affection through that great house of Boulogne and county of Auvergne;
thus it is hard to tell or judge in which of her two families there was
most grandeur and memorable deeds.Here is what was said of them by the
Archbishop of Bourges, of the house of Beaune, as great a learned man
and worthy pre |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Thence, having made great
conquests and obtained great victories, they were returning through
Italy, hoping to reach France, when Felsinus stopped at a place where
Florence now stands beside the river Arno, which he saw to be fine and
delectable, and situated much as another which had pleased him much in
the country of the Medes.There he built a city which to-day is
Florence; and his companion, Bono, built another and named it Bononia,
now called Bologna, the which are neighbouring cities.Henceforth, in
consequence of the victories and conquests of Felsinus among the Medes,
he was called _Medicus_ among his friends, a name that remained to the
family; just as we read of Paulus surnamed _Macedonicus_ for having
conquered Macedonia from Perseus, and Scipio called _Africanus_ for
doing the same in Africa.”
I do not know where M. de Beaune may have taken this history; but it is
very probable that before the king and such an assembly, there convened
for the funeral of the queen, he would not have alleged the fact without
good authority.This descent is very far from the modern story invented
and attributed without grounds to the family of Medici, according to
that lying book which I have mentioned on the life of the said queen.After this the said Sieur de Beaune says further, he has read in the
chronicles that one named Everard de’ Medici, Sieur of Florence, went,
with many of his subjects, to the assistance of the voyage and
expedition made by Charlemagne against Desiderius, King of the Lombards;
and having very bravely succoured and assisted him, was confirmed and
invested with the lordship of Florence.Many years after, one Anemond
de’ Medici, also Sieur of Florence, went, accompanied by many of his
subjects, to the Holy Land, with Godefroy de Bouillon, where he died at
the siege of Nicæa in Asia.Such greatness always continued in that
family until Florence was reduced to a republic by the intestine wars in
Italy between the emperors and the peoples, the illustrious members of
it manifesting their valour and grandeur from time to time; as we saw in
the latter days Cosmo de’ Medici, who, with his arms, his navy, and
vessels, terrified the Turks in the Mediterranean Sea and in the distant
East; so that none since his time, however great he may be, has
surpassed him in strength and valour and wealth, as Raffaelle Volaterano
has written.The temples and sacred shrines by him built, the hospitals by him
founded, even in Jerusalem, are ample proof of his piety and
magnanimity.There were also Lorenzo de’ Medici, surnamed the Great for his virtuous
deeds, and two great popes, Leo and Clement, also many cardinals and
grand personages of the name; besides the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Cosmo
de’ Medici, a wise and wary man, if ever there was one.He succeeded in
maintaining himself in his duchy, which he found invaded and much
disturbed when he came to it.In short, nothing can rob this house of the Medici of its lustre, very
noble and grand as it is in every way.As for the house of Boulogne and Auvergne, who will say that it is not
great, having issued originally from that noble Eustache de Boulogne,
whose brother, Godefroy de Bouillon, bore arms and escutcheons with so
vast a number of princes, seigneurs, chevaliers, and Christian soldiers,
even to Jerusalem and the Sepulchre of our Saviour; and would have made
himself, by his sword and the favour of God, king, not only of
Jerusalem but of the greater part of the East, to the confusion of
Mahomet, the Saracens, and the Mahometans, amazing all the rest of the
world and replanting Christianity in Asia, where it had fallen to the
lowest?For the rest, this house has ever been sought in alliance by all the
monarchies of Christendom and the great families; such as France,
England, Scotland, Hungary, and Portugal, which latter kingdom belonged
to it of right, as I have heard Président de Thou say, and as the queen
herself did me the honour to tell me at Bordeaux when she heard of the
death of King Sebastian [in Morocco, 1578], the Medici being received to
argue the justice of their rights at the last Assembly of States before
the decease of King Henry [in 1580].This was why she armed M. de
Strozzi to make an invasion, the King of Spain having usurped the
kingdom; she was arrested in so fine a course only by reasons which I
will explain at another time.I leave you to suppose, therefore, whether this house of Boulogne was
great; yes, so great that I once heard Pope Pius IV.say, sitting at
table at a dinner he gave after his election to the Cardinals of Ferrara
and Guise, his creations, that the house of Boulogne was so great and
noble he knew none in France, whatever it was, that could surpass it in
antiquity, valour, and grandeur.All this is much against those malicious detractors who have said that
this queen was a Florentine of low birth.Moreover, she was not so poor
but what she brought to France in marriage estates which are worth
to-day twenty-six thousand _livres_,--such as the counties of Auvergne
and Lauragais, the seigneuries of Leverons, Donzenac, Boussac, Gorrèges,
Hondecourt and other lands,--all an inheritance from her mother.Besides
which, her dowry was of more than two hundred thousand ducats, which are
worth to-day over four hundred thousand; with great quantities of
furniture, precious stones, jewels, and other riches, such as the finest
and largest pearls ever seen in so great a number, which she afterwards
gave to her daughter-in-law, the Queen of Scotland [Mary Stuart], whom I
have seen wearing them.Besides all this, many estates, houses, deeds, and claims in Italy.But more than all else, through her marriage the affairs of France,
which had been so shaken by the imprisonment of the king and his losses
at Milan and Naples, began to get firmer.King François was very willing
to say that the marriage had served his interests.Therefore there was
given to this queen for her device a rainbow, which she bore as long as
she was married, with these words in Greek φὡϛ φἑρι ἡδἑ γαλἡνην.Which is
the same as saying that just as this fire and bow in the sky brings and
signifies good weather after rain, so this queen was a true sign of
clearness, serenity, and the tranquillity of peace.The Greek is thus
translated: _Lucem fert et serenitatem_--“She brings light and serenity.”
After that, the emperor [Charles V.]dared push no longer his ambitious
motto: “Ever farther.” For, although there was truce between himself and
King François, he was nursing his ambition with the design of gaining
always from France whatever he could; and he was much astonished at this
alliance with the pope [Clement VII.], regarding the latter as able,
courageous, and vindictive for his imprisonment by the imperial forces
at the sack of Rome [1527].Such a marriage displeased him so much that
I have heard a truthful lady of the Court say that if he had not been
married to the empress, he would have seized an alliance with the pope
himself and espoused his niece [Catherine de’ Medici], as much for the
support of so strong a party as because he feared the pope would assist
in making him lose Naples, Milan, and Genoa; for the pope had promised
King François, in an authentic document, when he delivered to him the
money of his niece’s dowry and her rings and jewels, to make the dowry
worthy of such a marriage by the addition of three pearls of inestimable
value, of the excessive splendour of which all the greatest kings were
envious and covetous; the which were Naples, Milan, and Genoa.And it is
not to be doubted that if the said pope had lived out his natural life
he would have sold the emperor well, and made him pay dear for that
imprisonment, in order to aggrandize his niece and the kingdom to which
she was joined.died young, and all this profit came to
nought.So now our queen, having lost her mother, Magdelaine de Boulogne, and
Lorenzo de’ Medici, Duke of Urbino, her father, in early life, was
married by her good uncle the pope to France, whither she was brought by
sea to Marseille in great triumph; and her wedding was pompously
performed, at the age of fourteen.She made herself so beloved by the
king, her father-in-law, and by King Henri, her husband [not king till
the death of François I.], that on remaining ten years without producing
issue, and many persons endeavouring to persuade the king and the
dauphin, her husband, to repudiate her because there was such need of an
heir to France, neither the one nor the other would consent because they
loved her so much.But after ten years, in accordance with the natural
habit of the women of the race of Medici, who are tardy in conceiving,
she began by producing the Little King François II.After that, was born
the Queen of Spain, and then, consecutively, that fine and illustrious
progeny whom we have all seen, and also others no sooner born than dead,
by great misfortune and fatality.All this caused the king, her husband,
to love her more and more, and in such a way that he, who was of an
amorous temperament, and greatly liked to make love and to change his
loves, said often that of all the women in the world there was none like
his wife for that, and he did not know her equal.He had reason to say
so, for she was truly a beautiful and most amiable princess.She was of rich and very fine presence; of great majesty, but very
gentle when need was; of noble appearance and good grace, her face
handsome and agreeable, her bosom very beautiful, white and full; her
body also very white, the flesh beautiful, the skin smooth, as I have
heard from several of her ladies; of a fine plumpness also, the leg and
thigh very beautiful (as I have heard, too, from the same ladies); and
she took great pleasure in being well shod and in having her stockings
well and tightly drawn up.Besides all this, the most beautiful hand that was ever seen, as I
believe.Sandra moved to the bedroom.Once upon a time the poets praised Aurora for her fine hands
and beautiful fingers; but I think our queen would efface her in that,
and she guarded and maintained that beauty all her life.The king, her
son, Henri III., inherited much of this beauty of the hand.She always clothed herself well and superbly, often with some pretty and
new invention.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.In short, she had many charms in herself to make her
beloved.I remember that one day at Lyons she went to see a painter
named Corneille, who had painted in a large room all the great
seigneurs, princes, cavaliers, queens, princesses, ladies of the Court,
and damoiselles.Being in the said room of these portraits we saw there
our queen, painted very well in all her beauty and perfection,
apparelled _à la Française_ in a cap and her great pearls, and a gown
with wide sleeves of silver tissue furred with lynx,--the whole so well
represented to the life that only speech was lacking; her three fine
daughters were beside her.She took great pleasure at the sight, and all
the company there present did the same, praising and admiring her
beauty above all.She herself was so ravished by the contemplation that
she could not take her eyes from the picture until M. de Nemours came to
her and said: “Madame, I think you are there so well portrayed that
nothing more can be said; and it seems to me that your daughters do you
proper honour, for they do not go before you or surpass you.” To this
she answered: “My cousin, I think you can remember the time, the age,
and the dress of this picture; so that you can judge better than any of
this company, for you saw me like that, whether I was estimated such as
you say, and whether I ever was as I there appear.” There was not one in
the company that did not praise and estimate that beauty highly, and say
that the mother was worthy of the daughters, and the daughters of the
mother.And such beauty lasted her, married and widowed, almost to her
death; not that she was as fresh as in her more blooming years, but
always well preserved, very desirable and agreeable.For the rest, she was very good company and of gay humour; loving all
honourable exercises, such as dancing, in which she had great grace and
majesty.She also loved hunting; about which I heard a lady of the Court tell
this tale: King François, having chosen and made a company which was
called “the little band of the Court ladies,” the handsomest, daintiest,
and most favoured, often escaped from the Court and went to other houses
to hunt the stag and pass his time, sometimes staying thus withdrawn
eight days, ten days, sometimes more and sometimes less, as the humour
took him.Our queen (who was then only Mme.la dauphine) seeing such
parties made without her, and that even Mesdames her sisters-in-law were
there while she stayed at home, made prayer to the king, to take her
always with him, and to do her the honour to permit that she should
never budge without him.[Illustration: _Henri II_]
It was said that she, being very shrewd and clever, did this as much or
more to see the king’s actions and get his secrets and hear and know all
things, as from liking for the hunt.King François was pleased with this request, for it showed the good-will
that she had for his company; and he granted it heartily; so that
besides loving her naturally he now loved her more, and delighted in
giving her pleasure in the hunt, at which she never left his side, but
followed him at full speed.She was very good on horseback and bold;
sitting with ease, and being the first to put the leg around a pommel;
which was far more graceful and becoming than sitting with the feet upon
a plank.Till she was sixty years of age and over she liked to ride on
horseback, and after her weakness prevented her she pined for it.It was
one of her greatest pleasures to ride far and fast, though she fell many
times with damage to her body, breaking her leg once, and wounding her
head, which had to be trepanned.After she was widowed and had charge of
the king and the kingdom, she took the king always with her, and her
other children; but while her husband, King Henri, lived, she usually
went with him to the meet of the stag and the other hunts.If he played at pall-mall she watched him play, and played herself.She
was very fond of shooting with a cross-bow _à jalet_ [ball of stone],
and she shot right well; so that always when she went to ride her
cross-bow was taken with her, and if she saw any game, she shot it.She was ever inventing some new dance or beautiful ballet when the
weather was bad.Also she invented games and passed her time with one
and another intimately; but always appearing very grave and austere when
necessary.She was fond of seeing comedies and tragedies; but after “Sophonisbe,”
a tragedy composed by M. de Saint-Gélais, was very well represented by
her daughters and other ladies and damoiselles and gentlemen of her
Court, at Blois for the marriages of M. du Cypière and the Marquis
d’Elbœuf, she took an opinion that it was harmful to the affairs of
the kingdom, and |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | But she
listened readily to comedies and tragi-comedies, and even those of
“Zani” and “Pantaloon,” taking great pleasure in them, and laughing with
all her heart like any other; for she liked laughter, and her natural
self was jovial, loving a witty word and ready with it, knowing well
when to cast her speech and her stone, and when to withhold them.She passed her time in the afternoons at work on her silk embroideries,
in which she was as perfect as possible.Sandra moved to the bedroom.In short, this queen liked and
gave herself up to all honourable exercises; and there was not one that
was worthy of herself and her sex that she did not wish to know and
practise.There is what I can say, speaking briefly and avoiding prolixity, about
the beauty of her body and her occupations.When she called any one “my friend” it was either that she thought him a
fool, or she was angry with him.This was so well known that she had a
serving gentleman named M. de Bois-Fevrier, who made reply when she
called him “my friend”: “Ha!madame, I would rather you called me your
enemy; for to call me your friend is as good as saying I am a fool, or
that you are in anger against me; for I know your nature this long
time.”
As for her mind, it was very great and very admirable, as was shown in
so many fine and signal acts by which her life has been made illustrious
forever.The king, her husband, and his council esteemed her so much
that when the king went his journey to Germany, out of his kingdom, he
established and ordered her as regent and governor throughout his
dominions during his absence, by a declaration solemnly made before a
full parliament in Paris.And in this office she behaved so wisely that
there was no disturbance, change, or alteration in the State by reason
of the king’s absence; but, on the contrary, she looked so carefully to
business that she assisted the king with money, means, and men, and
other kinds of succour; which helped him much for his return, and even
for the conquest which he made of cities in the duchy of Luxembourg,
such as Yvoy, Montmedy, Dampvilliers, Chimay, and others.I leave you to think how he who wrote that fine life I spoke of
detracted from her in saying that never did the king, her husband, allow
her to put her nose into matters of State.Was not making her regent in
his absence giving her ample occasion to have full knowledge of them?And it was thus she did during all the journeys that he made yearly in
going to his armies.What did she after the battle of Saint-Laurens, when the State was
shaken and the king had gone to Compiègne to raise a new army?She so
espoused affairs that she roused and excited the gentlemen of Paris to
give prompt succour to their king, which came most apropos, both in
money and in other things very necessary in war.Also, when the king was wounded, those who were of that time and saw it
cannot be ignorant of the great care she took for his cure: the watches
she made beside him without ever sleeping; the prayers with which, time
after time, she importuned God; the processions and visitation of
churches which she made; and the posts which she sent about everywhere
inquiring for doctors and surgeons.But his hour had come; and when he
passed from this world into the other, she made such lamentations and
shed such tears that never did she stanch them; and in memory of him,
whenever he was spoken of as long as she lived, they gushed from the
depths of her eyes; so that she took a device proper and suitable to her
tears and her mourning, namely: a mound of quicklime, on which the drops
of heaven fell abundantly, with these words writ in Latin: _Adorem
extincta testantur vivere flamma_; the drops of water, like her tears,
showing ardour, though the flame was extinct.This device takes its
allegory from the nature of quicklime, which, being watered, burns
strangely and shows its fire though flame is not there.Thus did our
queen show her ardour and her affection by her tears, though flame,
which was her husband, was now extinct; and this was as much as to say
that, dead as he was, she made it appear by her tears that she could
never forget him, but should love him always.A like device was borne in former days by Madame Valentine de Milan,
Duchesse d’Orléans, after the death of her husband, killed in Paris, for
which she had such great regret that for all comfort and solace in her
moaning, she took a watering-pot for her device, on the top of which was
an S, in sign, so they say, of _seule_, _souvenir_, _soucis_,
_soupirer_, and around the said watering-pot were written these words:
_Rien ne m’est plus; plus ne m’est rien_--“Nought is more to me; more is
to me nothing.” This device can still be seen in her chapel in the
church of the Franciscans at Blois.The good King René of Sicily, having lost his wife Isabel, Duchesse de
Lorraine, suffered such great grief that never did he truly rejoice
again; and when his intimate friends and favourites urged him to
consolation he led them to his cabinet and showed them, painted by his
own hand (for he was an excellent painter), a Turkish bow with its
string unstrung, beneath which was written: _Arco per lentare piaga non
sana_--“The bow although unstrung heals not the wound.” Then he said to
them: “My friends, with this picture I answer all your reasons: by
unstringing a bow or breaking its string, the harm thus done by the
arrow may quickly be mended, but, the life of my dear spouse being by
death extinct and broken, the wound of the loyal love--the which, her
living, filled my heart--cannot be cured.” And in various places in
Angers we see these Turkish bows with broken strings and beneath them
the same words, _Arco per lentare piaga non sana_; even at the
Franciscan church, in the chapel of Saint-Bernardin which he caused to
be decorated.This device he took after the death of his wife; for in
her lifetime he bore another.Our queen, around her device which I have told of, placed many trophies:
broken mirrors and fans, crushed plumes, and pearls, jewels scattered to
earth, and chains in pieces; the whole in sign of quitting worldly pomp,
her husband being dead, for whom her mourning never was remitted.And,
without the grace of God and the fortitude with which he had endowed
her, she would surely have succumbed to such great sadness and distress.Besides, she saw that her young children and France had need of her, as
we have since seen by experience; for, like a Semiramis, or second
Athalie, she foiled, saved, guarded, and preserved her said young
children from many enterprises planned against them in their early
years; and this with so much industry and prudence that everybody
thought her wonderful.She, being regent of the kingdom after the death
of her son King François during the minority of our king by the ordering
of the Estates of Orléans, imposed her will upon the King of Navarre,
who, as premier prince of the blood, wished to be regent in her place
and govern all things; but she gained so well and so dexterously the
said Estates that if the said King of Navarre had not gone elsewhere she
would have caused him to be attainted of the crime of lèse-majesté.And
possibly she would still have done so for the actions which, it was
said, he made the Prince de Condé do about those Estates, but for Mme.de Montpensier, who governed her much.So the said king was forced to
content himself to be under her.Now there is one of the shrewd and
subtle deeds she did in her beginning.Afterwards she knew how to maintain her rank and authority so
imperiously that no one dared gainsay it, however grand and disturbing
he was, for a period of three months when, the Court being at
Fontainebleau, the said King of Navarre, wishing to show his feelings,
took offence because M. de Guise ordered the keys of the king’s house
brought to him every evening, and kept them all night in his room like a
grand-master (for that is one of his offices), so that no one could go
out without his permission.This angered the King of Navarre, who wished
to keep the keys himself; but, being refused, he grew spiteful and
mutinied in such a way that one morning suddenly he came to take leave
of the king and queen, intending to depart from the Court, taking with
him all the princes of the blood whom he had won over, together with M.
le Connétable de Montmorency and his children and nephew.The queen, who did not in any way expect this step, was at first much
astonished, and tried all she could to ward off the blow, giving good
hope to the King of Navarre that if he were patient he would some day be
satisfied.But fine words gained her nothing with the said king, who was
set on departing.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Whereupon the queen bethought her of this subtle
point: she sent and gave commandment to M. le connétable, as the
principal, first, and oldest officer of the crown, to stay near the
king, his master, as his duty and office demanded, and not to leave him.M. le connétable, wise and judicious as he was, being very zealous for
his master and careful of his grandeur and honour, after reflecting on
his duty and the command sent to him, went to see the king and present
himself as ready to fulfil his office; which greatly astonished the King
of Navarre, who was on the point of mounting his horse expecting M. le
connétable, who came instead to represent his duty and office and to
persuade him not to budge himself nor to depart; and did this so well
that the King of Navarre went to see the king and queen at the
instigation of the connétable, and having conferred with their
Majesties, his journey was given up and his mules were countermanded,
they having then arrived at Melun.So all was pacified to the great
content of the King of Navarre.Not that M. de Guise diminished in any
way his office, or yielded one atom of his honour, for he kept his
pre-eminence and all that belonged to him, without being shaken in the
least, although he was not the stronger; but he was a man of the world
in such things, who was never bewildered, but knew very well how to
brave all and hold his rank and keep what he had.It is not to be doubted, as all the world knows, that, if the queen had
not bethought her of this ruse regarding M. le connétable, all that
party would have gone to Paris and stirred up things to our injury; for
which reason great praise should be given to the queen for this shift.I
know, for I was there, that many persons said it was not of her
invention, but that of Cardinal de Tournon, a wise and judicious
prelate; but that is false, for, old stager though he was, i’ faith the
queen knew more of wiles than he, or all the council of the king
together; for very often, when he was at fault, she would help him and
put him on the traces of what he ought to know, of which I might produce
a number of examples; but it will be enough to give this instance, which
is fresh, and which she herself did me the honour to disclose to me.Mary moved to the bathroom.It
is as follows:--
When she went to Guyenne, and lately to Coignac, to reconcile the
princes of the Religion and those of the League, and so put the kingdom
in peace, for she saw it would soon be ruined by such divisions, she
determined to proclaim a truce in order to treat of this peace; at which
the King of Navarre and the Prince de Condé were very discontent and
mutinous,--all the more, they said, because this proclamation did them
great harm on account of their foreigners, who, having heard of it,
might repent of their coming, or delay it; and they accused the said
queen of having made it with that intention.So they said and resolved
not to see the queen, and not to treat with her unless the said truce
were rescinded.Now finding her council, whom she had with her, though
composed of good heads, very ridiculous and little to be honoured
because they thought it impossible to find means to rescind the said
truce, the queen said to them: “Truly, you are very stupid as to the
remedy.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.You have
at Maillezais the regiment of Neufvy and de Sorlu, Huguenots; send me
from here, from Niort, all the arquebusiers that you can, and cut them
to pieces, and there you have the truce rescinded and undone without
further trouble.” As she commanded so it was executed; the arquebusiers
started, led by the Capitaine l’Estelle, and forced their fort and their
barricades so well that there they were quite defeated, Sorlu killed,
who was a valiant man, Neufvy taken prisoner with many others, and all
their banners captured and brought to Niort to the queen; who, using her
accustomed turn of clemency, pardoned all and sent them away with their
ensigns and even with their flags, which, as regards the flags, is a
very rare thing.But she chose to do this stroke, rare or not, so she
told me, to the princes; who now knew they had to do with a very able
princess, and that it was not to her they should address such mockery as
to make her rescind a truce by the very heralds who had proclaimed it;
for while they were thinking to make her receive that insult, she had
fallen upon them, and now sent them word by the prisoners that it was
not for them to affront her by asking unseemly and unreasonable things,
because it was in her power to do them both good and evil.That is how this queen knew how to give and teach a lesson to her
council.I might tell of many such things, but I have now to treat of
other points: the first of which must be to answer those whom I have
often heard say that she was the first to rouse to arms, and so was
cause of our civil wars.Whoso will look to the source of the matter
will not believe that; for the triumvirate having been created, she,
seeing the proceedings which were preparing and the change made by the
King of Navarre,--who from being formerly Huguenot and very reformed had
made himself Catholic,--and knowing that through that change she had
reason to fear for the king, the kingdom, and her own person that he
would move against them, reflected and puzzled her mind to discover to
what such proceedings, meetings, and colloquies held in secret tended.Not being able, as they say, to come at the bottom of the pot, she
bethought her one day, when the secret council was in session in the
room of the King of Navarre, to go into the room above his, and by means
of a tube which she had caused to be slipped surreptitiously under the
tapestry she listened unperceived to their discourse.Among other things
she heard one thing that was very terrible and bitter to her.The
Maréchal de Saint-André, one of the triumvirate, gave it as his opinion
that the queen should be put in a sack and flung into the river, for
that otherwise they could never succeed in their plans.But the late M.
de Guise, who was very good and generous, said that must not be; for it
were too unjust to make the wife and mother of our kings perish thus
miserably, and he opposed it all.For this the said queen has always
loved him, and proved it to his children after his death by giving them
his |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | I leave you to suppose what this sentence was to the queen, having heard
it thus with her own ears, and whether she had no occasion for fear,
although she was thus defended by M. de Guise.From what I have heard
tell by one of her most intimate ladies, she feared they would strike
the blow without the knowledge of M. de Guise, as indeed she had reason
to do; for in deeds so detestable an upright man should always be
distrusted, and the act not communicated to him.Near him stood the
fireman, now and then bringing in an armful of wood from the fields
through which he passed, and turning the damper in the smoke-stack every
little while so it would draw.Now and then he would go forward and put
a pork-rind on a hot box or pound on the cylinder head to warn people
off the track.Next comes the tender loaded with nice, white birch wood, an economical
style of fuel because its bark may be easily burned off while the wood
itself will remain uninjured.Besides the firewood we find on the tender
a barrel of rainwater and a tall, blonde jar with wicker-work around it,
which contains a small sprig of tansy immersed in four gallons of New
England rum.This the engineer has brought with him for use in case of
accident.He is now engaged in preparing for the accident in advance.Next comes the front brakeman in a plug hat about two sizes too large
for him.He also wears a long-waisted frock coat with a bustle to it and
a tall shirt-collar with a table-spread tie, the ends of which flutter
gayly in the morning breeze.As the train pauses at the first station he
takes a hammer out of the tool-box and nails on the tire of the fore
wheel of his coach.The engineer gets down with a long oil-can and puts
a little sewing-machine oil on the pitman.He then wipes it off with his
sleeve.It is now discovered that the rear coach, containing a number of
directors and the division superintendent, is missing.The conductor
goes to the rear of the last coach, and finds that the string by which
the directors' car was attached is broken, and that, the grade being
pretty steep, the directors and one brakeman have no doubt gone back to
the starting place.He removes his bell-crowned plug hat, and,
taking out his orders and time-card, he finds that the track is clear,
and, looking at a large, valuable Waterbury watch, presented to him by a
widow whose husband was run over and killed by the train, he sees he can
still make the next station in time for dinner.He hires a livery team
to go back after the directors' coach, and, calling "All aboard," he
swings lightly upon the moving train.It is now 10 o'clock, and nineteen weary miles still stretch out between
him and the dinner station.To add to the horrors of the situation, the
front brakeman discovers that a very thirsty boy in the emigrant car has
been drinking from the water-supply tank on the tender, and there is
not enough left to carry the train through.Much time is consumed in
filling the barrel again at a spring near the track, but the conductor
finds a "spotter" on the train, and gets him to do it.He also induces
him to cut some more wood and clean out the ashes.The engineer then pulls out a draw-head and begins to make up time.In
twenty minutes he has made up an hour's time, though two miles of
hoop-iron are torn from the track behind him.Sandra moved to the bedroom.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.He sails into the eating
station on time, and, while the master mechanic takes several of the
coach-wheels over to the machine-shop to soak, he eats a hurried lunch.The brakeman here gets his tin lanterns ready for the night run and
fills two of them with red oil to be used on the rear coach.The fireman
puts a fresh bacon-rind on the eccentric, stuffs some more cotton
batting around the axles, puts a new lynch-pin in the hind wheels,
sweeps the apple-peelings out of the smoking car, and he is ready.Then comes the conductor, with his plug hat full of excursion tickets,
orders, passes, and timechecks; he looks at his Waterbury watch, waves
his hand, and calls "All aboard" again.It is upgrade, however, and for
two miles the "spotter" has to push behind with all his might before the
conductor will allow him to get on and ride.Thus began the history of a gigantic enterprise which has grown till it
is a comfort, a convenience, a luxury, and yet a necessity.It has built
up and beautified the desert.It has crept beneath the broad river,
scaled the snowy mountain, and hung by iron arms from the canon and the
precipice, carrying the young to new lands and reuniting those long
separated.It has taken the hopeless to lands of new hope.It has evaded
the solitude of the wilderness, spiked down valuable land-grants,
killed cheap cattle and then paid a high price for them, whooped through
valleys, snorted over lofty peaks, crept through long, dark tunnels,
turning the bright glare of day suddenly upon those who thought the
tunnel was two miles long, roared through the night and glittered
through the day, bringing alike the groom to his beautiful bride and the
weeping prodigal to the moss-grown grave of his mother.You are indeed a heartless, soulless corporation, and yet you are very
essential in our business.HOW OLD BRINDLE MET HER DEATH WITH A TRAIN.A QUAINT EPISTLE, IN WHICH THE HUMORIST GIVES HIS EXPERIENCE WITH
RAILROAD OFFICIALS--HOW HE SECURED PAY FOR A COW.DEAR HENRY: Your letter stating that you had just succeeded in running
your face for a new curriculum is at hand and contents noted, as the
feller said when I wrote to him two years ago and told him that his
cussed railroad had mashed old Brin.You remember that just as you
entered on what you called your junior year, old Brin remained out all
night, and your mother and me took our coffee milkless in the morning.Well, I went down to the pound to see if she had registered there, but
she hadn't been stopping there, the night clerk said.He maintained,
however, that "number two-aught-eight"--as he called it--had come in
half an hour late with a cow's head on the pilot and brindle hair on the
runnin' gears of the tender.So I went over to the station and found Brin's head there, whereupon I
went down the track in search of her, though I feared it would be
futile, as you once said about administering a half sole to your summer
pantaloons.Well, I was right about it, Henry.If I'd been in the futile
business for years I couldn't have been more so than I was on this
occasion.The old cow was dead and so identified with the right of way,
that her own mother would not have known her.I spoke to the conductor about it and he said it wasn't on his run and
for me to see the other conductor.Time I found him he was on another
road and killed in a collision with a lumber train.Then I wrote to the
general traffic manager, using great care to spell all the words as near
right as possible, and he didn't reply at all.His hired man wrote me,
however, with a printing press, that my letter had been received and
contents duly noted.In reply would say that the general traffic manager
was then attending a tripartite reunion at Chicago, at which meeting
the subject of cows would come up.Mary moved to the bathroom.He said that there had been such
competition between the Milwaukee, the Northwestern and the Rock Island
in the matter of prices paid for shattered cows, that farmers got to
dragging their debilitated stock on the track at night and selling it to
the roads, after which they would retire from business on their
ill-gotten gains.When the general traffic manager got back I went in to see him.He was
very pleasant with me, but said he had nothing to do with the dead cow
industry."Go to the auditor or the general solicitor," said he, "they
run the morgue."But they were both away attending a large Eastern mass
meeting of auditors and general solicitors, where they where discussing
the practicability of a new garnishee-proof pay-car, that some party had
patented, they said.So I went home and wrote to the auditor a nice, long, fluent letter in
relation to the cow and her merits.I told him that it wasn't the
intrinsic value of the cow that I cared about.Intrinsic value is a term
that I found in one of your letters and liked very much.I wrote him
that old Brin was an heir-loom and a noble brute.I said among other
things that she had never been antagonistic to railroads.She had rather
favored them; also that her habits and tastes were simple and that she
had never aspired to rise above her station in life, and why she should
rise higher than the station when she was injured I could not
understand.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.I told him what a good milkster she was, and also that she
came up every night as regular as an emetic.I then wrote my name with a little ornamental squirm to it, added a
postscript in which I said that you was now in your junior year, and I
thought that about seventy-five dollars would be a fair quotation on
such a cow as I had feebly described, and said good-by to him, hoping he
would remit at a prior date if possible.I got a letter after awhile, stating that my favor of the 25th ult.or something of that nature, had been duly received and contents
noted.This was no surprise to me, because that is too often the sad
fate of a letter.In fact the same thing had happened to the other one I
had previously sent.I was mad, and wrote to the president of the company stating in crisp
language that if his company would pay more cash for cows and do less in
the noting and contents business, he would be more apt to endear himself
to those who reside along his line and who had their horses scared to
death twice a day by his arrogant and bellering besom of destruction."If you will deal more in scads and less in stenography and monkey
business," says I, in closing, "you will warm yourself into the hearts
of the plain people.Otherwise," I says, "we will arise in our might and
walk."I then, in a humorsome way, marked it "dictated letter" and sent it
away.I got it back in the face by way of the dead-letter office where they
know me.I'll bet they had a good laugh over it, for they opened it and
read it while it was there.I wouldn't be surprised if every man in
Congress had a good hearty laugh over that letter.Congressmen enjoy a
good thing once in a while, Henry.But I finally got my pay for old Brin, to make a long story short.They
cut me down some on the price, but I finally got my money.No railroad
company can run over a cow of mine and mix her up with a trestle
three-quarters of a mile long, without paying for it, and favors
received and contents duly noted don't go with
Your father,
BILL NYE.[Illustration]
BILL NYE
ATTENDS A WESTERN THEATER AND SEES A REMARKABLE SHOOTING AFFRAY.Those were troublesome times, indeed, when we were trying to settle up
the new world and a few other matters at the same time.Little do the soft-eyed sons of prosperity understand to-day, as they
walk the paved streets of the west under the cold glitter of the
electric light, surrounded by all that can go to make life sweet and
desirable, that not many years ago on that same ground their fathers
fought the untutored savage by night and chased the bounding buffalo by
day.Time in his restless and resistless flight has
filed away those early years in the county clerk's office, and these
times are not the old times.With the march of civilization I notice
that it is safer for a man to attend a theatre than in the early days of
the wild and wooly west.Time has made it easier for one to go to the
opera and bring his daylights home with him than it used to be.It seems but a few short years since my room-mate came home one night
with a long red furrow plowed along the top of his head, where some
gentleman at the theatre had shot him by mistake.My room-mate said
that a tall man had objected to the pianist and suggested that he was
playing pianissimo when he should have played fortissimo, and trouble
grew out of this which had ended in the death of the pianist and the
injury of several disinterested spectators.And yet the excitement of knowing that you might be killed at any moment
made the theatre more attractive, and instead of scaring men away it
rather induced patronage.Of course it prevented the attendance of
ladies who were at all timid, but it did not cause any falling off in
the receipts.Some thought it aided a good deal, especially where the
show itself didn't have much blood in it.The Bella Union was a pretty fair sample of the theatre in those days.It was a low wooden structure with a perpetual band on the outside, that
played gay and festive circus tunes early and often.Inside you could
poison your soul at the bar and see the show at one and the same price
of admission.In an adjoining room silent men joined the hosts of faro
and the timid tenderfoot gamboled o'er the green.I visited this place of amusement one evening in the capacity of a
reporter for the paper.Mary moved to the bedroom.I would not admit this, even at this late day,
only that it has been overlooked in Mr.Talmage since; and if he could
go through such an ordeal in the interests of humanity, I might be
forgiven for going there professionally to write up the show for our
amusement column.<DW64> minstrelsy, sleight-of-hand, opera
bouffe, high tragedy, and that oriental style of quadrille called the
khan-khan, if my sluggish memory be not at fault, formed the principal
attractions of the evening.At about 10:30 or 11 o'clock the khan-khan was produced upon the stage.In the midst of it a tall man rose up at the back of the hall, and came
firmly down the aisle with a large, earnest revolver in his right hand.He was a powerfully built man, with a dyed mustache and wicked eye on
each side of his thin, red nose.He threw up the revolver with a little
click that sounded very loud to me, for he had stopped right behind me
and rested his left hand on my shoulder as he gazed over on the stage.I
could distinctly hear his breath come and go, for it was a very loud
breath, with the odor of onions and emigrant whisky upon it.The orchestra paused in the middle of a snort, and the man whose duty it
was to swallow the clarionet pulled seven or eight inches of the
instrument out of his face and looked wildly around.The gentleman who
had been agitating the feelings of the bass viol laid it down on the
side, crawled in behind it, and spread a sheet of music over his head.The stage manager came forward to the footlights and inquired what was
wanted.Sandra went to the kitchen.The tall man with the self-cocking credentials answered simply:
"By Dashety Blank to Blank Blank and back again, I want my wife!"The manager stepped back into the wings for a moment, and when he came
forward he also had a large musical instrument such as Mr.Remington
used to make before he went into the type-writer business.I can still
remember how large the hole in the barrel looked to me, and how I wished
that I had gone to the meeting of the Literary club that evening, as I
had at first intended to do.Literature was really more in my line than the drama.I still thought
that it was not too late, perhaps, and so I rose and went out quietly so
as not to disturb any one, and as I went down the aisle the tall man and
stage manager exchanged regrets.I looked back in time to see the tall man fall in the aisles with his
face in the sawdust and his hand over his breast.Then I went |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Sandra moved to the bedroom.I do not think I ran over a mile or two in this way
before I discovered that I was going directly away from home.I rested
awhile and then returned.On the street I met the stage manager and the tall, dark man just as
they were coming out of the Moss Agate saloon.They said they were very
sorry to notice that I got up and came away at a point in the programme
where they had introduced what they had regarded as the best feature of
the show.This incident had a great deal to do with turning my attention in the
direction of literature instead of the drama.But I am glad to notice that many of the horrors of the drama are being
gradually eliminated as the country gets more thickly settled, and the
gory tragedy of a few years ago is gradually giving place to the
refining influences of the "Tin Soldier" and "A Rag Baby."FAVORED A HIGHER FINE.THE BOY WHO MADE A DOLLAR BY A WHIPPING.Will Taylor, the son of the present American consul at Marseilles, was a
good deal like other boys while at school in his old home in Hudson,
Wis.One day he called his father into the library and said:
"Pa, I don't like to tell you, but the teacher and I have had trouble.""Well, I cut one of the desks a little with my knife, and the teacher
says I've got to pay $1 or take a lickin'!""Well, why don't you take the lickin' and say nothing more about it?I
can stand considerable physical pain, so long as it visits our family in
that form.Of course it is not pleasant to be flogged, but you have
broken a rule of the school, and I guess you'll have to stand it.I
presume that the teacher will in wrath remember mercy and avoid
disabling you, so that you can't get your coat on any more.""But, pa, I feel mighty bad over it, already, and if you would pay my
fine, I'd never do it again.A dollar isn't much to you, pa, but it's a
heap to a boy who hasn't a cent.If I could make a dollar as easy as you
can, pa, I'd never let my little boy get flogged that way to save a
dollar.If I had a little feller that got licked bekuz I didn't put up
for him I'd hate the sight of money always.I'd feel as ef every dollar
I had in my pocket had been taken out of my little kid's back.""Well, now, I'll tell you what I'll do.I'll give you a dollar to save
you from punishment this time, but if anything of this kind ever occurs
again I'll hold you while the teacher licks you and then I'll get the
teacher to hold you while I lick you.If you want to go around whittling up our educational institutions you
can do so; but you will have to purchase them afterward yourself.I
don't propose to buy any more damaged furniture.You probably grasp my
meaning, do you not?I send you to school to acquire an education, not
to acquire liabilities, so that you can come around and make an
assessment on me.I feel a great interest in you, Willie, but I do not
feel as though it should be an assessable interest.I want to go on of
course and improve the property, but when I pay my dues on it, I want to
know that it goes toward development work.I don't want my assessments
to go toward the purchase of a school-desk with American hieroglyphics
carved on it.I hope you will bear this in mind, my son, and beware.It
will be greatly to your interest to beware.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Mary moved to the bathroom.If I were in your place I
would put in a large portion of my time in the beware business."Daniel travelled to the bedroom.The boy took the dollar and went thoughtfully away to school and no more
was ever said about the matter until Mr.Taylor learned casually several
months later that the Spartan youth had received the walloping and filed
away the $1 for future reference.The boy was afterward heard to say
that he favored a much higher fine in cases of that kind.One whipping
was sufficient, he said, but he favored a fine of $5.It ought to be
severe enough to make it an object.HOW BILL NYE FAILED TO MAKE THE AMENDE HONORABLE--A PATHETIC INCIDENT.It is rather interesting to watch the manner by which old customs have
been slightly changed and handed down from age to age.Peculiarities of
old traditions still linger among us, and are forked over to posterity
like a wappy-jawed tea-pot or a long-time mortgage.No one can explain
it, but the fact still remains patent that some of the oddities of our
ancestors continue to appear from time to time clothed in the changing
costumes of the prevailing fashions.Along with these choice antiquities and carrying the nut-brown flavor of
the dead and relentless original amende in which the offender appeared
in public clothed only in a cotton flannel shirt and with a rope around
his neck as an evidence of a former recantation down to this day when
(sometimes) the pale editor in a stickfull of type admits that "his
informant was in error," the amende honorable has marched along with the
easy tread of time.The blue-eyed moulder of public opinion, with one
suspender hanging down at his side and writing on a sheet of news-copy
paper, has a more extensive costume perhaps than the old-time offender
who bowed in the dust in the midst of the great populace and with a
halter under his ear admitted his offense, but he does not feel any more
cheerful over it.I have been called upon several times to make the amende honorable, and
I admit that it is not an occasion of much mirth and merriment.People
who come into the editorial office to invest in a retraction are
generally healthy, and have a stiff, reserved manner that no
cheerfulness or hospitality can soften.I remember an incident of this kind which occurred last summer in my
office while I was writing something scathing.A large man with an air
of profound perspiration about him and a plaid flannel shirt, stepped
into the middle of the room and breathed in all the air that I was not
using.He said he would give me four minutes in which to retract, and
pulled out a watch by which to ascertain the exact time.I asked him if
he would not allow me a moment or two to step over to a telegraph office
to wire my parents of my awful death.He said I could walk out that door
when I walked over his dead body.Then I waited a long time, till he
told me my time was up, and asked me what I was waiting for.I told him
I was waiting for him to die so that I could walk over his dead body.How could I walk over a corpse until life was extinct?* * * * *
He stood and looked at me, at first in astonishment, afterward in pity.Finally tears welled up in his eyes and plowed their way down his broad
and grimy face."A youth who is so patient and cheerful as you
are, one who would wait for a healthy man to die so you could meander
over his pulseless remnants, ought not to die a violent death.A
soft-eyed seraph like you, who is no more conversant with the ways of
the world than that, ought to be put in a glass vial of alcohol and
preserved.I came up here to kill you and throw you into the rain-water
barrel, but now that I know what a patient disposition you have, I
shudder to think of the crime I was about to commit."I have just returned from a little trip up from the North Wisconsin
Railway, where I went to catch a string of codfish and anything else
that might be contagious.Northern Wisconsin is the place where they yank a big wet log into a
mill and turn it into cash as quick as a railroad man can draw his
salary out of the pay-car.The log is held on a carriage by means of
iron dogs while it is being worked into lumber.These iron dogs are not
like those we see on the front steps of a brown stone front
occasionally.Mary moved to the bedroom.The managing editor of the mill lays out the log in his mind and works
it into dimension stuff, shingles, bolts, slabs, edgings, two-by-fours,
two-by-eights, two-by-sixes, etc., so as to use the goods to the best
advantage, just as a woman takes a dress-pattern and cuts it so she
won't have to piece the front breadths and will still have enough left
to make a polonaise for last summer's gown.I stood there for a long time watching the various saws and listening to
the monstrous growl and wishing that I had been born a successful
timber-thief instead of a poor boy without a rag to my back.At one of these mills not long ago, a man backed up to get away from the
carriage and thoughtlessly backed against a large saw that was revolving
at the rate of about 200 times a minute.The saw took a large chew of
tobacco from the plug he had in his pistol pocket and then began on
him.But there's no use going into the details.They gathered him up out of the saw-dust and put him in a nail keg and
carried him away, but he did not speak again.Whether it was the nervous shock that killed him, or the concussion of
the cold saw against his liver that killed him no one ever knew.The mill shut down a couple of hours so that the head sawyer could file
his saw, and then work was resumed once more.We should learn from this never to lean on the buzz-saw when it moveth
itself aright.HOW A CHINAMAN RIDES THE UNTAMED BRONCHO.Sandra went to the kitchen.A Chinaman does not grab the bit of a broncho and yank it around till
the noble beast can see thirteen new and peculiar kinds of fire-works,
or kick him in the stomach, or knock his ribs loose, or swear at him
until the firmament gets loose and begins to roll together like a
scroll, but he gets on the wrong side and slides into the saddle and
smiles and says something like what a guinea hen would say if she got
excited and tried to repeat one of Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson's poems
backward in his native tongue.At first the broncho seems temporarily
rattled, but by-and-by he shoots athwart the sunny sky like a thing of
life and comes down with his legs in a cluster like a bunch of
asparagus.This will throw a Chinaman's liver into the northwest corner of his
throat, and his upper left hand duodessimo into the middle of next week,
but he doesn't complain.He opens his mouth and breaths in all of the
atmosphere the rest of the universe can spare, and tickles the broncho
on the starboard quarter with his cork sole.The mirth-provoking
movement throws the broncho into the wildest hysterics, and for some
minutes the spectator doesn't see anything very distinctly.The autumnal
twilight seems fraught with blonde broncho and pale-blue shirt tail and
Chinaman moving in an irregular orbit, and occasionally throwing off
meteoric articles of apparel and pre-historic chunks of ingenious
profanity of the vintage of Confucius.When the sky clears up a little
the Chinaman's hair is down and in wild profusion about his olive
features.His shirt flap is very much frayed, like an American flag that
has snapped in the breeze for thirteen weeks.He finds also that he has telescoped his spinal column and jammed two
ribs through the right superior duplex, has two or three vertebrae
floating about through his system that he doesn't know what to do with.In fact, the Chinaman is a robust ruin, while the broncho is still in a
good state of preservation.Now the broncho humps his back up into a
circumambient atmosphere, and when he once bisects the earth's orbit and
jabs his feet into the trembling earth a shapeless mass of brocaded silk
and coarse black hair and taper nails and celestial shirt-tails and
oolong profanity and disorganized Chinese remains comes down apparently
from the New Jerusalem, and the coroner goes out on the street to get
six good men and a chemist, and they analyze the collection.They report
that the deceased had come to his death by reasons of concussion,
induced by a ride from the outer battlements of the sweet by-and-by.BILL NYE WANTS TO KNOW HOW TO PRESERVE GAME.Sandra went to the garden.SLIPPERYELMHURST, HUDSON, WIS., Oct.6.--_To the Editor:_ Might I ask,
through the column of your justly celebrated paper, if any one will give
me the requisite information regarding the care of game during the
winter?My preserves are located on my estate here at Slipperyelmhurst, and
while I am absent lecturing in the winter, in answer to the loud calls
of the public, I am afraid that my game may not have the proper care,
and that unscrupulous people may scalp my fox and poach the eggs of my
pheasants.Besides, I am rather ignorant of the care of game, and I would like to
be able to instruct my game-keeper when I go away as to his duties.The game-keeper at Slipperyelmhurst is what might be called a self-made
game-keeper.He never had any instruction in his profession, aside from
a slight amount of training in high-low-jack.Therefore he has won his
way unassisted to the position he now occupies.What I wish most of all is to understand the methods of preserving game
during the winter so that when it is scarce in the spring I can take a
can-opener and astonish people with my own preserves.My fox succeeded in getting through the summer in fine form.I got him
from Long Island where the sportsmen from New York had tried to hunt him
for several seasons, but with indifferent success.He was not well
broken in the first place, I presume, and the noise of the hounds and
domesticated Englishmen in full cry no doubt frightened him.He is still
timid and more or less afraid of the cars.He shies, too, when I lead
him past an imitation Englishman.He is in good health, this fall,
however, and as I got him at a low price I am greatly pleased.Very
likely the reason he did not give good satisfaction in New York was that
those who used him did not employ a good earth-stopper.Of what use is an active, robust and well-broken fox, well
started, if he be permitted to get back into his hole?I have employed
as an earth-stopper a gentleman who saws my wood during the winter and
who assists us in fox-hunting in the hunting season.Born in a quiet little rural village called Martelle, in Pierce county,
Wisconsin, he early evinced a strong love for sport.Day after day he
would abstain from going to school that he might go forth into the woods
and study the habits of the chipmunk.For five years his health was
impaired to such a degree that he was not well enough to safely attend
school, but just barely robust enough to drag himself away to a distance
of fourteen miles, where he could snare suckers and try to regain his
health.To climb a lightning-rod and skin off the copper wire for
snaring purposes with him was but the work of a moment.To go joyously
afield day after day and drown out the gopher, while other boys were
compelled to gopher an education, was his chief delight.As a result of this course he is not a close student of books, but he
can skin a squirrel without the slightest embarrassment, and you could
wake him up suddenly out of a profound slumber and ascertain from him
exactly what the best method is for draping a frog over a pickerel hook
so as to produce the best and most pleasing effects.Such is the
description of a man who, by his own unaided exertions, has risen to the
proud position of earth-stopper on my estate.He is ignorant of the care of wild game, however, and says he has never
preserved any.We want to know whether it would be best to sprinkle our
fox with camphor and put him down cellar or let him run in the henhouse
during the winter.Would your readers pleaseDaniel moved to the kitchen. |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | I have a fine fox-hunter that I bought two years ago from a
milk-man.This horse was quite high-spirited, and while the hounds were
in full cry one day I had to take a barbed-wire fence with him.This
horse, which I call Isosceles, because he is one kind of a triangle,
went over the fence in such a manner as to catch the pit of his stomach
on the barbed wire and expose his interior department and its methods
to the casual spectator.We put back all the stomachs we thought he was
entitled to, but he has not done well since that, and I have often
thought that possibly we did not succeed in returning all his works.How
many stomachs has the adult horse?Sandra moved to the bedroom.I am utterly and sadly ignorant in
these matters and I yearn for light.I certainly favor a more thorough knowledge of animal anatomy on the
part of our school-children.Every child should know how many stomachs, bowels and gizzards there are
in the fully equipped cow or horse.Nothing is more embarrassing to the
true sportsman than to see his favorite horse ripped open by a
barbed-wire fence while in full chase, and then not know which digestive
organ should go back first, or when they have all been replaced.So far as Isosceles is concerned, I remember thinking at the time that
we must have put back inside of his system about twice as much digestive
apparatus as he had before, as my earth-stopper said that we had given
that horse enough for a four-horse team, and yet he is ill.I would like to hear from any of the fox-hunters in Cook county who may
have had a similar experience.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.[Illustration]
BILL NYE ATTENDS BOOTH'S "HAMLET."I had read the
play before, but it was better as he gave it, I think.Mary moved to the bathroom.The play of "Hamlet" is not catchy, and there is a noticeable lack of
local gags in it.A gentleman who stood up behind me and leaned against
his breath all the evening said that he thought Ophelia's singing was
too disconnected.He is a keen observer and has seen a great many plays.He went out frequently between the acts, and always came back in better
spirits.He noticed that I wept a little in one or two places, and said
that if I thought that was affecting I ought to see "Only a Farmer's
Daughter."He drives a 'bus for the Hollenden Hotel here and has seen a
great deal of life.Still, he talked freely with me through the evening,
and told me what was coming next.He is a great admirer of the drama,
and night after night he may be seen in the foyer, accompanied only by
his breath.There is considerable discussion among critics as to whether Hamlet was
really insane or not, but I think that he assumed it in order to throw
the prosecution off the track, for he was a very smart man, and when his
uncle tried to work off some of his Danish prevarications on him I
fully expected him to pull a card out of his pocket and present it to
his royal tallness, on which might be seen the legend:
I AM SOMETHING OF A LIAR MYSELF!But I am glad he did not, for it would have seemed out of character in a
play like that.Booth wore a dark, water-proof cloak all the evening and a sword
with which he frequently killed people.He was dressed in black
throughout, with hair of the same shade.He is using the same hair in
"Hamlet" that he did twenty years ago, though he uses less of it.He
wears black knickerbockers and long, black, crockless stockings.Booth is doing well in the acting business, frequently getting as
high as $2 apiece for tickets to his performances.He was encored by the
audience several times last night, but refrained from repeating the
play, fearing that it would make it late for those who had to go back to
Belladonna, O., after the close of the entertainment.Toward the end of the play a little rough on rats gets into the
elderberry wine and the royal family drink it, after which there is
considerable excitement, and a man with a good, reliable stomach-pump
would have all he could do.Several of the royal family curl up and
perish.During an interview between Hamlet and his mother an old gentleman who
has the honor to be Ophelia's father hides behind a picket fence, so as
to overhear the conversation.He gets excited and says something in a
low, gutteral tone of voice, whereupon Hamlet runs his sword through the
picket fence in such a way as to bore a large hole into the old man, who
then dies.I have heard a great many people speak the piece beginning--
To be or not to be,
but Mr.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.Booth does it better than any one I have ever heard.I once
heard an elocutionist--kind of a smart Alickutionist as my friend The
Hoosier Poet would say.This man recited "To be or not to be" in a
manner which, he said, had frequently brought tears to eyes unused to
weep.He recited it with his right hand socked into his bosom up to the
elbow and his fair hair tossed about over his brow.Mary moved to the bedroom.His teeming brain,
which claimed to be kind of a four-horse teaming brain, as it were,
seemed to be on fire, and to all appearances he was indeed mad.So were
the people who listened to him.Sandra went to the kitchen.He hissed it through his clinched teeth
and snorted it through his ripe, red nose, wailed it up into the
ceiling, and bleated it down the aisles, rolled it over and over against
the rafters of his reverberating mouth, handed it out in big capsules,
or hissed it through his puckered atomizer of a mouth, wailed and
bellowed like a wild and maddened tailless steer in fly-time, darted
across the stage like a headless hen, ripped the gentle atmosphere into
shreds with his guinea-hen voluntary, bowed to us, and teetered off the
stage.Booth does not hoist his shoulders and settle back on his "pastern
jints" like a man who is about to set a refractory brake on a coal car,
neither does he immerse his right arm in his bosom up to the second
joint.He seems to have the idea that Hamlet spoke these lines mostly
because he felt like saying something instead of doing it to introduce a
set of health-lift gestures and a hoarse, baritone snort.A head of dank hair, a low, mellow, union-depot tone of voice, and a
dark-blue, three sheet poster will not make a successful Hamlet, and
blessed be the man who knows this without experimenting on the people
till he has bunions on his immortal soul.Booth this morning asking him to call at my room, No.6-5/8, and saying
that I would give him my idea about the drama from a purely unpartisan
standpoint, but it is raining so fast now that I fear he will not be
able to come.BILL NYE'S ADVICE
TO A YOUTH ABOUT DRUGS AND WRITING.The next moment,
perchance, the man will have conquered the artist.But the deed is done,
the fact remains, the moment of cruel contemplation has had the power to
brand upon his heart its ineradicable impression.A series of similar episodes must sooner or later create in the mind of
the artist the habit of withdrawing himself from life, of regarding it
from one side, from without, from the point of view no longer of a
living human being, but from that of an unmoved observer, who seeks in
all that comes to pass before his eyes only some material for his own
artistic reproduction.And in proportion as his powers of imagination
and observation increase, so in equal measure must his sensitiveness and
the exercise of that power of will which is indispensable for all moral
activity diminish.If nature has neither endowed the mind of the artist
with an adamantine stoicism, nor filled his heart with an inexhaustible
spring of love, his aesthetic qualities will little by little devour his
ethical instincts; genius may, in the words of Balzac, "consume" the
heart.In such a case as this, the categories of good and evil which
people have most to do with in real life, _i.e._, the will and the
passions, are confused in the artist's mind with the categories of the
beautiful and the ugly, the characterless and the characteristic, the
artistically interesting and the inane.Wickedness and vice attract the
imagination of the poet, if only they be concealed under forms that are
externally beautiful and attractive; while virtue looks dull and
insignificant unless she can afford some material for a poetical
apotheosis.But the artist excels not only in the quality of being able to
contemplate objectively and dispassionately the emotions of others, he
is unique also in this, that he can, as an impartial observer, subject
his own heart to the same hard, aesthetic scrutiny that he applies to the
actions of others.Sandra went to the garden.Ordinary people can, or at least believe that they
can, entirely recover from the emotions which may have seized upon them,
be they transports of love or hatred, of joy or sorrow.An honourable
man, when he makes his vow of love to a woman, honestly believes in the
truth of that vow--it never enters his head to inquire whether he really
is as much in love as he says he is.One would on the face of things
expect a poet more than other men to be inclined to give way to emotion,
to be credulous, and to let himself be carried away; but in reality
there always remains in his soul, however deeply it may be swayed by
passion, the power to look into its own depths as into those of a
character in a dream or novel; to follow with attention, even in moments
of complete intoxication, the infinite intangible changes of his
emotions, and to focus upon them the force of his merciless analysis.Human emotions are hardly ever simple or unalloyed: in the majority of
cases they are composed of a mixture of parts differing immensely in the
values of their components.And a psychological artist involuntarily
discovers so many contradictions in himself and in others, even in
moments of genuine exaltation, that by degrees he comes to lose all
faith in his own rectitude, as well as in the rectitude of others.II
The letters of Flaubert, published in two volumes, offer rich material
for the study, from a living example, of the question of the antagonism
which exists between the artistic and moral personality."Art is higher than life"; such is the formula which stands as the
corner-stone of the whole, not only of Flaubert's aesthetic view, but
also of his philosophical view of life.As a young man of thirty he
writes to one of his school friends: "If I did not introduce into the
plot of my poems a French queen of the fifteenth century, I should feel
an utter disgust of life, and long ere this a bullet would have freed me
from this humiliating folly."Within a year's time he is, with half
serious rhetoric and youthful enthusiasm, encouraging the same young
friend to proceed with his own work."Let us ever devote ourselves to
our art, which, being more powerful than all nations, crowns, or rulers,
holds, in virtue of its glorious diadem, eternal sway over the whole
universe."When over forty years of age, and on the verge of the tomb,
Flaubert repeats with even greater emphasis and audacity the same
device: "_L'homme n'est rien; l'oeuvre est tout._"--"Man is nothing;
work is everything."In the flower of his early manhood, though possessed of beauty, wit, and
talent, he forsook the world for the sake of his art, like an ascetic in
the desert: he immersed himself in his solitude, as the Christian
hermits immured themselves in their caverns."To bury oneself in one's
art, and spurn all else, is the only way to evade unhappiness," he
writes to his friend."Pride makes up for all things, if there be only a
broad enough foundation for it.... I certainly lack little; I should no
doubt like to be as generous as the richest, as happy as a lover, as
sensuous as those who give up their lives to pleasure;... But in the
meanwhile I covet neither riches, nor love, nor pleasures;... Now, as
for a long time past, I ask only for five or six hours of repose in my
own chamber; in winter a big fire in my fireplace, and at night two
candles on my table."Daniel moved to the kitchen.A year later he is advising the same friend: "Do
as I do, break from the outside world, and live like a bear, like a
white bear; send all else to the devil, and yourself as well, everything
except only your thoughts.Sandra went back to the bedroom.There is at the present moment such a great
gulf fixed between myself and the rest of the world, that I oft-times
experience a feeling of astonishment when I hear even the most ordinary
and natural things;... there are certain gestures, certain intonations
of the voice, which fill me with surprise, and there are certain silly
things which nearly make me giddy."Even in moments of overwhelming passion, Flaubert places his literary
vocation immeasurably above his personal happiness; and love of woman
strikes him as insignificant by the side of his love of poetry."No," he
writes to his _fiancee_, "you had far better love my art and not myself;
for this attachment will never leave you, nor can illness or death
deprive you of it.Worship thought, for in thought alone is truth,
because it is one and imperishable.Can art, the only thing in life that
is true and valuable, be compared with earthly love?Can the adoration
of relative beauty be preferred to an eternal worship?Veneration for
art--that is the best thing that I possess; it is the one thing for
which I respect myself."Sandra went to the hallway.He refuses to see anything relative in poetry, but regards it as
absolutely independent of and entirely cut off from life, and as being
more real than action; he perceives in art "the most self-satisfying
principle imaginable which requires as little external support as a
star.""Like a star," he says, "fixed and glittering in its own heaven,
does art observe the globe of the world revolve; that which is beautiful
will never be utterly destroyed."In the unity of the various portions
of a work, in the every detail, in the harmony of the whole, Flaubert
feels that "there is some inner essence, something in the nature of a
divine force, something like an eternal principle.""For how otherwise
would there exist any relation between the most exact and the most
musical expression of thought?"The sceptic who is not bound by any creed, but has spent his whole life
in doubt and hesitation in face of the ideas of God, religion, progress,
and scientific humanity, becomes pious and reverential when face to face
with the question of art.The true poet is, in his opinion,
distinguished from all other people by the divine inspiration of his
ideas, "by the contemplation of the immutable (_la contemplation de
l'immuable_), that is to say, religion in the highest sense of the
word."He regrets that he was not born in that age when people
worshipped art, when there still existed genuine artists in the world,
"whose life and thoughts were the blind instruments of the instinct of
beauty.They were the organs of God, by means of which He Himself
revealed His true essence to them; for these artists there was no
happiness; no one knew how much they suffered; each night as they lay
down sadly to rest they gazed wearily at the life of men with an
astonished eye, just as we might gaze at an ant-hill."To most artists beauty is a more or less abstract quality; to Flaubert
it was as concrete an object of passion as is gold to the miser, power
to the ambitious, or his lady to the lover.His work was like a
deliberate suicide; he gave himself entirely up to it, with the
fanaticism of a man possessed by a mania, with the mystic submission and
enthusiasm of |
office | Where is Daniel? | Thus does he describe his own work: "Sick and irritable at
heart, enduring a thousand times in the day moments of anguish and
despondency, and having neither wife nor any of the joys of life to
distract me, I continue to toil at my weary task, like a good workman
who, with sleeves rolled up and brow streaming with sweat, strikes on
his anvil without fear of rain or hail, of storm or thunder."Here is an
extract from a biography of Flaubert written by Maupassant, one of his
favourite pupils and disciples, which gives an accurate picture of the
gifted writer's energy for work: "His head bowed, his face and brow and
neck bathed in moisture, all his muscles tense, like an athlete at the
height of the contest, he set himself to face the desperate strife with
his ideas and words, rejecting, uniting, or forging them as in an iron
grip by the power of his will, condensing them and gradually with
superhuman strength working out his thought, and confining it, like a
wild beast in a cage, in a definite, indestructible form."III
Flaubert, more than any other man, has experienced in his own life, the
destructive power of his over-sharpened, analytical disposition.With
the malevolence, which was so strangely mingled in him with the then
fashionable Byronism, and with a confused presentiment of an impending
and inevitable catastrophe, he embarks at the early age of seventeen
upon his work of destruction and internal iconoclasm: "I analyse myself
and others," he writes to a friend; "I am always anatomizing, and
whenever I at last succeed in finding something, which all men consider
pure and beautiful, but which is in reality a putrid spot, a gangrene, I
shake my head and smile.I have come to the firm conclusion that vanity
is the fundamental basis of all things, and that even that which we call
conscience is in fact only a concealed and incipient vanity.You give in
charity, partly, may be, out of compassion, out of pity, or from horror
of suffering and sordidness, but also out of egotism; for the chief
motive of your action is the desire to acquire the right to say to
yourself: I have done good; there are very few people like me; I respect
myself more than other men."Eight years later he writes to his devoted
wife: "I love to analyze; it is an occupation that distracts me.Although I am not very much inclined to see the humorous side of things,
yet I cannot regard my own personality altogether seriously, because I
see myself how ridiculous I am, ridiculous not in the sense of being
externally comic, but in the inner sense of that inherent irony which,
being present in the life of men, shows itself sometimes even in the
most obviously natural actions, in the most ordinary gestures.... All
this one feels in oneself, but it is hard to explain.You do not
understand it, because in you it is as simple and genuine as in a
beautiful hymn of love and poetry.For I regard myself as a sort of
arabesque or marqueterie work; there are within me pieces of ivory and
of gold and of iron, some of painted paper, others of brilliants, and
others again of lead."This life is so rich in visions and imaginings, that they finally
obscure the real world altogether, and receive in passing through this
medium a reflected colouring in addition to their own."I always see the
antithesis of things; the sight of a child inevitably suggests to my
mind the thought of old age; the sight of a cradle, the idea of the
grave.When I look at my wife, I think of myself as her skeleton.That
is why scenes of happiness sadden me, while sad things leave me
indifferent.I weep so much internally in my own soul, that my tears
cannot flow outwardly as well; things that I read of in a book agitate
me much more than any actually existing sorrows."Here we encounter a
distinguishing trait of the majority of natures that are gifted with
strong artistic temperaments."The more oppressed I feel, the more
melancholy and highly strung and prone to tears and to give myself over
to a sense of imaginary suffering, so much the more do my real feelings
remain dry and hard and dead within my heart; they are crystallized
within it."This is the mental attitude described by Pushkin:
"In vain did I appeal to the emotions within me,
With unmoved ears I heard the breath of Death,
And all unmoved I gazed on her.So that is what I loved with flaming soul,
With such intensity of passion,
With so great anguish and agony of love,
With such torment and unreason!Alas, for the poor credulous shade in my soul!For the sweet memory of days for ever passed
I can now find neither tears nor reproaches."This condition of incomprehensible indifference towards the beloved one,
this despair arising not out of grief, but as a result of his own
coldness, of his lack of commiseration and pity was all too familiar to
Flaubert; and according to his custom, he boldly proceeds to analyse
this trait, which it is the one endeavour of most other artists to
conceal, not only from others, but even from themselves, regarding it
mistakenly as a form of egotism that is entirely in conflict with Nature.He describes his feelings at the grave of his dearly loved sister: "I
was as cold as the grave-stone, and only terribly bored."What does he
do at the moment when an ordinary man, forgetful of all else, would give
himself up entirely to his grief?With pitiless curiosity, "himself
catching nothing of their emotions," he analyzes them "like an artist.""This melancholy occupation alleviated my grief remarkably," he writes
to a friend, "perhaps you will regard me as utterly heartless if I
confess to you that my present sorrow" (that is to say the grief
experienced at the death of his sister) "does not strike me as the
heaviest lot that I have ever had to endure.At times when there was
apparently nothing to be sad about, it has been my fate to be much
sadder."A little further on comes a long discourse upon the Infinite,
upon Nirvana,--a discourse in which the author gives utterance to much
inspired poetry, but to very little simple human sorrow.In the letter in which Flaubert describes the funeral of a friend of his
childhood, his aesthetic cult of sadness reaches a still higher plane of
meditativeness."On the body of the departed there appeared the signs of
a terrible transformation; we hid the corpse in a double shroud.So
covered, he looked like an Egyptian mummy enveloped in the bandages of
the tomb, and I cannot describe the feelings of joy and freedom which I
experienced at sight of him at that moment.There was a white mist over
everything, the forest trees stood out against the sky, and the funeral
lights were still shining in the pallor of the dawning day; the birds
were twittering, and I recalled a verse of his poem: 'He flies away like
a winged bird to meet the rising sun in the pine wood,' or, to put it
better, I heard his voice uttering these words and the whole day long
they haunted me with their enchantment.They placed him in the
ante-chamber, the doors were left ajar, and the cool morning air
penetrated into the room, mingled with a refreshing rain, which had just
then begun to fall.... My soul was filled with emotions, till then
unknown, and upon it there flamed forth like summer lightning such
thoughts as I can never repeat again: a thousand recollections of the
dead were wafted to me on the fumes of the incense, in the chords of the
music."John journeyed to the bedroom.... And here the artist, in the midst of his aesthetic
abstraction, converts his genuine grief into a thing of beauty, so that
in his enlightened view the death of his beloved friend not only causes
him no pang, or suffering, but, on the contrary, gives him a mystic
resignation, incomprehensible to ordinary men, an ecstasy that is
foreign to and removed from life, a joy that is entirely impersonal.During his sojourn in Jerusalem, Flaubert paid a visit to the lepers.Here is the account of his impressions: "This place (that is the plot of
land set aside for those who are afflicted with leprosy) is situated
outside the town, near a marsh, whence a host of crows and vultures
arose and took their flight at our approach.The poor sufferers, both
women and men (in all about a dozen persons) lie all huddled together in
a heap.They have no covering on their heads, and there is no
distinction of sex.Their bodies are covered with putrefying scars, and
they have sombre cavities in place of noses.I was forced to put on my
eye-glasses in order to discover what was hanging to the ends of their
arms.Were they hands, or were they some greenish-looking rags?Daniel moved to the office.(_There_ is a prize for colourists!)A sick man was dragging
himself to the water's edge to drink some water.Through his mouth,
which yawned black and empty of the gums, that seemingly had been burned
away, the palate was clearly visible.A rattle sounded in his throat as
he dragged the limbs of his dead-white body towards us.And all around
us reigned tranquil Nature, the ripples of the stream, the green of the
trees, all bubbling over with the abundance of sap and youth, and the
coolness of the shadows beneath the scorching sun."This extract is
taken from no novel, in which a poet might force himself to be
objective, but from a traveller's notes, from a letter to a friend,
wherein the author has no kind of motive for concealing the subjective
character of his emotions.And yet in spite of this, except for the two
rather common-place epithets of "poor wretches" (_pauvres miserables_),
there is not a single touch of pity, not even a suggestion of
compassion.IV
"I am not a Christian" (_je ne suis pas Chretien_), says Flaubert in a
letter to Georges Sand.The French Revolution was, in his opinion,
unsuccessful, because it was too intimately bound up with the idea of
religious pity.The idea of equality, on which is based the essence of
the democracy of to-day, is a contradiction of all the principles of
equity.See what a preponderating influence is given at this day to
grace."We are degenerating
owing to our superfluity of indulgence and of compassion, and to our
moral drought.""I am convinced," he remarks, "that the poor envy the
rich, and that the rich fear the poor; it will be so for ever--and vain
it is to preach the Gospel of Love."Flaubert tries to justify his instinctive antipathy to the idea of
brotherhood by the assertion that this idea is always found to be in
irreconcilable contradiction to the principle of equity."I hate
democracy (in the sense at least in which the word is accepted in
France), that is to say the magnifying of grace to the detriment of
justice, the negation of right--in a word, the anti-social principle
(_l'anti-sociabilite_).""The gift of grace (within the province of
theology) is the negation of justice; what right has a man to demand any
change in the execution of the law?"Yet he hardly believes in this
principle himself, and only enunciates it in order to have an argument
with which to refute the idea of brotherhood.At least this is what he
says, in a moment of complete frankness, in a letter to an old friend:
"Human justice seems to me the most unstable thing in the whole world.The sight of a man daring to judge his neighbour would send me into
convulsions of laughter if it did not arouse my disgust and pity, and if
I were not at the present moment" (he was at that time engaged in
studying for the law) "obliged to study a system of absurdities, by
virtue of which men consider that they acquire the right to judge.I
know of nothing so absurd as law, except, perhaps, the study of it."In
another letter he confesses that he never could understand the abstract
and dry conception of duty, and that "it did not seem to him to be
inherent in the nature of mankind (_il ne me parait pas inherent aux
entrailles humaines_)."Evidently, then he believes as little in the
idea of justice as he does in that of fraternity.As a matter of fact,
he has no moral ideal."There is only one thing in the world that I really value, and that is
beautiful verse; an elegant, harmonious, melodious style; the warmth of
the sun; a picturesque landscape; moonlight nights; antique statues, and
the character in a profile.... I am a fatalist, in fact, like a
Mahometan, and I believe that all that we do for the progress of
humanity is of no use.As to this idea of progress, I am mentally
incapable of grasping such nebulous and dreary conceptions.All the
nonsense talked on this subject simply bores me beyond endurance.... I
cherish a deep respect for the ancient form of tyranny, for to me it is
the finest expression of humanity that has ever been made manifest.""I
have few convictions," he writes to Georges Sand, "but one of those I
have I cherish firmly--it is the conviction that the masses are always
composed of idiots.And yet one may not consider the masses as stupid,
because within them is concealed the seed of an incalculable fecundity
(_d'une fecondite incalculable_)."Flaubert makes a half-jesting attempt to contrast the doctrines of the
socialists with his own ideas of the political order of the future."The
only logical conclusion is an administration consisting of mandarins, if
only these mandarins be possessed of some knowledge, and if possible,
even considerable knowledge.The mass of the people will thus always
remain as minors, and will always hold the lowest place in the hierarchy
of the social orders, seeing that it is composed of unlimited
numbers.... In this lawful aristocracy of the present time is our whole
salvation."Its irremediable
worthlessness filled my soul even in my early youth with bitterness.And
that is why I now experience no disappointment.I am convinced that the
crowd, the common herd will always be odious.... Until the time comes
when men shall submit to set up mandarins, and shall have substituted
for the Roman Pope an Academy of Sciences, until that time comes, all
politics, and all society even to its deepest roots, must be merely a
collection of revolting lies (_de blagues ecoeurantes_.)"Nevertheless
in his novel "Bouvard et Pecuchet" Flaubert makes every effort to
destroy faith even in the strength of the principles of science, and to
prove that modern science is as impermanent a structure, as
contradictory and superstitious a system as was the theology of the
Middle Ages.To his disbelief in science Flaubert, moreover, is
constantly giving utterance: thus, for instance, when he comes upon the
Positivism of Comte, he finds this system "unbearably stupid" (_c'est
assommant de betise_).V
We have thus seen that Flaubert's attempt to reach a compromise with
regard to the preponderating tendency of the age did not succeed; of his
views respecting the structure of society, the only true one is his
insight into the lower classes of the people."However well you may feed
the animal man, however thickly you gild his stable, even though you
give him the softest and most luxurious litter, still he will ever
remain a beast.The only progress upon which one can count is the effort
to make the beast less of a cannibal.But as to raising the level of his
ideas, or inspiring the masses with a broader conception of God, I
seriously doubt whether this can ever be achieved."In another letter he frankly admits that he has no faith, no principles
of morality, no political ideals, and in this admission, wrung from the
depths of his heart, the note of despair is already struck: "In the
present day there seems to be as little possibility of establishing any
new belief as of obtaining respect for the old faith.And so I seek and
fail to find that one idea upon which |
kitchen | Where is John? | These
few words throw a clearer light on the attitude of Flaubert during the
latter years of his life than anything else.Formerly he had found this
idea in his art, while now he assumes that there is another and higher
basis, upon which art itself must rest; but to find this principle is
beyond his power.He seeks forgetfulness in work, but work only brings
exhaustion, and he is still more dissatisfied.He realises his
singularity, and it draws him out of his objective attitude into that
incomprehensible existence, the very conception of which he himself
denies.The real tragedy of his position lies in the fact that he is alone in
the midst of a strange and unknown world.And little by little his
despair reaches its utmost limits: "Whenever I am without a book in my
hand, or whenever I am not writing, such anguish seizes on me that I
simply find myself on the verge of tears."So he writes in a letter to
Georges Sand."It seems to me that I have literally turned into a
fossil, and that I am deprived of all connection with the universe
around me.""A feeling of universal destruction and agony possesses me,
and I am deathly sad.""When I am tired out from my work, I grow anxious
about myself.No one remembers me, I belong to another sphere.My
professional friends are so little friendly to me.""I pass whole weeks
without exchanging a word with a single human creature, and at the end
of the week I find it hard to recall any special day or any particular
event during the course of that time.On Sundays I see my mother and
niece, and that is all.A gathering of rats in the attic, that is my
whole society.They make an infernal noise over my head, when the rain
is not roaring, and the wind is not howling.The nights are blacker than
coal, and a silence is all around me, infinite as in the desert.John journeyed to the bedroom.One's
senses are terribly sharpened in such surroundings, and my heart starts
beating at the slightest sound.""I am losing myself in the
reminiscences of my youth, like an old man.Of life I ask nothing more,
save a few sheets of paper that I may scratch ink upon.I feel as though
I were wandering through an endless desert, wandering, not knowing
whither; and that at one and the same time, I am the wanderer, and the
camel, and the desert.""One hope alone sustains me, that soon I shall
be parted from life, and that I shall surely find no other existence
that might be still more painful.... No, no!All his letters to Georges Sand are one weary restless martyr's
confession of the "disease of genius."Sometimes a simple plaint bursts
from him, and in it, through the impenetrable pride of the fighter, can
be detected something soft and broken, as in the voice of a man who is
over-tired.The fury of his enemies, the calumnies of his friends, the
lack of understanding of his critics, no longer wounded his self-pride;
he merely hated them."All this avalanche of folly neither disturbs nor
grieves me.Only one would prefer to inspire one's fellow men with
pleasant feelings."Then finally, even his last consolation--his art--deserts him."In vain
I gather my strength; the work will not come, will not come.Everything
disturbs and upsets me.In the presence of others I can still control
myself, but when I am alone I often burst into such senseless, spasmodic
tears that I think I am going to die from them."In his declining years,
when he can no longer turn to the past, and no longer correct his life,
he asks himself the question: what if even that beauty, in the name of
which he has destroyed his faith in God, in life, and in humanity, is as
visionary and delusive as all else?What if his art, for the sake of
which he had given up his life, his youth, and happiness, and love,
should have abandoned him on the very edge of the grave?"The Shadow is enveloping me," he says, as he realises that the end is
at hand.This exclamation is as the cry of eternal anguish uttered
before his death by another artist, Michael Angelo, the brother of
Flaubert in his ideals and aims and genius:
"Io parto a mano a mano,
Crescemi ognor piu l'ombra, e il sol vien manco,
E son presso a cadere, infermo e stanco.""Inch by inch I sink,
The shadows lengthen, the sun sinks down,
And I am ready to depart,
Broken and weary."Death struck him down at his work-table, quite suddenly, like a
thunder-bolt.Daniel moved to the office.Dropping his pen from his hand, he sank down lifeless,
killed by his one great, single passion, the love of his art.Plato in one of his myths relates how the souls of men travel in
chariots on winged steeds along the heavenly way; to some of whom it is
given after a short time to approach that spot whence is visible the
domain of Ideas; with yearning do they gaze aloft, and a few stray rays
of light fall deep down among them.Then, when these souls are
re-incarnated, to return and suffer on earth, all that is best in the
human heart appeals to them and touches them, as a reflection of some
eternal light, as a confused remembrance of another world, into which it
was granted them to peep for the space of a single moment.Surely there must have fallen upon the soul of Flaubert in the glorious
sphere of the imagination a ray of beauty that was perhaps too bright._Printed by Alexander Moring Ltd._
_The De La More Press, 32 George Street,_
_Hanover Square, London W_
[Transcriber's note: To represent italic font, _underscores_ have been
used.]Compare with these the precept
in the Epistle to the Hebrews, "Obey them that have the rule over you,
and submit to them: for they watch in behalf of your souls, as they
that shall give account" (xiii.17); and the frequent directions in
the Pastoral Epistles (1 Tim.17, 19, 22;
Tit.What the precise
functions of the clergy were is not told us with much detail or
precision; but it is quite clear, from the passage before us, and
those which have been quoted above, that whatever the functions were,
they were spiritual rather than secular, and were duties which a
select minority had to exercise in reference to the rest; they were
not such as any one might exercise towards any one.In the present
case the sick person is not to send for any members of the
congregation, but for certain who hold a definite, and apparently an
official position.If _any_ Christians could discharge the function in
question, St.James would not have given the sick person the trouble
of summoning the elders rather than those people who chanced to be
near at hand.And it is quite clear that not all Christians are over
all other Christians in the Lord; that not all are to rule, and all to
obey and submit; therefore not all have the same authority to
"admonish" others, or to "watch in behalf of their souls, as they that
shall give account."[93]
The reason why the elders are to be summoned is stated in different
ways by different writers, but with a large amount of substantial
agreement."As being those in whom the power and grace of the Holy
Spirit more particularly appeared," says Calvin."Because when they
pray it is not much less than if the whole Church prayed," says
Bengel.James, says Neander, "regards the presbyters in the light
of organs of the Church, acting in its name;" and, "As the presbyters
acted in the name of the whole Church, and each one as a member of the
body felt that he needed its sympathy and intercession, and might
count upon it; individuals should therefore, in cases of sickness,
send for the presbyters of the Church.These were to offer prayer on
their behalf."James recommends, says
Stier, is "intercession for the sick on the part of the
representatives of the Church,... not merely the intercession of
friends or brethren as such, but in the name of the whole community,
one of whose members is suffering."It is altogether beside the mark
to suggest that the elders were summoned as people of the greatest
experience, who perhaps also were specially _skilled in medicine_.Of
that there is not only no hint, but the context excludes the idea.If
that were in the writer's mind, why does he not say at once, "Let him
call for the physicians"?If the healing art is to be thought of at
all in connexion with the passage, the case is one in which medicine
has already done all that it can, or in which it can do nothing at
all.James would doubtless approve the advice given by the son of
Sirach: "My son, in thy sickness be not negligent; but pray unto the
Lord, and He will make thee whole" (Ecclus.This exactly
agrees with the precept, "Is any among you suffering?"Then give place to the physician, for the Lord hath created him: let
him not go from thee, for thou hast need of him.There is a time when
in their hands there is good success" (12, 13).To this there is no
equivalent in St.James; but he says nothing that is inconsistent with
it.Then, after the physician has done his part, and perhaps in vain,
would come the summoning of the elders to offer prayer.But it is
simpler to suppose that the physician's part is left out of the
account altogether.The second point of interest is the anointing of the sick person
by the elders.That what is said here affords no Scriptural authority
for the Roman rite of Extreme Unction, is one of the commonplaces of
criticism.The object of the
unction prescribed by St.James is the recovery of the sick person;
whereas Extreme Unction, as its name implies, is never administered
until the sick person's recovery is considered to be almost or quite
hopeless, and death imminent; the possibility of bodily healing is not
entirely excluded, but it is not the main purpose of the rite.The
only other passage in the New Testament in which the unction of the
sick is mentioned is equally at variance with the Roman rite.Mark that the Twelve, when sent out by Christ two and two,
"anointed with oil many that were sick, and healed them" (vi. 13).Here also recovery, and not preparation for death, was the purpose of
the anointing, which the Apostles seem to have practised on their own
responsibility, for it is not mentioned in the charge which Christ
gave them when He sent them out (7-11).John went to the hallway.But there is this amount of connexion between these two passages of
Scripture and the Roman sacrament of Extreme Unction, viz.that the
latter _grew out of ecclesiastical practices which were based upon
these passages_.As in not a few other instances, development has
brought about a state of things which is inconsistent with the
original starting-point.But in order to understand the development we
must understand the starting-point, and that requires us to find an
answer to the question, What purpose was the oil intended to serve?Was it merely for the
refreshment of the sick person, giving relief to parched skin and
stiffened limbs?Was it medicinal, with a view to a permanent cure by
natural means?Was it the channel or instrument of a supernatural
cure?Was it an aid to the sick person's faith?One or both of the
last two suggestions may be accepted as the most probable solution.And the reason why oil was selected as a channel of Divine power and
an aid to faith was, that it was believed to have healing properties.It is easier to believe when visible means are used than when nothing
is visible, and it is still easier to believe when the visible means
appear to be likely to contribute to the desired effect.Christ twice
used spittle in curing blindness, probably because spittle was
believed to be beneficial to the eyesight.And that oil was supposed
to be efficacious as medicine is plain from numerous passages both in
and outside of Holy Scripture."From the sole of the foot even unto
the head there is no soundness in it; but wounds, and bruises, and
festering sores: they have not been closed, nor bound up, neither
mollified with oil" (Isa.The Good Samaritan poured wine and
oil into the wounds of the man who fell among robbers (Luke x. 34).A
mixture of oil and wine was used for the malady which attacked the
army of Ælius Gallus, and was applied both externally and internally
(Dion Cass.His physicians caused
Herod the Great to be bathed in a vessel full of oil when he was
supposed to be at death's door (Josephus, _Ant._ XVII.Celsus
recommends rubbing with oil in the case of fevers and some other
ailments (_De Med._ II.6, 9, 19, 22; IV.[94] But it
is obvious that St.James does not recommend the oil merely as
medicine, for he does not say that the oil shall cure the sick person,
nor yet that the oil with prayer shall do so; but that "the prayer of
faith shall save him that is sick," without mentioning the oil at all.On the other hand, he says that the anointing is to be done by the
elders "in the name of the Lord."If the anointing were merely
medicinal, it might have been performed by any one, without waiting
for the elders.And it can hardly be supposed that oil was believed to
be a remedy for all diseases.On the other hand, it seems to be too much to say that the anointing
had nothing to do with bodily healing at all, and was simply a means
of grace for the sick.Thus Döllinger says, "This is no gift of
healing, for that was not confined to the presbyters; and for that
Christ prescribed not unction, but laying on of hands.James would have bidden or advised the sick to send for one
who possessed this gift, whether presbyter or layman.... What was to
be conveyed by this medium was, therefore, only sometimes recovery or
relief, always consolation, revival of confidence and forgiveness of
sins, on condition, of course, of faith and repentance" (_First Age of
the Church_, p.235, Oxenham's translation, 2nd ed.But
although the gift of healing was not confined to the elders, yet in
certain cases they may have exercised it; and although Christ
prescribed the laying on of hands (Mark xvi.18), yet the Apostles
sometimes healed by anointing with oil (Mark vi. 13).And that "shall
_save_ him that is sick" (σώσει τὸν κάμνοντα) means "shall _cure_
him," is clear both from the context, and also from the use of the
same word elsewhere."Daughter, be of good cheer; thy faith hath
_saved_ thee," to the woman with the issue of blood (Matt.John journeyed to the kitchen.Jairus prays, "Come and lay Thy hands on her, that she may be _saved_"
(Mark v. 23).The disciples say of Lazarus, "Lord, if he is fallen
asleep, he will be _saved_" (John xi. 12).And "the Lord shall raise
him up" makes this interpretation still more certain.The same
expression is used of Simon's wife's mother (Mark i. 31)."The Lord"
is Christ, not the Father, both here and "in the Name of _the Lord_."Peter says to Æneas, "_Jesus Christ_ healeth thee" (Acts
ix. 34.James makes the promise of recovery without any restriction
may at first sight appear to be surprising; but in this he is only
following the example of our Lord, who makes similar promises, and
leaves it to the thought and experience of Christians to find out the
limitations to them.James is only applying to a particular case
what Christ promised in general terms."All things, whatsoever ye pray
and ask for, believe that ye have received them, and ye shall have
them |
office | Where is Mary? | "If ye shall ask [Me]
anything in My Name, I will do it" (John xiv. 14)."If ye shall ask
anything of the Father, He will give it you in My Name" (John
xvi. 23).The words "in My Name" point to the limitation; they do not,
of course, refer to the use of the formula "through Jesus Christ our
Lord," but to the exercise of the spirit of Christ: "Not My will, but
Thine be done."The union of our will with the will of God is the very
first condition of successful prayer.The Apostles themselves had no
indiscriminate power of healing.Paul did not heal Epaphroditus,
much as he yearned for his recovery (Phil.He left Trophimus
at Miletus sick (2 Tim.He did not cure his own thorn in the
flesh (2 Cor.How, then, can we suppose that St.James
credited the elders of every congregation with an unrestricted power
of healing?He leaves it to the common sense and Christian submission
of his readers to understand that the elders have no power to cancel
the sentence of death pronounced on the whole human race.To pray that
any one should be exempt from this sentence would be not faith, but
presumption.Of the employment of the rite here prescribed by St.James we have
very little evidence in the early ages of the Church.Tertullian
mentions a cure by anointing, but it is not quite a case in point.The
Emperor Septimius Severus believed that he had been cured from an
illness through oil administered by a Christian named Proculus
Torpacion, steward of Evodias, and in gratitude for it he maintained
him in the palace for the rest of his life (_Ad.Origen,
in the second Homily on Leviticus (iv.James, and seems to understand the sickness to be that of sin.He
interpolates thus: "Let him call for the elders of the Church, and
_let them lay their hands on him_, anointing him with oil," etc.This
perhaps tells us how the rite was administered in Alexandria in his
time; or it may mean that Origen understood the "pray _over_ him"
(ἐπ' αὐτόν) of St.With him,
then, the forgiveness of sins is the healing.A century and a half
later Chrysostom takes a further step, and employs the passage to show
that priests have the power of absolution."For not only at the time
when they regenerate us, but afterwards also, they have authority to
forgive sins."It is evident that this is quite alien to the passage.The
sickness and the sins are plainly distinguished by St.James, and
nothing is said about absolution by the elders, who pray for his
recovery, and (no doubt) for his forgiveness.When we reach the sixth century the evidence for the custom of
anointing the sick with holy oil becomes abundant.At first any one
with a reputation for sanctity might bless the oil--not only laymen,
but women.But in the West the rule gradually spread from Rome that
the sacred oil for the sick must be "made" by the bishop.In the East
this has never been observed.Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of
Canterbury, says that according to the Greeks it is lawful for
presbyters to make the chrism for the sick.One priest suffices; but it is desirable to get seven, if
possible.But the chief step in the development is taken when not only the
blessing of the oil, but the administering of it to the sick, is
reserved to the clergy.In Bede's time this restriction was not yet
made, as is clear from his comments on the passage, although even then
it was customary for priests to administer the unction.John journeyed to the bedroom.But by the
tenth century this restriction had probably become general.It became
connected with the communion of the sick, which of course required a
priest, and then with the _Viaticum_, or communion of the dying; but
even then the unction seems to have preceded the last communion.The
name "Extreme Unction" (_unctio extrema_), as a technical
ecclesiastical term, is not older than the twelfth century.Other
terms are "Last Oil" (_ultimum oleum_) and "Sacrament of the
Departing" (_sacramentum exeuntium_).But when we have reached these
phrases we are very far indeed from the ordinance prescribed by
St.James, and from that which was practised by the Apostles.Jeremy
Taylor, in the dedication of the _Holy Dying_, says fairly enough,
"The fathers of the Council of Trent first disputed, and after their
manner at last agreed, that Extreme Unction was instituted by Christ;
but afterwards being admonished by one of their theologues that the
Apostles ministered unction to infirm people before they were priests,
for fear that it should be thought that this unction might be
administered by him that was no priest, they blotted out the word
'instituted,' and put in its stead 'insinuated' this sacrament, and
that it was published by St. James.So it is in their doctrine; and
yet in their anathematisms they curse all them that shall deny it to
have been instituted by Christ.I shall lay no prejudice against it,
but add this only, that there being but two places of Scripture
pretended for this ceremony, some chief men of their own side have
proclaimed these two invalid as to the institution of it;" and he
mentions in particular Suarez and Cajetan.But he states more than he
can know when he declares of Extreme Unction that "since it is used
when the man is above half dead, when he can exercise no act of
understanding, it must needs be nothing."Those who receive the rite
are not always unconscious; and is it certain that an unconscious
person "can exercise no act of the understanding," or that prayer for
one who can exercise no act of the understanding "must needs be
nothing"?With similar want of caution Stier speaks of "the
_superstition_ which sends for the minister to 'pray over the sick,'
when these have scarce any consciousness left."Whether or no Extreme
Unction is an edifying ceremony is a question worthy of argument, and
nothing is here urged on either side; but we are going beyond our
knowledge if we assert that it _can_ have no effect on the dying man;
and we are unduly limiting the power of prayer if we affirm that to
pray for one who has lost consciousness is a useless superstition.Daniel moved to the office.All
that is contended for here is, that the Roman rite is something very
different from that which is ordered by St. James.[95]
"And if he have committed sins, it shall be forgiven him."We ought
perhaps rather to translate, "Even if he have committed sins, it shall
be forgiven him."(The Greek is not καὶ ἐάν or ἐὰν δέ, but κἄν,
for which comp.The meaning would seem
to be, "even if his sickness has been produced by his sins, his sin
shall be forgiven, and his sickness cured."It is possible, but
unnatural, to join the first clause of this sentence with the
preceding one: "the Lord shall raise him up, even if he have committed
sins."John went to the hallway.In that case "It shall be forgiven him" forms a very awkward
independent sentence, without conjunction.The ordinary arrangement of
the clauses is much better: even if the malady is the effect of the
man's own wrong-doing, the prayer offered by faith--his faith, and
that of the elders--shall still prevail.Paul tells the
Corinthians that their misconduct respecting the Lord's Supper had
caused much sickness among them, and not a few deaths (1 Cor.30);
and such direct punishments of sin were not confined to the Corinthian
Church nor to the Apostolic age.They still occur in abundance, and
those who experience them have the assurance of Scripture that if they
repent and pray in faith their sins will certainly be forgiven, and
their punishment possibly removed.[93] The question of the Origin of the Christian Ministry has been
discussed in another volume of this series.See the _Pastoral
Epistles_, pp.104-117 (Hodder and Stoughton, 1888).[94] For additional evidence see J. C. Wolf, _Curæ Philol.79-81; Lightfoot, _Horæ Hebr._ II., pp.13; Launoi, _De Sacramento Unctionis Infirmorum_,
I., p.[95] See letters in the _Guardian_ of Mar.9, 16, 23, May
7, 1890; pp.447, 481, 594, 633, 682, 763.In the Visitation of the Sick in the First Prayer Book of Edward
VI.there is provision for the older rite: "If the sicke person desyre
to be annoynted, then shall the priest annoynte him upon the forehead
or breast only, making the signe of the crosse, saying thus,
As with this visible oyle thy body outwardly is annoynted: so our
heavenly father almyghtye God graunt of his infinite goodnesse, that
thy soule inwardly may be annoynted with the holy gost, who is the
spirite of al strength, comforte, reliefe, and gladnesse.And vouchsafe
for his great mercy (yf it be his blessed will) to restore unto thee thy
bodely helth and strength, to serve him," etc.Readers of the _Confessions_ will remember how St.Augustine on
one occasion asked his friends to pray that he might be freed from great
pain, and forthwith found relief."I have neither forgotten nor will
be silent about the severity of Thy scourge, and the marvellous speed
of Thy mercy.Thou didst then torture me with toothache (he says
elsewhere that this was so grievous that he could learn nothing fresh,
but could only think of what he already knew), and when the pain
became so severe that I was unable to speak the thought rose in my
heart to urge all my friends who were present to pray for me to Thee,
the God of all health.And I wrote this on a waxen tablet, and gave
it to them to read.John journeyed to the kitchen.Presently, as with suppliant desire we bowed our
knees, that great pain fled away.I confess, my Lord and my God, that it frightened me; for
from my earliest days I had experienced nothing like it" (IX._THE PUBLIC AND PRIVATE CONFESSION OF SINS.THE LAWFULNESS OF PRAYERS FOR RAIN._
"Confess therefore your sins one to another, and pray one for
another, that ye may be healed.The supplication of a righteous man
availeth much in its working.Elijah was a man of like passions with
us, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain; and it rained not
on the earth for three years and six months.And he prayed again; and
the heaven gave rain, and the earth brought forth her
fruit."--ST.Mary went to the office.The connexion of this passage with the preceding one is very close.Daniel went back to the bedroom.This is evident even in the Authorized Version; but it is made still
more manifest by the Revisers, who have restored the connecting
"therefore" to the text upon overwhelming authority.James is
passing from the particular case of the sick person to something more
general, viz.If we draw out his thought in
full, it will be something of this kind: "Even if the sick person be
suffering the consequences of his sins, nevertheless the faith and
prayers of the elders, combined with his own, shall prevail for his
forgiveness and healing.Of course he must confess and bewail his
sins: if he does not admit them and repent of them, he can hope for
nothing._Therefore_ you ought all of you habitually to confess your
sins to one another, and to intercede for one another, in order that
when sickness comes upon you, you may the more readily be healed."It
is not quite certain that the word rendered "ye may be healed"
(ἰαθῇτε) ought to be limited to bodily healing; but the context
seems to imply that the cure of bodily disorders is still in the mind
of St. James.If, however, with various commentators, we take it to
mean "that your _souls_ may be healed," then there is no need to
supply any such thought as "when sickness comes upon you."It might surprise us to find that the practice of auricular confession
to a priest is deduced from the precept, "Confess your sins one to
another," if we had not the previous experience of finding the rite of
Extreme Unction deduced from the precept respecting the anointing of
the sick.But here also Cajetan has the credit of admitting that no
Scriptural authority for the Roman practice can be found in the words
of St. James.The all-important "to one another" (ἀλλήλοις) is quite
fatal to the interpretation of confession to a priest.If the
confession of a layman to a priest is meant, then the confession of a
priest to a layman is _equally meant_: the words, whether in the Greek
or in the English, cannot be otherwise understood.But the injunction
is evidently quite general, and the distinction between clergy and
laity does not enter into it at all: each Christian, whether elder or
layman, is to confess to other Christians, whether elders or laymen,
either to one or to many, as the case may be.When the sick person
just spoken of confessed his sins, he confessed them to the elders of
the Church, because they were present; they did not come to receive
his confession, but to pray for him and to anoint him.He sent for
them, not because he wished to confess to them, but because he was
sick.Even if he had had nothing to confess to them--a case evidently
contemplated by St.James as not only possible, but common--he would
still have sent for them.So far from its being among their functions
as elders to hear the sick man's confession, St.James seems rather to
imply that he ought to have made it previously to others.If
Christians habitually confess their sins to one another, there will be
no special confession required when any of them falls ill.But
granting that this interpretation of his brief directions is not quite
certain, it is quite certain that what he commends is the confession
of any Christian to any Christian, and not the confession of laity to
presbyters.About that he says nothing, either one way or the other,
for it is not in his mind.He neither sanctions nor forbids it, but he
gives a direction which shows that as regards the duty of confession
to man, the normal condition of things is for any Christian to confess
to any Christian.The important point is that the sinner should not
keep his guilty secret locked up in his own bosom; to whom he should
tell it is left to his own discretion.As Tertullian says, in his
treatise _On Penance_, "Confession of sins lightens as much as
concealment (_dissimulatio_) aggravates them.For confession is
prompted by the desire to make amends; concealment is prompted by
contumacy" (viii.).Similarly Origen, on Psalm xxxvii.: "See,
therefore, what the Divine Scripture teaches us, that we must not
conceal sin within us.For just as, it may be, people who have
undigested food detained inside them, or are otherwise grievously
oppressed internally, if they vomit, obtain relief, so they also who
have sinned, if they conceal and retain the sin, are oppressed
inwardly.But if the sinner becomes his own accuser, accuses himself
and confesses, he at the same time vomits out both the sin and the
whole cause of his malady" (_Homil._ II.In much the same strain
Chrysostom writes, "Sin, if it is confessed, becomes less; but if it
is not confessed, worse; for if the sinner adds shamelessness and
obstinacy to his sin, he will never stop.How, indeed, will such a one
be at all able to guard himself from falling again into the same sins,
if in the earlier case he was not conscious |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | ad Hebr._)
All these writers have this main point in common, that a sinner who
does not confess what he has done amiss is likely to become careless
and hardened.And the principle is at least as old as the Book of
Proverbs: "He that covereth his transgressions shall not prosper: but
whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall obtain mercy" (xxviii. 13).But, as the context clearly shows in each case, they are each of them
writing of a different kind of confession.The confession
(_exomologesis_) which Tertullian so urgently recommends is public
confession before the congregation; that which Origen advises is
private confession to an individual, particularly with a view to
deciding whether public confession is expedient.What Chrysostom
prefers, both here and elsewhere in his writings, is secret confession
to God: "I say not to thee, Make a parade of thyself; nor yet, Accuse
thyself in the presence of the others.... Before God confess these
things; before the Judge ever confess thy sins, praying, if not with
the tongue, at any rate with the heart, and in this way ask for
mercy."All which is in accordance with the principle laid down by
St.John journeyed to the bedroom.John, "If we confess our sins"--our sins in detail, not the mere
fact that we have sinned--"He is faithful and righteous to forgive us
our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (1 John i. 9).Bellarmine has the courage to claim not only St.John,
as teaching confession to a priest (_De Pœnit._ III.John is speaking of confession to God, without
either approving or condemning confession to man, and that St.James
is speaking of the latter, without saying anything about the former.James leaves to the penitent's discretion the question
to whom he shall confess, whether to clergy or laity, so also he
leaves it to his discretion whether he shall confess to one or to
many, and whether in private or in public.[96] In the second, third,
and fourth centuries public confession was commonly part of public
penance.And the object of it is well stated by Hooker: "Offenders in
secret" were "persuaded that if the Church did direct them in the
offices of their penitency, and assist them with public prayer, they
should more easily obtain that they sought than by trusting wholly to
their own endeavours."The primitive view, he holds, was this: "Public
confession they thought necessary by way of _discipline_, not private
confession as in the nature of a _sacrament_" (_Eccl.But experience soon showed that indiscriminate public
confession of grievous sins was very mischievous.Therefore in the
East, and (if Sozomen is correct) at Rome also, penitentiary
presbyters were appointed to decide for penitents whether their sins
must be confessed to the congregation or not.Thus, what Origen
advises each penitent to do for himself, viz.seek a wise adviser
respecting the expediency of public confession and penance, was
formally done for every one.391, Nectarius, the
predecessor of Chrysostom in the see of Constantinople, was persuaded
to abolish the office, _apparently_ because a penitentiary presbyter
had sanctioned public confession in a case which caused great scandal;
but neither Socrates (V.The consequence of the abolition was that each
person was left to his own discretion, and public penance fell into
disuse.Private enmity made use
of these confessions to annoy, and even to prosecute the penitent.Moreover, the clergy sometimes proclaimed to the congregation what had
been told them in confidence; that is, they made public confession on
behalf of the sinner without his consent.Whereupon Leo the Great, in
a letter to the Bishops of Apulia and Campania, March 6th, A.D.459,
sanctioned the practice of private confession (_Ep._ clxviii.Thus, in the West, as previously in the East, a severe
blow was given to the practice of public confession and penance.But it is probable that the origin, or at least the chief
encouragement, of the practice of auricular confession is rather to be
looked for in _monasticism_.Offences against the rule of the Order
had to be confessed before the whole community; and it was assumed
that the only other grave offences likely to happen in the monastic
life would be those of thought.These had to be confessed in private
to the abbat.The influences of monasticism were by no means bounded
by the monastery walls; and it is probable that the rule of private
confession by the brethren to the abbat had much to do with the custom
of private confession by the laity to the priest.Daniel moved to the office.But it is carefully
to be noted that for a considerable period the chief considerations
are the penitent's admission of his sins and the fixing of the
penance.Only gradually does the further idea of the absolution of the
penitent by the body or the individual that hears the confession come
in; and at last it becomes the main idea.Confession once a year to a
priest was made compulsory by the Lateran Council in 1215; but various
local synods had made similar regulations at earlier periods; _e.g._
the Council of Toulouse in 1129, and of Liège in 710.[97] But when we
have reached these regulations we have once more advanced very far
indeed beyond what is prescribed by St.There cannot be much doubt what is the main idea with St.James:
"Confess therefore your sins one to another, and _pray_ one for
another, that ye may be healed.The _supplication_ of a righteous man
availeth much in its working.Elijah... _prayed fervently_.... And he
_prayed again_," etc.It is in order that we may _induce others to
pray for us_ that we are to confess our sins to them; and this is the
great motive which underlies the public confession of the primitive
Church.As Hooker well expresses it, "The greatest thing which made
men forward and willing upon their knees to confess whatever they had
committed against God... was their fervent desire to be helped and
assisted with the prayers of God's saints."And the meaning of these
prayers is strikingly expressed by Tertullian, who thus addresses the
penitent in need of such intercession: "Where one and two meet, there
is a Church; and a Church is Christ.John went to the hallway.Therefore, when thou dost stretch
forth thy hands to the knees of thy brethren, it is Christ that thou
touchest, Christ on whom thou prevailest.Just so, when _they_ shed
tears over _thee_, it is Christ who feels compassion, Christ who is
entreating the Father.Readily doth He ever grant that which the Son
requests" (_De Pœnit._ x.).To unburden his own heart was one
benefit of the penitent's confession; to obtain the intercession of
others for his forgiveness and recovery was another; and the latter
was the chief reason for confessing to man; confession to God might
effect the other.The primitive forms of absolution, when confession
was made to a priest, were precatory rather than declaratory.John journeyed to the kitchen."May the
Lord absolve thee" (_Dominus absolvat_) was changed in the West to "I
absolve thee," in the twelfth century.From the Sarum Office the
latter formula passed into the First Prayer Book of Edward VI., in the
Visitation of the Sick, and has remained there unchanged; but in 1552
the concluding words of the preceding rubric, "and the same forme of
absolucion shalbe used in all pryvate confessions," were omitted.[98]
In the Greek Church the form of absolution after private confession is
precatory:--
"O my spiritual child, who dost confess to my humility, _I, a humble
sinner, have no power on earth to remit sins_._This God alone can
do._ Yet by reason of that Divine charge which was committed to the
Apostles after the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the
words, Whose soever sins ye forgive, etc., and by that encouraged,
_we_ say, Whatsoever thou hast confessed to my most lowly humility,
and whatsoever thou hast omitted to confess, either through ignorance
or any forgetfulness, _may God forgive thee_, both in this world and
in that which is to come."And this is followed by a prayer very
similar to the absolution: "God... forgive thee, by the ministry of
me a sinner, all thy sins, both in this world and in that which is to
come, and present thee blameless at His dread tribunal.Go in peace,
and think no more of the faults which thou hast confessed."Mary went to the office.The "_we_
say" holds fast to the doctrine that it is to the Church as a whole,
and not to Peter or any individual minister, that the words, "Whose
soever sins ye forgive, they are forgiven unto them" (John xx."The supplication of a righteous man availeth much in its working."Daniel went back to the bedroom."The effectual earnest prayer" of the Authorized Version cannot be
justified: either "effectual" or "earnest" must be struck out, as
there is only one word (ἐνεργουμένη) in the original; moreover, the
word for "prayer" is not the same as before (δέησις, not εὐχή).But it may be doubted whether "earnest" is not better than "in its
working."Perhaps "in its earnestness" would be better than either:
"Great is the strength of a righteous man's supplication, in its
earnestness."Daniel moved to the hallway.James proves the efficacy of a righteous
man's prayer is interesting and important in two respects:--
1.It is the only evidence that we have that the great drought in the
time of Ahab was prayed for by Elijah, and it is the only direct
evidence that he prayed for the rain which put an end to it.We are
told that Elijah _prophesied_ the drought (1 Kings xvii.1) and the
rain (1 Kings xviii.41); and that before the rain he put himself in
an attitude of prayer, with his face between his knees (ver.42); but
that he prayed, and for the rain which he had foretold, is not stated.James is an inference from these
statements, or based on independent tradition, must remain uncertain.We read in Ecclesiasticus of Elijah that by "the word of the Lord he
shut up (held back) the heaven" (xlviii.3); but that seems to refer
to prophecy rather than to prayer.The difference, if there be any,
between the duration of the drought as stated here and by St.25), and as stated in the Book of the Kings, will not be a
stumbling-block to any who recognize that inspiration does not
necessarily make a man infallible in chronology.Three and a half
years (= 42 months = 1,260 days) was the traditional duration of times
of great calamity (Dan.6, 14;
xiii. 5).This passage supplies us with _Biblical authority for prayers for
changes of weather_, and the like; for the conduct of Elijah is
evidently put before us for our imitation.James carefully guards
against the objection that Elijah was a man gifted with miraculous
powers, and therefore no guide for ordinary people, by asserting that
he was a man of like nature (ὁμοιοπαθής) with ourselves.And let
us concede, for the sake of argument, that St.James may have been
mistaken in believing that Elijah prayed for the drought and for the
rain; yet still the fact remains that an inspired New Testament writer
puts before us, for our encouragement in prayer, a case in which
prayers for changes of weather were made and answered.And he
certainly exhorts us to pray for the recovery of the sick, which is an
analogous case.This kind of prayer seems to require special
consideration."Is it, then, according to the Divine will that when we are
individually suffering from the regularity of the course of
nature--suffering, for instance, from the want of rain, or the
superabundance of it--we should ask God to interfere with that
regularity?Why this fair creature chose so fairily
By the wayside to linger, we shall see;
But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse
And dream, when in the serpent prison-house,
Of all she list, strange or magnificent:
How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;
Whether to faint Elysium, or where
Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair
Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair;
Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine,
Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine;
Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine
Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line.And sometimes into cities she would send
Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend;
And once, while among mortals dreaming thus,
She saw the young Corinthian Lycius
Charioting foremost in the envious race,
Like a young Jove with calm uneager face,
And fell into a swooning love of him.Now on the moth-time of that evening dim
He would return that way, as well she knew,
To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew
The eastern soft wind, and his galley now
Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow
In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle
Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile
To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there
Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare.Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire;
For by some freakful chance he made retire
From his companions, and set forth to walk,
Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk:
Over the solitary hills he fared,
Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared
His phantasy was lost, where reason fades,
In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades.Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near--
Close to her passing, in indifference drear,
His silent sandals swept the mossy green;
So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen
She stood: he pass'd, shut up in mysteries,
His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes
Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white
Turn'd--syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright,
And will you leave me on the hills alone?He did; not with cold wonder fearingly,
But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;
For so delicious were the words she sung,
It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long:
And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,
Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,
And still the cup was full,--while he afraid
Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid
Due adoration, thus began to adore;
Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure:
"Leave thee alone!John went to the bedroom.Ah, Goddess, see
Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee!For pity do not this sad heart belie--
Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.though a Naiad of the rivers, stay!To thy far wishes will thy streams obey:
|
office | Where is Daniel? | though the greenest woods be thy domain,
Alone they can drink up the morning rain:
Though a descended Pleiad, will not one
Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune
Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine?So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine
Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade
Thy memory will waste me to a shade--
For pity do not melt!"John journeyed to the bedroom.--"If I should stay,"
Said Lamia, "here, upon this floor of clay,
And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough,
What canst thou say or do of charm enough
To dull the nice remembrance of my home?Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of immortality and bliss!Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know
That finer spirits cannot breathe below
In human climes, and live: Alas!Daniel moved to the office.poor youth,
What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe
My essence?What serener palaces,
Where I may all my many senses please,
And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?So said, she rose
Tiptoe with white arms spread.He, sick to lose
The amorous promise of her lone complain,
Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain.The cruel lady, without any show
Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe,
But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,
With brighter eyes and slow amenity,
Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh
The life she had so tangled in her mesh:
And as he from one trance was wakening
Into another, she began to sing,
Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,
A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,
While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires
And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone,
As those who, safe together met alone
For the first time through many anguish'd days,
Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise
His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt,
For that she was a woman, and without
Any more subtle fluid in her veins
Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains
Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.John went to the hallway.And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss
Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,
She dwelt but half retir'd, and there had led
Days happy as the gold coin could invent
Without the aid of love; yet in content
Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by,
Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully
At Venus' temple porch,'mid baskets heap'd
Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd
Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before
The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more,
But wept alone those days, for why should she adore?Lycius from death awoke into amaze,
To see her still, and singing so sweet lays;
Then from amaze into delight he fell
To hear her whisper woman's lore so well;
And every word she spake entic'd him on
To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known.Let the mad poets say whate'er they please
Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,
There is not such a treat among them all,
Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
As a real woman, lineal indeed
From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,
That Lycius could not love in half a fright,
So threw the goddess off, and won his heart
More pleasantly by playing woman's part,
With no more awe than what her beauty gave,
That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.Lycius to all made eloquent reply,
Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh;
And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet,
If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet.The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness
Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease
To a few paces; not at all surmised
By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized.They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how
So noiseless, and he never thought to know.As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all,
Throughout her palaces imperial,
And all her populous streets and temples lewd,
Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd,
To the wide-spreaded night above her towers.Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours,
Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white,
Companion'd or alone; while many a light
Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals,
And threw their moving shadows on the walls,
Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade
Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade.Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear,
Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near
With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown,
Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown:
Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past,
Into his mantle, adding wings to haste,
While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he,
"Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully?Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?"--
"I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who
Is that old man?I cannot bring to mind
His features--Lycius!wherefore did you blind
Yourself from his quick eyes?"Lycius replied,
'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide
And good instructor; but to-night he seems
The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams.John journeyed to the kitchen.While yet he spake they had arrived before
A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door,
Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow
Reflected in the slabbed steps below,
Mild as a star in water; for so new,
And so unsullied was the marble hue,
So through the crystal polish, liquid fine,
Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine
Could e'er have touch'd there.Sounds Aeolian
Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span
Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown
Some time to any, but those two alone,
And a few Persian mutes, who that same year
Were seen about the markets: none knew where
They could inhabit; the most curious
Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house:
And but the flitter-winged verse must tell,
For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel,
'Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus,
Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.Part 2
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is--Love, forgive us!--cinders, ashes, dust;
Love in a palace is perhaps at last
More grievous torment than a hermit's fast--
That is a doubtful tale from faery land,
Hard for the non-elect to understand.Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss
To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare,
Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,
Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar,
Above the lintel of their chamber door,
And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.For all this came a ruin: side by side
They were enthroned, in the even tide,
Upon a couch, near to a curtaining
Whose airy texture, from a golden string,
Floated into the room, and let appear
Unveil'd the summer heaven, blue and clear,
Betwixt two marble shafts:--there they reposed,
Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed,
Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
That they might see each other while they almost slept;
When from the <DW72> side of a suburb hill,
Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill
Of trumpets--Lycius started--the sounds fled,
But left a thought, a buzzing in his head.Mary went to the office.For the first time, since first he harbour'd in
That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,
His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn
Into the noisy world almost forsworn.The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,
Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
Of something more, more than her empery
Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
Because he mused beyond her, knowing well
That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell.Daniel went back to the bedroom.whisper'd he:
"Why do you think?"return'd she tenderly:
"You have deserted me--where am I now?Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:
No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go
From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so."He answer'd, bending to her open eyes,
Where he was mirror'd small in paradise,
My silver planet, both of eve and morn!Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
While I am striving how to fill my heart
With deeper crimson, and a double smart?Daniel moved to the hallway.How to entangle, trammel up and snare
Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?Ay, a sweet kiss--you see your mighty woes.What mortal hath a prize, that other men
May be confounded and abash'd withal,
But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,
And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice."Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,
While through the thronged streets your bridal car
Wheels round its dazzling spokes."The lady's cheek
Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,
Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain
Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain
Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung,
To change his purpose.He thereat was stung,
Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim
Her wild and timid nature to his aim:
Besides, for all his love, in self despite,
Against his better self, he took delight
Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue
Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible
In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.Fine was the mitigated fury, like
Apollo's presence when in act to strike
The serpent--Ha, the serpent!certes, she
Was none.She burnt, she lov'd the tyranny,
And, all subdued, consented to the hour
When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.John went to the bedroom.Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth,
"Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth,
I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee
Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny,
As still I do.Hast any mortal name,
Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth,
To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?""I have no friends," said Lamia," no, not one;
My presence in wide Corinth hardly known:
My parents' bones are in their dusty urns
Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,
Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me,
And I neglect the holy rite for thee.Even as you list invite your many guests;
But if, as now it seems, your vision rests
With any pleasure on me, do not bid
Old Apollonius--from him keep me hid."Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,
Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade
Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd
It was the custom then to bring away
The bride from home at blushing shut of day,
Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
With other pageants: but this fair unknown
Had not a friend.So being left alone,
(Lycius was gone to summon all his kin)
And knowing surely she could never win
His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,
She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress
The misery in fit magnificence.She did so, butSandra moved to the kitchen.Daniel moved to the office. |
office | Where is Mary? | About the halls, and to and from the doors,
There was a noise of wings, till in short space
The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace.A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade
Of palm and plantain, met from either side,
High in the midst, in honour of the bride:
Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,
From either side their stems branch'd one to one
All down the aisled place; and beneath all
There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.So canopied, lay an untasted feast
Teeming with odours.Lamia, regal drest,
Silently paced about, and as she went,
In pale contented sort of discontent,
Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich
The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first,
Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst
Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,
And with the larger wove in small intricacies.Approving all, she faded at self-will,
And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still,
Complete and ready for the revels rude,
When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude.The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout.wherefore flout
The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours,
And show to common eyes these secret bowers?The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain,
Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain,
And enter'd marveling: for they knew the street,
Remember'd it from childhood all complete
Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen
That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne;
So in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen:
Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe,
And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere;
'Twas Apollonius: something too he laugh'd,
As though some knotty problem, that had daft
His patient thought, had now begun to thaw,
And solve and melt--'twas just as he foresaw.He met within the murmurous vestibule
His young disciple."'Tis no common rule,
Lycius," said he, "for uninvited guest
To force himself upon you, and infest
With an unbidden presence the bright throng
Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong,
And you forgive me."Lycius blush'd, and led
The old man through the inner doors broad-spread;
With reconciling words and courteous mien
Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen.Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
Fill'd with pervading brilliance and perfume:
Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft
Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke
From fifty censers their light voyage took
To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose
Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous.Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered,
High as the level of a man's breast rear'd
On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold
Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told
Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine
Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine.Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.When in an antichamber every guest
Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd,
By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet,
And fragrant oils with ceremony meet
Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast
In white robes, and themselves in order placed
Around the silken couches, wondering
Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring.Soft went the music the soft air along,
While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong
Kept up among the guests discoursing low
At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow;
But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains,
Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
Of powerful instruments--the gorgeous dyes,
The space, the splendour of the draperies,
The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer,
Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear,
Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed,
And every soul from human trammels freed,
No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine,
Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine.Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height;
Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright:
Garlands of every green, and every scent
From vales deflower'd, or forest-trees branch rent,
In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought
High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought
Of every guest; that each, as he did please,
Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd at his ease.What for the sage, old Apollonius?Upon her aching forehead be there hung
The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue;
And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him
The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim
Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,
Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
War on his temples.Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine--
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.Mary journeyed to the office.By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place,
Scarce saw in all the room another face,
Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took
Full brimm'd, and opposite sent forth a look
'Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance
From his old teacher's wrinkled countenance,
And pledge him.The bald-head philosopher
Had fix'd his eye, without a twinkle or stir
Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride,
Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride.Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,
As pale it lay upon the rosy couch:
'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains
Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart.He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot
Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal:
More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel:
Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs;
There was no recognition in those orbs.he cried--and no soft-toned reply.The many heard, and the loud revelry
Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes;
The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths.By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased;
A deadly silence step by step increased,
Until it seem'd a horrid presence there,
And not a man but felt the terror in his hair.he shriek'd; and nothing but the shriek
With its sad echo did the silence break.he cried, gazing again
In the bride's face, where now no azure vein
Wander'd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom
Misted the cheek; no passion to illume
The deep-recessed vision--all was blight;
Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white."Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man!or the righteous ban
Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images
Here represent their shadowy presences,
May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn
Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn,
In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright
Of conscience, for their long offended might,
For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries,
Unlawful magic, and enticing lies.Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch
Around his demon eyes!My sweet bride withers at their potency."said the sophist, in an under-tone
Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan
From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost,
He sank supine beside the aching ghost.repeated he, while his eyes still
Relented not, nor mov'd; "from every ill
Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day,
And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?"Then Lamia breath'd death breath; the sophist's eye,
Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly,
Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well
As her weak hand could any meaning tell,
Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so,
He look'd and look'd again a level--No!echoed he; no sooner said,
Than with a frightful scream she vanished:
And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,
As were his limbs of life, from that same night.On the high couch he lay!--his friends came round
Supported him--no pulse, or breath they found,
And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound.Nick was never happier than when engaged in his favorite
conversation concerning appetizing things to eat.Indeed, there was
only one thing he liked better; and this was to indulge in the actual
demonstration itself, and devour the finished product of the cook's
skill.The others started up, thinking that
perhaps Jack had made an unusually fine haul, or been pulled in himself
by a large fish.George was just breaking through the scrub near by,
and he echoed the shout of Jimmy."Look at the _Wireless_, would you, fellows?she's bewitched,
that's what!"was what he whooped, as he started to run toward them.And as they turned their eyes in the direction of the erratic speed
boat, what was their amazement to see the little craft moving away at a
fast pace, although the engine was quite dead and cold, and not the
first sign of a human being could be detected aboard.It was a mystery that sent a cold chill through every heart!GOOD-BYE TO AN ANCHOR.demanded George, as he reached the
others."Look around and you'll see we're all here, with Jack running like mad
this way," observed Herb, indignantly."But what in the Sam Hill ails the bally old boat, then?"exclaimed
George, as he turned his eyes again on the fast receding _Wireless_,
that was heading out from the shore."It's some trick of a native cracker; he's swimming under water, and
pulling the boat after him.We've got to get in the other boats and
give chase," declared shrewd Josh."It's mighty queer, that's all!"gasped Nick; while Jimmy stood as if
turned into stone, his eyes round with fear and superstition, for Jimmy
had inherited the regular Irish belief in banshees and ghosts.George made a dash for the nearest boat, which happened to be the
_Tramp_.shouted the owner of that craft, who was putting on a
spurt in order to reach them quickly, having forgotten all about his
finny prizes in this new and overwhelming discovery.He came up on the run, but already Herb was in the _Comfort_, about to
start the engine."No need, Herb," gasped Jack, "George and myself can overtake it with
the _Tramp_."But glory be, what ails the ould thing?"demanded Jimmy, determined
not to let the commodore get away without some explanation of the
puzzle.said Jack, as he busied himself with the
motor."A big fish, perhaps a wandering shark, has fouled the anchor
rope, and getting badly rattled, has put off at full speed, dragging
the boat after him.He's headed for the nearest inlet at this very
minute; but we'll beat him at that little game, won't we, George?"Then the rattle of the motor sounded, and immediately the _Tramp_ set
off in the wake of the runaway motor boat.A more surprised lot of boys it would have been difficult to find than
those thus left upon the little sandy beach on Cedar Island.They
stared after the two boats, and then turned to look at each other."Beats Bannigher, so it does," declared Jimmy, though it could be seen
that a humorous expression had taken the place of that look of fear on
his freckled face."A shark got mussed up in the anchor rope, and then set out to steal
the whole outfit!""Well, of all the funny things,
don't that take the cake, though?""That silly old boat of George's seems to me is always cutting up some
sort of capers.Daniel went to the bedroom.She's the toughest proposition ever," Josh declared."That's what I'm saying all the blessed time," grunted Nick,
unconsciously beginning to feel of his various joints, as though the
mere mention of the _Wireless_ made him remember his aches."But can they overtake the measly thing?"Josh asked, watching
nervously to see if he could determine how the race was progressing."Just because the _Wireless_ is the faster boat, don't think Jack isn't
going to run her down, hand over fist," declared Herb."Already he's
gaining on the other.You see, the shark isn't used to towing a boat
like that at race-horse speed.And then the anchor bothers him some, I
bet you.""Will George shoot the monster-- |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | George has his gun in his hands, and
seems to be looking over, as if he'd just like to shoot; but pshaw!the
shark will stick to the bottom right along, and he can't be touched."It was evident to them all that unless some other line of action was
brought into play the pursuers would have a pretty hard time of it
outwitting the thief that refused to show himself near the surface.But they knew Jack would be equal to any occasion, and it was with more
or less curiosity rather than alarm that those ashore stood there,
watching, and waiting to see the close of the exciting little drama."There, George has put down his gun; and I reckon Jack told him it was
no good trying to cop the old pirate that way.Now what's he doing,
fellows?""I saw the sunlight shine on something he's got in his hand," declared
Herb."That's roight," Jimmy observed, with conviction."And it's a knife he
is howldin', so it is."I hope that foolish and rash George isn't
thinking of going overboard, and engaging the man-eater in a fight,
just like I've read those pearl divers do!"what d'ye think George is made of to play such a foolish game?""It's to cut the anchor rope the laddy buck means to
thry!""That's right, Jimmy; and you can be sure it was Jack put him wise to
that," Herb broke in with."But," Nick went on, still half dazed, "he'll never see his blessed old
anchor any more, will he?The blooming old shark will run off with it.""Let him," laughed Josh, in derision."Better to lose a measly anchor
than have the boat go to smash.Looky, fellows, he's going to do it
right now!"Every one of them stared as hard as he could.The two boats had not
gone so far off but what a pair of good eyes could observe what was
taking place, even though night was coming on apace, with some clouds
gathering overhead.Jack had run the _Tramp_ alongside the erratic runaway, and George was
seen to clamber aboard his own boat.Of course, after that it would be
a simple job to press the keen edge of Jack's knife upon the strained
anchor rope.shouted Jimmy, as the _Wireless_ was noticed to fall
suddenly behind the other craft, as though relieved from the unseen
force that had been towing her away at such a headlong pace.And presently the speed boat was seen to move of her own accord, George
having turned his engine, and thrown on power.They came back side by side, the skippers laughing heartily at the
harmless end of what had at one time threatened to prove a calamity."No harm done except that I must buy a new cable and anchor at
Beaufort," said George, as he once more drew up by the side of the
_Comfort_."I've got a spare rope I can lend you till then," spoke up Herb, who
liked to fish up all manner of contraptions from the depths of the
roomy craft, and see the surprise written on the faces of his chums.So, after all, the excitement died out, though they would never forget
their amazement at seeing the boat rushing off without any visible
reason for its flight.Jack went back and secured the finny prizes that he had taken, upon
which Josh set Jimmy to work, as the Irish boy was a master hand at
cleaning fish.George, it turned out, had knocked down a whole covey
of small birds, and several of them got busy plucking the feathers from
these.Nick was willing to do what he could, but truth to tell, he proved so
clumsy at the task that it took him the whole time to get just one
little bird ready, while Jack and Herb did six apiece.Of course, they feasted that night, and considerable of the talk around
the camp-fire concerned the late adventure."It might have been much more serious," George declared."That's a fact," added Josh, wagging his long head, solemnly, as was
his custom."Suppose now that same thing had happened in the middle of
the night?we never would have known what had become of the
blessed old _Wireless_.Jimmy here would have said the ghosts had
carried her off.""Even if that shark had had a better start he might have given us a
long chase before we caught him.And you fellows saw how quick it got
dark tonight, with the clouds hanging over us," George continued."What would you have done in that case, Jack?""Do you mean if we found ourselves far out on the dark sound?"Mary journeyed to the office."Why, I reckon we could have heard you shout; and
if that failed there was the fire.Oh, I don't doubt we'd have found
some way to get back here, all in good time!"By ten o'clock the sky had cleared again, so that they concluded to
keep to the original plan, which included a night ashore.George was
seen to pay particular attention about fastening his boat to the others
with an extra cable."He's meaning to make things secure," chuckled Josh."Yes, one experience is quite enough for George, sometimes," commented
Herb."If another shark gets the fever, and tries to run away with an
anchor, he's just got to take the entire bunch.""Yes, and the whole island in the bargain, because they've fastened the
boats to that tree, you notice," Josh observed.Their hopes of a good, quiet night suffered no blight, for nothing
happened to disturb their sleep, and morning found them eager to go on.They fully expected reaching Beaufort before long now, when the
mysterious little packet could be delivered to the party to whom it was
addressed, if they were fortunate enough to find him.Young Spence did
not seem to be sure that this Van Arsdale Spence still lived near
Beaufort, as he evidently once had done; but still Jack had hopes of
succeeding, since they seemed to carry such luck along with them.It was eight o'clock when they got started.As usual, George detained
them, finding occasion to do some more little necessary tinkering with
that miserable engine of his, that was forever getting out of order.Cove Sound lay shimmering in the sunlight as the three little boats
left the friendly beach of Cedar Island, and once more cut a passage
through the water, with their prows turned southward."I only hope," Jack had said at starting, "that it is a good omen, and
that we will be able to get on the track of the party without too much
delay."And so they started on the last leg that was to take them to Beaufort.They made such fair speed that, as noon came along, they realized they
could reach the little city on the sound.Once or twice Jack had been
tempted to turn in to the shore, especially when he saw what looked to
be a very pretty plantation, with the house having a red roof, and
nestling in among many trees, for the idea had occurred to him that he
might just happen on some valuable information concerning the party
whom they sought.But it ended in his determining that on the whole he had better curb
his impatience until reaching Beaufort.At the postoffice he might get
in touch with some one who knew.When they pulled in they had eaten a little bite of cold stuff, as it
was not their intention to stop to cook anything.Jack himself set off for the postoffice, to secure what mail awaited
them, and at the same time make certain inquiries."Can you tell me anything about a certain party named Van Arsdale
Spence?"he asked the postmaster, after receiving several letters."He used to live near here," he said, finally."Yes, we understood that, and I want to find him very much," Jack went
on."You passed his old home as you came here, and perhaps you noticed the
house in among the trees, the one with the red-tiled roof?"Jack exclaimed, "and I was tempted to put in
there, to make inquiries, but changed my mind.Then we must turn back,
and go there?""Wouldn't do any good, young man.Spence no longer lives there,"
he said."Do you happen to know where he could be found, sir?I have a very
important message to deliver to him, which I promised to hand over
while we were passing along this section of the coast."To the surprise of Jack the official looked grave."The rules of the department are very strict, sir, and prevent me from
telling you where Mr.Then seeing Jack's
look of bitter disappointment, and partly relenting, he continued: "But
there's a party over yonder who knows just as well as I do, and is
under no restrictions either.A drink, or a quarter, would do the
business with Pete Smalling.""Thank you; I'll make the try anyway," and Jack hurried across to where
he saw a rather disreputable citizen standing leaning against a fence,
chewing a straw."Excuse me, are you Pete Smalling?"The cracker looked him over, and then grinned.Evidently he recognized
that the other was a stranger in the community.Perhaps, too, he
scented two bits, and later on a happy time in his favorite tavern
taproom."Them's my name, Mistah; what kin I do foh yuh?"he remarked, with the
true Southern accent."I want to see a certain party named Van Arsdale Spence, and the
postmaster told me you would know and could direct me."Jack managed in some way to slip a piece of silver into the hand of the
other.It had the result of making him talkative."He was right, stranger, I does happen tuh know thet same, an' kin take
yuh tuh whah Mistah Spence is aholin' out right now.Yuh see, it's tuh
the south o' hyah, quite a peart ways, p'raps half hour er more.""Wall, now, I reckon I knows, but she's thet hard tuh tell.Gut a
boat, Mistah, aint yuh?""Yes, we've got three power boats with us.Jack went on, beginning to understand how
profitable it was to know a thing, and yet be quite unable to describe
its location.Wall, nothin' is surer than thet same, suh; allers pervided
yuh made it wuth my time.I'm ginerally a busy man, yuh see, suh."Jack thought he must be, as long as he had a dime in his pocket with
which to pay for the stuff he guzzled; but then that was no affair of
his right then; what he wanted was to find Spence."Would a dollar pay you for showing us?"Jack asked, with an air of
business that no doubt impressed the loafer."Jest consider me engaged, Mistah.Take me tuh yer boat; on'y its gut
tuh be understood that I'm tuh be fetched back heah again.If Spence
cain't bring me, yuh promise tuh do hit, do yuh?""Yes, I guess I'm safe in making that promise.Then come along with me
down to the water front.Jack went on, believing in the old maxim that causes one to strike
while the iron is hot."But I hain't had any dinner," said the fellow, with a cunning leer.we'll see that you get plenty to eat on the way.Our time is limited, and we want to be going."Thet's all right, Mistah; yuh kin count on me, suh.A whole dollah
yuh sed, didn't yuh, suh; and make out tuh git me back in Beaufort
agin?"Daniel went to the bedroom.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom."Yes, a dollar and a return ticket.On the way Jack made several purchases that caused the hungry Pete to
lick his chops, and hope he would be able to soon meet up with that
promised lunch, for he was getting more and more hungry now with every
passing minute.That twenty-five cents in his pocket felt like it
weighed a ton, too, and he wondered if the young fellow, who he saw was
a Northerner or a Yankee, as all such are called below Mason and
Dixon's line, would wait for him while he exchanged it in a saloon.But Jack hurried along, so that they arrived at the place where the
three boats had been tied up before Pete could quite make up his mind
what he ought to do.Jack determined that he had not returned any too soon.A little crowd
of rowdies had gathered near, and were beginning to make remarks about
the boats and those aboard.Beaufort was no different from any other
place, north or south; there are always some rough characters to be
found, and when the town lies on the water it is generally the case
that they frequent the landings.George was sitting on deck, apparently shining up his gun.Jack knew,
however, that this was all pretense, and that his chum wanted to let it
be known that those in the motor boat flotilla were well armed, and,
moreover, knew how to take care of themselves.Pete was taken aboard the _Tramp_, because Jack wanted to talk with him
while on the way.Just as Jack had
anticipated, some of the fellows on the shore called insultingly after
them."Don't pay any attention to them," he cautioned his mates.It was hard to stand being abused without having done the least thing
to deserve such treatment, but all the boys knew the wisdom of
controlling their tempers under provocation.Then, finding that no attention was paid to their remarks, the fellows
started to hurling stones after the boats.Fortunately, when they
thought of this means for making a display of their rowdyism, the small
craft had gained such headway that they could not reach them with the
missiles.Several splashed water aboard and came near striking home,
but Jack breathed easy when he realized that they had passed beyond
range of the missiles."That's a fine bunch of scoundrels," he said, partly to Jimmy."They don't mean any harm, Mistah; that's on'y th' way they hes o'
havin' fun," Pete remarked, at which Jimmy laughed scornfully.he said, with a gleam of anger in his blue eyes; "sure
it's little the big trotters 'd care if one of thim stones would be
after hittin' us on the head and knocking the daylight out of us.It'd give me great pleasure, so it would, to have a chanct
to teach some of thim manners.An' I could do it, too, d'ye mind, for
all I'm but a broth of a bhoy."Jack began to ask a few questions of the fellow, whom Jimmy had soon
supplied with an abundance of food."It's on'y a few miles tuh whar Mistah Spence holds out now, suh, an'
we kin git thar right peart in this fine little boat," the other was
saying, when Jimmy broke into the conversation by exclaiming:
"Looky yonder, Jack, darlint; d'ye twig the two gossoons wagging a
handkerchief at us?I belave they've got a motor boat
half under water, and do be havin' an accident of some sort.How now,
Commodore, do we be after puttin' in to the rescue?""You're right, Jimmy," remarked Jack, "they have got a boat of some
kind partly filled.Perhaps they went too near the shore and got
snagged on a stump or a rock.But we just can't pass them by and
pretend we don't see them.remarked George, "what else is going to detain us?Seems to me we've just done nothing but hold out a helping hand ever
since we started on this blooming trip.""But you know the rules of the road, and the law of the cruiser--'do as
you'd be done by,'" said Jack, who had changed his course and was
heading straight for the shore, where the two men stood up to their
knees in water beside their partly submerged motor boat."We hit something, and punched a hole in the boat," one of them
explained, as Jack and his chums came up."And if you'd only give us a lift a few miles we'd be very grateful,
and would gladly pay for what it was worth," the other, who looked like
a lawyer, hastened to say."That's all right, gentlemen," Jack remarked, hospitably."Climb
aboard the big boat.We're only going a short distance, however, to a
little place where Van Arsdale Spence is now living."Sandra went to the bedroom.The two |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | "Why," said the shorter one, who seemed to be a man of some authority,
perhaps a marshal, or even a sheriff of the county, "that's queer, but
we're bound for that same place ourselves, strangers!""Do you mean that you were on your way to see Mr.Spence at the time
your boat struck a snag?"asked Jack, surprised and perplexed at the
same time."That's just what we were, my boy," replied the other, looking
curiously at Jack, as though naturally wondering what sort of mission
could be taking this flotilla of Northern motor boats to visit the
party in question.Jack would have liked to ask questions, but realized that such a course
would be bordering on the impudent.There might be numerous people
interested in Van Arsdale Spence besides the young aviator whom they
had agreed to assist by carrying the packet to the coast town."In that case you have only to remain aboard here, and we will land
you.I have a pilot with me, to lead us right," he remarked."So I see, old Pete Smalling, eh?Pete, struck a job at last,
after looking for ten years?"remarked the man, winking at the hungry
passenger, who was disposing of his food at a prodigious rate of speed."I reckon as I hev, Mistah Marshal," answered the other, with
considerable of respect in his voice and manner.So Jack knew his surmise was correct, and that the heavy-set individual
was an officer of the law, after all.But what he could be going to
see Spence for, was of course beyond his power to guess.The planter
who had owned that fine place now seemed to be living in what might be
called seclusion.Had he done anything for which he could be taken to
task by the law?Jack hoped not, for the sake of that fine young
aviator, Malcolm Spence, who must surely be some relative, and was
deeply interested in his welfare.The boats moved on in company, so that it was possible to converse back
and forth if any of them so desired.Spence must have lived around here quite some
time?"Jack remarked a little later, as the man smiled encouragingly
toward him."All his life, suh, all his life.He was born on that spot north of
Beaufort; yes, and his father before him, I reckon.It never has gone
out of the hands of the Spences up to now," came the ready reply.Mary journeyed to the office.by the way, did this gentleman ever have any family?""I should reckon he did that, suh--three fine gals, an' just one son.The gals they stick by him through it all; but the boy, he left the old
man goin' on two yeahs now.It's nigh about broke his heart, I heah.""I don't suppose that this son's name could have been Malcolm?"suggested Jack, pretty sure of his ground now."That's just what it was, suh, Malcolm Gregory Spence.They was a time
when we all'spected he was going to make something out of himself,
because you see the boy was mighty clever; but he quarreled with his
old man and went off.P'raps he's dead by now.The old man thinks so,
leastways; though one of the gals don't seem to believe that way."In some way, Malcolm, estranged from his
family, had managed to learn about their recent financial troubles, and
that they had left the old home, to go, he knew not where.And Jack, as he pressed his hand over the pocket where he had again
secreted that mysterious missive, only hoped that it would bring joy
and happiness into the home of the Spences.How pleasant it would seem
to be the bearer of good news.He said nothing more, though having discovered this much he could
easily guess that the errand of the marshal must have some connection
with the breaking of the last tie that would hold the Spence family to
the old home up the Sound.Perhaps the marshal and the lawyer were on
their way to inform the owner that foreclosure proceedings had been
instituted, and to get his signature to documents that were necessary
to the proper carrying out of the sad business.Pete, having stowed away an incredible amount of stuff, so that he
could hardly draw a full breath, began to manifest more or less
interest in their progress.He suggested little changes in the course
they were taking, and presently broke out with:
"Thar, if so be yuh jest look yondah, suh, p'raps ye kin see a boat
tied up tuh a stake.Thet's whar old Van Arsdale lives now, a fishin'
shack on a patch o' ground he happens tuh own.Daniel went to the bedroom.But I done heard as how
them slick gals o' his'n gone an' made even sech a tough place look
kinder homelike.An' see, thar's the ole man right now, alookin'
toward us, wonderin' who we be."Jack could easily see all that the other described.It was a lonely
place for a man to bring his three sweet daughters; but doubtless
necessity compelled such a thing.The man with the white mustache and goatee, who looked like a real
Kentucky colonel, Jack thought, walked down to the rude little dock to
meet them.Of course, he recognized the marshal, who must have been an
old acquaintance of his; and had little difficulty in guessing the
errand that was probably bringing him there.Then three young girls came running down to gather about the old man,
as if suspecting the coming of new trouble they wished to be near to
help him bear his cross.And again did he hope
that the message from the absent son and brother might soften the blow
that seemed about to fall upon this devoted little family.They reached the landing and hastened to get ashore; all but Pete, who
had developed a second-stage appetite, and started in eating again,
regardless of all other matters.The old planter stood there like a lion at bay, with his three
daughters clinging to him.It was a pretty picture, that would often
come up in the memory of the boys when far away from the scene itself.He seemed to be paying particular attention to the marshal, who stepped
forward and gravely shook hands with him.Burrows, and looked to see you some time
today," was the way Mr."And as I wrote you, Spence," the marshal replied, "I'm only here in my
official capacity to carry out the execution of the law's demands.As
your friend, suh, I deeply sympathize with you in your troubles, but
being sworn to do my duty, however painful it may be, there was no
choice left to me."This is only a mere matter of
routine, anyway.The blow fell months ago, when I had to leave my old
home.I thought I might save it in some way by keeping myself
secreted, in the hope that several friends in another part of the
country would come to my assistance.But that hope no longer exists,
sir, and I am now ready to do whatever is required.""There is no hurry, Spence," the marshal went on, curiosity concerning
the mission of the motor boat boys getting the better of him, "and as
these gentlemen happened to rescue us from a very serious position,
since our boat was wrecked, and they were even then on the way to visit
you, perhaps you would like to talk with them, suh."Spence noticed the presence of the boys for the
first time then.He looked at them with a puzzled brow, as though
unable to guess what such a party of pleasure seekers could want with a
broken-hearted Southern planter.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.So Jack at once stepped forward, while his mates gathered in a clump,
eagerly observing every little thing that transpired."While we were coming down the Delaware River, sir, starting on our
long coast cruise, we happened to come in contact with a young aviator,
who had alighted on the water close by us in a new hydro-aeroplane.When he mentioned his name we recognized it as belonging to a daring
aviator who had suddenly jumped into national fame as one of the most
skillful of his class.He heard of our plans, and that in all
probability we would pass close to Beaufort.And he asked us to bear a
packet to a Mr.Van Arsdale Spence, whose present place of residence he
did not seem to know, but believed we would be able to learn it after
we arrived here.So I am pleased, sir, to hand you the sealed message
that was given to us by your son, now famous in the world of aviation,
Mr.The old planter started, and turned pale as his trembling hand was
outstretched to take the packet.Indeed, he was utterly unable to open
it, so that one of his daughters proceeded to do this for him.how he did hope that it would be good news,
for if ever any one had need of cheering intelligence this old,
broken-down man did.He saw him adjust his glasses and commence to read.Sandra went to the bedroom.Already had the
three girls gleaned all that was contained in that missive, and from
their happy faces Jack understood that it was all right.If he had any doubt he had only to look at the face of the planter.First it was eager, then yearning, and finally he turned to the marshal
with possibly the first laugh that had burst from his lips these many
moons.you're having your journey for your pains, Burrows!""The old place isn't going to leave the Spence family after all.this is from my boy, and directs me to go to the bank in Beaufort, to
which he has transmitted funds to make the first payment that will save
our home!More will follow as soon as he hears from us.Money is
flowing in on him, money and honors as thick as they can come.And his
heart has gone out to the father and sisters he left years ago.It's
all right, Burrows, thanks to these kind boys who have borne his
message to me."He went around, shaking the hand of every one with vehemence.And no
one looked happier than the marshal, upon learning that stern duty
after all would not compel him to take from his old friend the home of
his ancestors."But it was a close shave, let me say," was his remark later on to
Jack, as they all started to gather under the humble roof of the
fisherman's shack which the devotion of those three brave daughters had
almost beautified, so that the old man might not be too much broken
down; "another day would have been too late.""Then I'm glad that storms and breakdowns did not keep us from getting
here on time," said the commodore of the Motor Boat Club.MEETING TROUBLE HALF WAY.Jack had been studying his coast survey charts seriously of late.He knew that there were a few hardships before them ere they could
anchor in front of Florida's metropolis on the St.And as it was only right that every member of the club should share in
the discussion as to their course, he gave them to understand that
there would be held a caucus on the very next night.Mary journeyed to the hallway.At the lower end of Bogue Sound amid the sedge grass they hoped to make
their next camp, when this question would be debated from every side,
and the plan of campaign adopted as majority decided.When they were getting ready to leave the Spence family, Jack felt some
one pulling at his sleeve, and looking around discovered that it was
old Pete."How 'bout that ere dollar, boss?""That's a fact, I came near forgetting you, Pete," laughed Jack."And
to prove that it wasn't intentional, here's double pay for you.I
guess we've had enough pleasure out of this to count for two dollars.""That's mighty nice of you-all," declared the fellow, actually showing
something like gratitude in his manner, as he held out a hand for Jack
to shake."An' mout I be so bold as tuh'mind yuh thet I don't hanker
'bout stayin' down heah any longer than I has tuh.Yuh promised tuh
see I gut back tuh Beaufort, suh," he said."He's got you there, Jack, for that's just what you did," laughed Herb."I reckon that money'll burn a hole in Pete's pocket, unless he manages
to get to town right smart," declared the marshal; "but Mr.Spence heah
has got an old sail boat in which the hull lot of us is goin' to head
foh Beaufort soon.Pete is welcome to go along, if he cares."Daniel travelled to the kitchen."That pleases us a whole lot," remarked George, "because, you see, we
had a nasty little experience with some toughs along the water front,
and they bombarded us with a shower of stones as we pulled out, though
fortunately none of them struck either the boats or ourselves.""Yes, and as we've got a long trip ahead of us before we reach the
place we marked for the end of the motor boat cruise, the sooner we
make a start the better.So we'll say good-bye to you all; and Mr.Spence, best wishes for your future happiness.Perhaps some day we may
run across that famous son of yours again, because he took our home
address and said he meant to get in touch with us.We'd all like to
meet him again, eh, boys?"and Jack turned to his chums as he asked
this.declared Nick, who had been especially interested in the
wonderful hydro-aeroplane, and even hinted that some day he also hoped
to fly through the upper currents in one, much to the amusement of his
comrades, who roared every time any one tried to picture the fat boy
trying such stunts.So they shook hands all around, not forgetting the three charming
girls, who seemed very friendly disposed toward the Yankee boys, after
discovering what fine news the voyagers had brought their father.As the three motor boats put out upon the sun-kissed water the girls
waved dainty handkerchiefs as long as they could see the fleet.Then a
change of course shut out the fishing shack, where love had made a home
for the planter in his hour of adversity."After all, that was a most satisfying adventure, fellows," Jack
remarked, for the other boats were close by at the time."I should say, yes," admitted Josh."Only thing I didn't like," declared Nick, who was looking quite
unhappy, they began to notice, as though a spell of sea sickness had
gripped him, "was that we had to break away just when we were getting
to know 'em."At that frank admission the rest broke into roars of laughter."So that's the way the tide sets, is it?""Why, sure," cried Josh, "didn't you see how smitten Nick was with that
little brunette with the snapping big black eyes?She was pretty, all
right, and ten to one he's got her address, because I saw him writing
something down in his note book, sure as you live."But Nick faced them, rosy red but defiant."Don't care if I did," he said, with a decided shake of his head."It's just rank jealousy on Josh's part that makes him say that;
because Betty wouldn't notice him even a little bit.Now, let's talk
of something else.I don't care to bring the lady's name into the
discussion.""And he's quite right, too, boys," asserted Jack, positively, and
immediately switched the talk to another subject.They made decent progress during the hours that they kept on.In
Beaufort they had managed to renew their supply of gasolene, so that
they now had sufficient of the fuel to see them through for some time.Once they reached Charleston it would be necessary to lay in another
lot.But there was a hard proposition before them ere they could hope to
gain the beautiful city by the sea.Boats drawing the water theirs did
could not hope to get through some of the small creeks uniting the
broad stretches of water lying parallel with the coast.Hence it would
be necessary for them to make another outside passage, possibly several.But Jack had it all planned, and wished to get the opinions of his
chums before the course was definitely decided on.Camp was made in the sedge grass on Bogue Sound, just as they had
figured on, and after supper had been disposed of, a council of war
called.At this the charts were closely scanned, especially the pencil
marks which Jack had made.He also explained minutely just what he
conceived to be the best method of procedure."Now, if |
hallway | Where is Mary? | But as we'd never be able
to find a way to take our boats across country, we must go outside
again."There being no other way, the boys presently unanimously agreed to face
the music.Besides, their previous success at riding the heaving
billows of the ocean began to give them confidence."If we go around Florida, and bring up in the Gulf, we're likely to do
a lot of this outside business," remarked George, as bravely as though
he never knew what fear meant."Yes," put in Nick, also valiant when settled on solid ground, "and I
suppose we've just got to get used to the thing.Settle it just as you think best, Jack.That's why we elected you to be commodore of the fleet."murmured Josh, pretending to applaud the noble sentiment
feebly with his finger-tips.Once the plan of campaign was settled, they all felt better.For some
time they had known that this problem must come up for solution sooner
or later, and truth to tell, it had been rather a load on their minds.There is a positive relief in knowing the worst.Meanwhile Burnes himself was haranguing the mob from an
upper gallery, while his brother and the guard were firing on them from
below.In vain he appealed to their avarice; the only answer was that
he should "come down into the garden."A Cashmerian, who had found his
way into the house, swore to pass him and his brother out in safety
to the cantonments, if the latter would bid the firing cease.Hastily
disguising themselves, the brothers followed the man to the door, but
scarcely had they set foot beyond it, when the traitor shouted with
a loud voice, "This is Sekunder Burnes!"In a moment the mob were on
them, and, hacked to pieces by the cruel Afghan knives, then fell the
first, but not the last victims of a long series of mistakes.The paymaster's house was next sacked; upwards of £17,000 of the public
money and £1000 of Johnson's private fortune fell to the share of
the murderers.No force came from the cantonments to check them, and
the only effort made in the early part of the day was made by Soojah
himself, who sent one of his own regiments down from the Bala Hissar
into the city.Entangled in a network of narrow lanes and bazaars,
they could do no good, and Shelton, coming up later with a small body
of infantry and artillery, was in time only to cover a disorderly
flight.It is difficult to decide on the true cause of the lateness
of Shelton's arrival, but it is certain that had Burnes's message
received prompt attention, the insurrection, for that time at least,
would have been nipped in the bud.That such was the opinion of the
Afghans themselves many of our officers were subsequently assured, and
the fact that none of the chief conspirators took any part in the first
outbreak seems to give colour to the supposition that it was not the
original design to proceed to such extremities as followed, but rather
to convey to the British such a warning as might convince them of the
hopelessness of their cause, and induce them at last to take measures
to leave the country to its own devices.Be this, however, as it may,
nothing was done till the time had passed for anything to be of use,
and a riot which 300 resolute men could have quelled with ease in the
morning, would in the afternoon have taxed, if not defied, the best
energies of 3000.The history of the days which followed between the first rising and
the opening of negotiations is as difficult to write as it is painful
to read.So many and so conflicting are the accounts that have been
received, that it is impossible within a limited space to present a
distinct and coherent narrative of events, or, without the risk of a
hasty conclusion, to apportion, even were it desirable to do so, the
precise share of responsibility to each actor in that dismal tragedy
of errors.It is certain, at least, that from the 2nd to the 25th
November the utmost confusion and dismay prevailed within the British
cantonments.No two of the authorities seem ever to have counselled
alike; there was disunion between Elphinstone and Macnaghten, and
disunion even between Elphinstone and Shelton.Orders were issued one
hour to be countermanded the next, and then re-issued.There was no
lack of individual boldness in council, and, among the officers, no
lack of individual bravery in action, but want of co-operation rendered
both alike useless.Our strength was frittered away in a series of
petty sorties, conducted by insufficient numbers, and generally ordered
when the time for immediate action was past.Mary journeyed to the office.Daniel went to the bedroom.Our soldiers, even our own
English soldiers, disheartened and demoralized by repeated defeats,
for which they felt that they themselves were not to blame, lost
confidence alike in their commanders and in themselves.It is said that
it was actually found necessary to employ a Sepoy guard to prevent the
soldiers of an English regiment leaving their post, and it is certain
that on one, if not on more than one occasion, our men fairly turned
their backs and ran before the Afghan hordes.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.At an early day, as
might well have been foreseen, the forts containing the Commissariat
supplies and stores fell into the enemy's hands, and though this
disaster was for a time remedied by the energies of our Commissariat
officers, who had fortunately not been lost with the stores, and who
managed to collect supplies from some of the neighbouring villages,
there soon arose a new danger in the doubt whether the the siege would
not outlast the ammunition.Sandra went to the bedroom.Urgent and frequent messages had been sent
to bring up Sale's brigade, which was supposed to be still among the
Khoord-Cabul hills, and to Eldred Pottinger to join the garrison with
his detachment from Charekur, a place about 60 miles north of Cabul.But Sale's brigade was already on its march to Jellalabad, and of
Pottinger's detachment only he and another officer reached Cabul alive.To crown all, it was known that Akbar Khan was moving down from Bamean.On the 23rd a strong force of cavalry and infantry, but accompanied,
through what strange process of reasoning it is impossible to say, by
only one gun, moved out under Shelton to occupy a hill commanding the
sources of our supplies, which had been recently threatened by the
enemy.Shelton himself behaved with
conspicuous gallantry, and his officers nobly followed his example;
but the men, discouraged by frequent defeat, and finding their muskets
no match for the Afghan jezails, were mown down like grass, till,
having lost their solitary piece of artillery, they fled in disgraceful
panic back to the cantonments.With this disastrous attempt concluded
all exterior operations, and on the same day Macnaghten received
instructions from Elphinstone to open negotiations for surrender.At the first meeting the terms offered were so insulting that
Macnaghten refused to continue the conference.His hopes, too, had
somewhat revived of late by a communication from Mohun Lal, whom he
had secretly employed to sow, with offers of large bribes, dissensions
among the hostile chiefs, and by the news of the death of two of our
bitterest foes, Abdoolah Khan and Meer Musjedee.Whether these men
died from wounds received in battle, or by assassins set on by Mohun
Lal, is not certain, but it seems tolerably clear that the interpreter
was instigated by some one in the British camp to offer large sums
of money for the heads of the principal insurgents.As a set-off to
this, however, came grave reports from the Commissariat department,
and the news that there was little prospect of Maclaren's brigade,
which had set out from Candahar to their relief, being able to win
its way to Cabul.On December 11th, therefore, negotiations were
renewed.Akbar Khan, who had by this time joined his countrymen amid
uproarious expressions of delight, with the chiefs of all the principal
tribes, met the Envoy on the banks of the Cabul river, about a mile
from the cantonments.Macnaghten read in Persian the draft treaty he
had prepared, of which the main stipulations were to the following
effect:--That the British troops in Afghanistan should be withdrawn
to India as speedily as possible, accompanied by two Sirdars of rank
as guarantees of safe conduct; that on their arrival at Peshawur
arrangements should at once be made for the return of Dost Mahomed
and all others of his countrymen at that time detained in India; that
Soojah should be allowed to depart with the troops, or to remain where
he was on a suitable provision, as he might prefer; and that four
"respectable" British officers were to be left at Cabul as hostages for
the due fulfilment of the treaty until the return of Dost Mahomed and
his family.After a discussion of two hours the terms were accepted,
and it was agreed that the evacuation of our position should commence
in three days' time.Such a treaty is not to be read with pleasure,
but it was possibly the best that could have been concluded under the
circumstances that had arisen; for which Macnaghten himself appears, at
least, to have been less responsible than his military colleagues, at
whose urgent and repeated instigations he had undertaken the work.It became soon apparent how little dependence was to be placed on
the Afghan word.On the 13th, according to the stipulation, the
British troops stationed in the citadel left their quarters, about
six o'clock on a winter's evening.Scarcely had they cleared the
gates, when an ugly rush was made for them by the crowd outside.The
gates were immediately closed, and the guns of the citadel opened an
indiscriminate fire on friends and foes alike.Akbar Khan declared
that at that late hour he could not undertake their safe conduct to
the cantonments, and the men were therefore obliged to pass the night
on the frosty ground, without tents, without food, and without fuel.On the following morning they reached the cantonments in safety, but
half-dead with hunger and exposure.It had been agreed that the Afghans
should supply the necessary provisions and carriage for the march; but
it had also been agreed that the British forts in the neighbourhood of
their position should be given up.The Afghans refused to play their
part till we had played ours, and the forts were accordingly placed in
their hands.Still, provisions came in but slowly, and carriage not
at all.A horde of robbers and fanatics swarmed between the city and
the cantonments, plundering under our very eyes the few supplies that
were sent in, but as they were now to be considered "as our allies" not
a shot was permitted to be fired.Mary journeyed to the hallway.Yet even then Macnaghten continued
to hope against hope, that "something might turn up" to spare the
humiliation of an enforced retreat, and on the evening of the 22nd it
seemed to him that such a chance had arrived.It came in the shape of
a proposal from Akbar Khan that he and the Ghilzyes should, in the
face of the concluded treaty, unite with the English to re-occupy the
citadel and the abandoned forts; that our forces should be allowed to
remain in Afghanistan till the spring, and then withdraw as though of
their own free-will; that the head of the formidable Ameen-oolah Khan
should be sent to the Envoy, and that in consideration of all these
good offices Akbar Khan himself should receive an annuity of four
lakhs of rupees from the British Government, together with a bonus of
thirty lakhs.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.The offer of murder was indignantly rejected, but with
the others Macnaghten closed at once, and on the following morning,
having requested that two regiments with some guns might be held ready
for instant service, he rode out to the proposed place of conference,
accompanied by Lawrence, Trevor and Mackenzie.The latter, indeed,
learning the new design, ventured to expostulate with his chief on the
risk he was about to run, while Elphinstone earnestly implored him
to pause before he committed himself to so perilous and so crooked
a course; but despising warnings and advice alike, Macnaghten rode
hopefully out to his death.Among some small hillocks about 600 yards from the cantonments
the meeting was appointed; salutations were exchanged, the party
dismounted, and the Envoy and the Khan seated themselves on the
ground.Scarcely had the conversation been opened, when the chiefs
began to close in on the little group.It was pointed out to Akbar that
as the conference was a secret one, they should be advised to withdraw;
he answered that it was of no matter, as they were all in the plot
with him.The words had not left his lips when the Englishmen were
seized.Trevor, Lawrence and Mackenzie were flung each behind a mounted
Afghan and galloped off to one of the forts, through a crowd of armed
fanatics, who cut and struck at them as they passed.On the way Trevor
slipped from his seat and was instantly hacked to pieces, but the
others got safely through.As they were hurried away, Lawrence turned
his head and saw the Envoy struggling in the grasp of Akbar Khan, "with
an awful look of horror and consternation on his face;" a pistol shot
was heard soon after, and no English eye ever saw Macnaghten alive or
dead again.Such was the end of the attempt of an honest Englishman to
outwit the most treacherous people in the world.On the following day new terms were sent to Elphinstone to be added to
the existing treaty--that first treaty which Macnaghten had lost his
life in attempting to evade.These required that the guns with the
exception of six, and all the muskets, save those in actual use, should
be given up, and that the numbers of hostages should be increased.Eldred Pottinger, who had succeeded to the Envoy's place, strongly
combated this additional insult, giving his undaunted voice for the
immediate seizure of the citadel, or at least for one last attempt to
fight their way sword in hand down to Jellalabad.His brave counsel was
overruled; the guns and muskets were given up, a few at a time, in the
vain hope that in some way the treaty might yet be averted, or perhaps
to alleviate, if possible, the humiliation of the surrender; Captains
Walsh and Drummond, with Lieutenants Warburton and Webb were sent to
join Lieutenants Conolly and Airy, who were already in the hands of the
chiefs, and such of the sick and wounded as were unable to bear the
fatigues of the march were conveyed into the city under Doctors Berwick
and Campbell.On the 6th of January, 1842, before the promised escorts
had arrived, the British army, contrary again to Pottinger's advice,
moved out from the cantonments, and the fatal march began.The British troops that marched out on that 6th January numbered
4500 fighting men, of whom 700 were Europeans, and about 12,000 camp
followers.Of this force two men reached Jellalabad alive, one of
whom died on the following day.Sandra moved to the bedroom.The married officers and their wives,
with all the women and children, and a few of the wounded, were on
the third day of the retreat placed in the care of Akbar Khan, who,
to give him such credit as is his due, for once kept his word when
he promised to treat them honourably and well; six more officers,
including the General himself and Shelton, at a later period fell or
were surrendered as hostages, into the same hands, and were carried
back up country, though Elphinstone, sick in body as in heart, prayed
hard to be allowed to die with his men; Captain Souter, of the 44th,
who had wrapped the regimental colours round his waist, was taken
prisoner with a few private soldiers at Gundamuck, where the last
stand was made by the gallant handful who had survived the horrors
of the pass.The rest of the Europeans perished to a man beneath the
knives and bullets of their "allies."Among the Native troops and camp
followers the loss was probably less than was at the time, and has
been generally since, supposed.Some of the former deserted in sheer
terror to the Afghans, and some of the |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | Had the march
been pushed on from the first with more expedition, it is probable
that at least a far larger number would have been saved; but that,
owing to the general demoralisation that had set in, inspired by the
irresolution of the commander, and aggravated by the disorderly crowd
of camp-followers, whose terror quenched all notions of discipline,
was precisely what could not be done.From dawn vast hordes of Ghazee
fanatics had hung on the rear, cutting off stragglers, plundering the
baggage, and from every coign of vantage firing indiscriminately into
the struggling line.The roads were slippery with ice, and on the
evening of the first day the snow began to fall; on the second day
the march became but "a rabble in chaotic rout."The European troops
indeed, set a glorious example.The officers did all that mortals
could do to preserve discipline, and the men, obeying so far as it was
possible to obey, nobly redeemed their former errors; but hampered by
a helpless crowd whose one thought of safety was not to fight but to
fly, it was but little that they could do.Here and there a stand
was made by gallant handfuls of our men, and where the English stood,
there the Afghans fled, but these momentary triumphs served rather to
increase than to check the fury of our foes.Enough of a melancholy and
shameful tale--let it be sufficient to say that when Brydon reached
Jellalabad on the 13th the army of Cabul had for all practical purposes
disappeared from off the face of the earth.The news came upon the Government like a thunder-stroke.The last
days of Lord Auckland's administration were drawing near, and as he
read Macnaghten's sanguine despatches he fondly hoped that it would
be his fortune to return to England, not only the conqueror, but the
tranquilizer of Afghanistan.Towards the close of the year, indeed,
rumours of a disquieting nature had found their way down to Calcutta,
and when all rumours ceased it became evident that our communications
were interrupted, and that something serious had happened; but not even
the gloomiest dared to anticipate the worst: on January 30th the worst
was known.Though there was anything but unanimity in the Calcutta Council, some
preparations, chiefly through the energetic representations of George
Clerk, our agent on the north-western frontier, had been made before
the full tidings of the disaster came down.It had appeared to some,
of whom was Sir Jasper Nicolls, then Commander-in-chief in India,
that it was better to accept the blow, and withdraw altogether behind
the Indus, than by attempting to retrieve still further to deepen our
disgrace.Mary journeyed to the office.Sale still held Jellalabad in the teeth of overwhelming
numbers; Nott was still master of Candahar;--let them yield up the
charge they had so nobly kept, and if too weak to find their own way
down to India, let troops sufficient for their help advance, but for
no other purpose.Lord Auckland, unwilling to commit his successor to
a task which had already proved too strong for his own energies, was
inclined to listen to the advocates of retreat, and though the news
of the annihilation of the army of Cabul roused him for the moment
into a proclamation that the awful calamity was but "a new occasion
for displaying the stability and vigour of the British power, and the
admirable spirit and valour of the British-Indian army," he quickly
followed it by an intimation that when Sale and Nott had been relieved,
it were better that the British troops should withdraw to Peshawur.Still, fresh forces were to be raised, and a fine soldier was to
head them.The offer had been first made to Major-General Lumley,
Adjutant-General in India, but Lumley's health forbade him to accept so
important a post, and Lord Auckland's choice--a choice as popular as it
was judicious--finally fell upon Pollock, a distinguished officer of
the Company's service, who had seen fighting under Lake and Wellington,
and wherever, indeed, it was to be seen since the year 1803, when he
had first landed in India, a young lieutenant of artillery.Pollock
hastened up to his command without a moment's delay, but before he
could reach Peshawur our troops had suffered yet another repulse.Robertson, Lieutenant-Governor of the north western frontier, and
George Clerk, already mentioned, had counselled from the first prompt
measures, not of retreat, but reprisal.At their earnest request
Colonel Wild had been moved up to Peshawur with four native infantry
regiments, the 30th, 53rd, 60th and 64th, but without guns.It was
supposed he could procure them from the Sikhs, and with a great deal
of trouble he did manage to procure four ricketty guns, which seemed
likely to do as much harm to his own men as to the enemy, and one of
which broke down the next day on trial.Reinforcements were coming up,
which it was probable would contain artillery, but Wild did not dare
to wait.His Sepoys were anxious to advance; the loyalty of the Sikhs
was doubtful, and he feared the contamination might spread.The key of the Khyber Pass, as we have all heard more than once within
the last few weeks, is the fortress of Ali Musjid, occupying a strong
position some five miles down the pass, and about twenty-five from
Peshawur.It had been recently garrisoned by some loyal natives under
an English officer, Mackeson; but, straitened for provisions, and hard
pressed by the Khyberees, it was doubtful whether the brave little
garrison could hold out much longer, and on the night of the 15th the
53rd and 64th Regiments, under Colonel Moseley, were despatched with a
goodly supply of bullocks to its relief.The fort was occupied without
loss, but the bullocks, save some 50 or 60, had meanwhile disappeared,
and there were now more mouths to feed in Ali Musjid and less wherewith
to feed them.Wild was to have followed with the other two regiments,
his Sikh guns and Sikh allies, on the 19th, but when the time came the
latter turned their backs on the Khyber and marched to a man back to
Peshawur.The Sepoys met the enemy at the mouth of the pass, but the
spirit of disaffection seemed to have spread.Daniel went to the bedroom.After an irresolute and
aimless volley they halted in confusion: in vain Wild and his officers
called on them to advance; not a man moved; the guns broke down, and
one of them, despite the gallant efforts of Henry Lawrence, had to
be abandoned.One of our officers was killed, and Wild himself, with
several more, was wounded; the retreat was sounded, and the column
fell back on Jumrood.The two regiments which held the fort had soon
to follow their example.They could have held the post for any time
indeed, so far as mere fighting went, but they had no provisions,
and the water was poisonous.On the 23rd, then, they evacuated their
position, and after a sharp struggle, in which two English officers
fell, and some sick and baggage had to be abandoned, made good their
way back to their comrades.Such was the state of affairs Pollock found
on his arrival at Peshawur.Despite urgent letters received from Jellalabad the General saw that
an immediate advance was impossible.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The morale of the defeated Sepoys
had fallen very low; the hospitals were crowded with sick and wounded,
and there was still an insufficiency of guns.Reinforcements of British
dragoons and British artillery were pressing up from the Punjab,
and Pollock decided to wait till he could make certain of success.He decided well; nor was the time of waiting lost.He visited the
hospitals daily, cheering the sick, and reanimating by his kindness
and decision the wavering and disheartened Sepoys.On March 30th the
long-desired reinforcements arrived, and orders were at once issued for
the advance.At three o'clock on the morning of April 5th the army moved off from
Jumrood to the mouth of the pass.It was divided into three columns;
two of these were to crown the heights on either side, while the third,
when the hills had been sufficiently cleared, was to advance through
the gorge; each column was composed of a mixed force of Europeans
and Sepoys; four squadrons of the 3rd Dragoons and eleven pieces of
artillery accompanied the centre column.The attack was as successful
as it was ingenious.Sandra went to the bedroom.A huge barricade of mud and stones and trunks
of trees had been thrown across the mouth of the pass, while the
heights on either side swarmed with the wild hill-tribes.So quietly,
however, did our flanking columns advance, that they were half-way up
the heights before the enemy became aware of the movement.From peak
to peak our men, English as well as Sepoys, clambered as agile as the
mountaineers themselves, pouring from every spot of vantage a steady
and well-directed fire on the disconcerted Khyberees, who had never
dreamed that the white-faced infidels could prove more than a match
for them in their own fastnesses.Then Pollock with the main column
advanced.Mary journeyed to the hallway.The Afghans, finding themselves out-flanked on either side,
gradually withdrew; the barricade was removed without loss; and the
huge line of soldiers, camp-followers, and baggage-waggons passed
unopposed on its victorious way to Jellalabad.The dreaded Khyber Pass
had been forced with the slightest possible loss of life, and the
boastful Afghans beaten at their own tactics.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.On the 16th Jellalabad
was reached.With what intense delight Sale's noble brigade saw once
more from their walls the colours of a friendly force may well be
imagined.For five weary months the little band had resisted every
offer of surrender, and beaten back every assault.In February the
fortifications that had been raised and strengthened by Broadfoot with
infinite labour were destroyed by an earthquake; and at that very
time they learnt that Akbar Khan was advancing on them.The works,
however, were restored, and in a dashing sortie, commanded by Dennie,
the Afghan chief, with the flower of the Barukzye Horse, was driven
from his position without the loss of a single man to the garrison.A few days before Pollock arrived a still more daring enterprise had
been attempted.On April 5th another sortie in force was sent out under
Dennie, Monteith, and Havelock, which bore down on the Afghan camp,
and sent Akbar Khan flying with his 6000 men far away in the direction
of Lughman--a dashing exploit, and a complete victory, but dearly won,
for it was won at the cost of the gallant Dennie.The meeting between
the two armies was, wrote Pollock to a friend, "a sight worth seeing;"
according to Mr.Gleig the band of the 13th went out to play the
relieving force in, and the entry was performed to the tune of "Oh, but
ye've been lang o' coming."Still there was plenty yet to be done, if only the English soldiers
might be allowed to do it.At first it seemed doubtful whether Lord
Ellenborough, who had succeeded Lord Auckland in February, would be
more willing to sanction a forward movement than was his predecessor.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.On his first landing, no one could have been more eager than he to
avenge the humiliation of Cabul, but as he went up the country his
opinions began to suffer a change.Sandra moved to the bedroom.Soojah had been murdered about the
very time that the Khyber Pass was forced, by the treachery of a
son of Zemaun Khan (a faithful friend to the English, by whose good
offices the English captives were still living in safety, if not in
comfort); his son Futteh Jung had been nominally appointed to succeed
him, but his government was no more than a farce.Jealous of each
other, and jealous particularly of the rising power of Akbar Khan, it
was plain that the Afghan Sirdars would never rest till the strength
and popularity of Dost Mahomed was once more among them to restore and
maintain order.Was it not better to accept the inevitable, to withdraw
our troops, now that it could be done with comparative honour, and to
leave the country to its own king and its own devices?It was doubtful
how much longer the brave Nott could maintain himself in Candahar, and
the force that had been sent out from Sindh under England to relieve
him had been beaten back at the Kojuck Pass; Ghuznee, after a stubborn
resistance, had fallen, and the British officers sent prisoners to
Cabul.Lord Ellenborough cannot be blamed for hesitating at such a
crisis; but the urgent prayers of Pollock, Nott, and Outram at last
prevailed, and orders were given that the military commanders might
use their own discretion, while they were at the same time warned that
failure meant the inevitable fall of the British Empire in the East.The responsibility was gladly taken, and the advance commenced which
was to retrieve, as far as it was possible to retrieve, the shame of
all former failure.The advance was an unbroken series of victories.England, reinforced
with some British troops, had moved out again from Quettah, cleared
the Kojuck Pass, and joined Nott at Candahar.With a force now raised
to a strength equal to that which lay at Jellalabad, Nott, resolute
to "retire to India" by way of Ghuznee and Cabul, lost no time in
setting to work.Dividing his troops, he took with him the 40th and
41st Regiments of the Line, and the "beautiful Sepoy" Regiments that
had stood by him so well, and despatched the rest back to India in
charge of England, in whose hands also he placed Prince Timour, whom,
after his father's death it was alike dangerous to take to Cabul or to
leave at Candahar.About the same time Pollock, with 8000 men of all
arms, including the 31st Regiment of the Line and the 3rd Dragoons,
moved out from Jellalabad on the Khoord-Cabul Pass, that blood-stained
theatre of an awful tragedy.The enemy were in force at Jugdulluck,
but Pollock, employing the same tactics that had been so efficacious
among the Khyber hills, sent out flanking parties to clear the
heights, while from below his guns kept up a hot fire of shells on
their position.The Ghilzyes fought bravely, but they could not stand
against the English troops in open fight, and with as little loss as
in his first engagement Pollock led his men into the pass.Seven miles
within, in the little valley of Tezeen, Akbar Khan, with 16,000 of his
best troops, resolved to make one last throw for victory.John moved to the garden.While the English Dragoons met and broke the charge of the Afghan
horse, the English infantry, gallantly seconded by the Sepoys and
Ghoorkahs, pressed up the heights under a heavy fire.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Sale himself led
the advanced column; Monteith and Broadfoot and McCaskill followed.Not
a shot was fired by the stormers; thick and fast flew the bullets among
them from the long Afghan jazails, but not an English musket answered.The work was done with the bayonet, and driven from crag to crag by
that "beautiful weapon" alone, the enemy fled in confusion, till
amid the ringing cheers of the whole British force the British flag
waved on the highest pinnacle of the pass.This was Akbar Khan's last
attempt; leaving his troops to shift for themselves, he fled northward
to the Ghoreebund Valley; Pollock, over the crumbling skeletons of the
comrades whom he had so worthily avenged, led his men in triumph to
Cabul, and the British ensign once more flew from the heights of the
Bala Hissar.On September 15th Pollock reached Cabul, and on the 17th he was joined
by Nott.After a slight check to the cavalry of his advanced guard, at
an early period of his march, the latter's success had been as complete
as Pollock's.At Ghoaine he had utterly routed a superior force of
the enemy under Shumshoodeen |
office | Where is John? | Ghuznee had been evacuated before
even our preparations for the assault were completed; the works were
dismantled and blown up, the town and citadel fired, and the famous
sandal-wood "gates of Somnauth," which, according to Afghan tradition,
had adorned their famous Sultan's tomb for upwards of eight centuries,
carried off in accordance with Lord Ellenborough's expressed desire.At Syderabad, where in the previous November Woodburn and his men had
been treacherously massacred, Shumshoodeen turned again; the stand was
stubborn and for a while the issue seemed doubtful; but the news of the
defeat at Tezeen had spread, the Afghans lost heart, and abandoning
their position left the way for Nott clear into Cabul.The honour of the British arms was at last complete; 15,000 British
troops were encamped in the Afghan capital, and from every quarter
round submission was pouring in.Ameen-oollah Khan, who held out to
the last, had been utterly routed in the Kohistan by a force under
McCaskill, and Akbar Khan had also intimated his wish to treat for
terms.The miserable Futteh Jung, who had already once been forced to
fly for his life, was formally installed on his throne, but as formally
warned that he was to expect no further aid or protection.The prospect
before him was too much for his weak and timorous mind, and, in truth,
it was far from a pleasant one; after a few days' nominal rule, he
voluntarily resigned a crown which he would never have been able to
keep, and Shahpoor, a high-spirited young boy of the Suddozye House,
was seated in his stead.The captives were to be recovered, and
some unmistakeable mark of British retribution was to be stamped on
Cabul.Before Akbar Khan took the field for the last time he had despatched
all the English hostages, together with the prisoners from Ghuznee,
towards the Bamean frontier, under Saleh Mohamed.Pollock immediately
on reaching Cabul had sent Sir Richmond Shakespeare, with a party of
horse in hot haste after them, and subsequently a stronger force under
Sale.Before, however, the rescue arrived the prisoners had effected
their own deliverance through the medium of Saleh Mohamed's cupidity.On a promise, duly drawn up and signed by Pottinger, Lawrence and three
others, of a heavy bribe, the Afghan had consented to escort them
not to Turkestan and slavery, as had been intended, but back to the
English camp, and it was at Kaloo, on their way down to Cabul, that,
after more than eight months' daily expectation of death, they once
more found themselves among English friends and safe under the English
flag.Despite the many hardships and anxieties they had undergone,
their health, even of the women and children, had been marvellously
preserved, and their condition had, on the whole, been far better than
any they could have hoped for when they exchanged the certain dangers
of the retreat for the uncertain security of Akbar Khan's word.Two
only of the little band that had turned their backs on the miseries of
the Khoord-Cabul Pass were missing when they rode into Sale's camp,
amid the cheers of the men and a salute of welcome from the guns.John Conolly, mourned by all who knew him, had died at Cabul a few
days before the march for Bamean began, and in the previous April,
after Pollock's victory had heralded the triumph which was to atone
for the disasters that the British arms had experienced under his
command, poor Elphinstone, after days of intense suffering in body
and mind, and bewailing to the last that he had not been permitted
to die with his men, passed away amid the affectionate sympathy of
all his fellow-prisoners.His body was sent down to Jellalabad, and
there interred with military honours in the presence of his victorious
successor.To set the seal of our triumph on Cabul it was determined to destroy
the great Bazaar, where the mutilated body of Macnaghten had been
exposed to the insults of his murderers.It had been first intended to
demolish the citadel, but the Suddozye chiefs pleaded so earnestly for
this last remnant of their royalty, that Pollock consented to spare
it.John journeyed to the garden.During two days, October 9th and 10th, the work of destruction
went on, and though every precaution was taken to prevent any farther
loss beyond that ordered, and particularly any excess on the part of
our soldiers, many suffered, and there was much excess.On the 11th
the homeward march began.Futteh Jung had implored the safe conduct
of the British from a kingdom where he was no king, and from subjects
with whom his life was not worth an hour's purchase, and with him went
for the second time into exile his blind old grandfather Zemaun Shah.By the Khoord-Cabul and Khyber Passes, the scenes of so much misery
and such grievous humiliation, the victorious army returned in triumph
to Hindostan, and ere Ferozepore was reached they heard that the last
of the Suddozye line had fled, that Akbar Khan had seized the throne
in trust for his father, and that Dost Mahomed himself was even then
on his way through the Punjab to resume his old dominion.And so the
English army left secure on the throne of Afghanistan the dynasty they
had spent so many millions of treasure and so many thousands of lives
to overthrow.LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST.JOHN'S SQUARE, E.C.Transcriber's Notes
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.22: He proceded to Teheran -> He proceeded to Teheran.19 (twice), 57: Dost Mohamed -> Dost Mahomed.30: to be be applied -> to be applied.32: five brigades of of infantry -> five brigades of infantry.33: Burnes with with him -> Burnes with him.51: you own terms -> your own terms.85: salutatations were exchanged -> salutations were exchanged.That it was not her fault that the young lord lay in wait for her
one night; and that she would swear to me, by the living God, that
naught that was unseemly had happened between them there, and that
she was still a maid.And herewith the first hearing was at end, for after _Dom.Consul_ had whispered somewhat into the ear of the sheriff, he
called in the constable again, and bade him keep good watch over
_Rea_; _item_, not to leave her at large in her dungeon
any longer, but to put her in chains.These words pierced my very
heart, and I besought his worship to consider my sacred office,
and my ancient noble birth, and not to do me such dishonour as to
put my daughter in chains.That I would answer for her to the
worshipful court with my own head that she would not escape.Consul_, after he had gone to look at the
dungeon himself, granted me my request, and commanded the
constable to leave her as she had been hitherto._How Satan, by the permission of the most righteous God, sought
altogether to ruin us, and how we lost all hope._
The same day, at about three in the afternoon, when I was gone to
Conrad Seep his ale-house to eat something, seeing that it was now
nearly two days since I had tasted aught save my tears, and he had
placed before me some bread and sausage, together with a mug of
beer, the constable came into the room and greeted me from the
sheriff, without, however, so much as touching his cap, asking
whether I would not dine with his lordship; that his lordship had
not remembered till now that I belike was still fasting, seeing
the trial had lasted so long.Hereupon I made answer to the
constable that I already had my dinner before me, as he saw
himself, and desired that his lordship would hold me excused.Hereat the fellow wondered greatly, and answered, Did I not see
that his lordship wished me well, albeit I had preached at him as
though he were a Jew?I should think on my daughter, and be
somewhat more ready to do his lordship's will, whereby
peradventure all would yet end well.For his lordship was not such
a rough ass as _Dom.Consul_, and meant well by my child and
me, as beseemed a righteous magistrate.After I had with some trouble rid myself of this impudent fox, I
tried to eat a bit, but nothing would go down save the beer.I
therefore soon sat and thought again whether I would not lodge
with Conrad Seep, so as to be always near my child; _item_,
whether I should not hand over my poor misguided flock to M.
Vigelius, the pastor of Benz, for such time as the Lord still
should prove me.In about an hour I saw through the window how
that an empty coach drove to the castle, and the sheriff and
_Dom.Consul_ straightway stepped thereinto with my child;
_item_, the constable climbed up behind.Hereupon I left
everything on the table and ran to the coach, asking humbly
whither they were about to take my poor child; and when I heard
they were going to the Streckelberg to look after the amber, I
begged them to take me also, and to suffer me to sit by my child,
for who could tell how much longer I might yet sit by her!This
was granted to me, and on the way the sheriff offered me to take
up my abode in the castle and to dine at his table as often as I
pleased, and that he would, moreover, send my child her meat from
his own table.For that he had a Christian heart, and well knew
that we were to forgive our enemies.But I refused his kindness
with humble thanks, as my child did also, seeing we were not yet
so poor that we could not maintain ourselves.As we passed by the
water-mill the ungodly varlet there again thrust his head out of a
hole and pulled wry faces at my child; but, dear reader, he got
something to remember it by; for the sheriff beckoned to the
constable to fetch the fellow out, and after he had reproached him
with the tricks he had twice played my child, the constable had to
take the coachman his new whip and to give him fifty lashes,
which, God knows, were not laid on with a feather.He bellowed
like a bull, which, however, no one heard for the noise of the
mill-wheels, and when at last he did as though he could not stir,
we left him lying on the ground and went on our way.As we drove through Uekeritze a number of people flocked together,
but were quiet enough, save one fellow who, _salva venia_,
mocked at us with unseemly gestures in the midst of the road when
he saw us coming.The constable had to jump down again, but could
not catch him, and the others would not give him up, but pretended
that they had only looked at our coach and had not marked him.and I am therefore inclined to think that it was
Satan himself who did it to mock at us; for mark, for God's sake,
what happened to us on the Streckelberg!through the
delusions of the foul fiend, we could not find the spot where we
had dug for the amber.John travelled to the office.For when we came to where we thought it
must be, a huge hill of sand had been heaped up as by a whirlwind,
and the fir-twigs which my child had covered over it were gone.She was near falling in a swound when she saw this, and wrung her
hands and cried out with her Saviour, "My God, my God, why hast
Thou forsaken me!"Howbeit, the constable and the coachman were ordered to dig, but
not one bit of amber was to be found, even so big as a grain of
corn, whereupon _Dom.Consul_ shook his head and violently
upbraided my child; and when I answered that Satan himself, as it
seemed, had filled up the hollow in order to bring us altogether
into his power, the constable was ordered to fetch a long stake
out of the coppice which we might thrust still deeper into the
sand.But no hard _objectum_ was anywhere to be felt,
notwithstanding the sheriff, _Dom.Consul_, and myself in my
anguish did try everywhere with the stake.Hereupon my child besought her judges to go with her to Coserow,
where she still had much amber in her coffer which she had found
here, and that if it were the gift of the devil it would all be
changed, since it was well known that all the presents the devil
makes to witches straightway turn to mud and ashes.But, God be merciful to us, God be merciful to us!when we
returned to Coserow, amid the wonderment of all the village, and
my daughter went to her coffer, the things therein were all tossed
about, and the amber gone.Hereupon she shrieked so loud that it
would have softened a stone, and cried out, "The wicked constable
hath done this!when he fetched the salve out of my coffer, he
stole the amber from me, unhappy maid."But the constable, who
stood by, would have torn her hair, and cried out, "Thou witch,
thou damned witch, is it not enough that thou hast belied my lord,
but thou must now belie me too?"Consul_ forbade
him, so that he did not dare lay hands upon her._Item_, all
the money was gone which she had hoarded up from the amber she had
privately sold, and which she thought already came to about ten
florins.But the gown which she had worn at the arrival of the most
illustrious king Gustavus Adolphus, as well as the golden chain
with his effigy which he had given her, I had locked up as though
it were a relic in the chest in the vestry, among the altar and
pulpit cloths, and there we found them still; and when I excused
myself therefor, saying that I had thought to have saved them up
for her there against her bridal day, she gazed with fixed and
glazed eyes into the box, and cried out, "Yes, against the day
when I shall be burnt!O Jesu, Jesu, Jesu!"Consul_ shuddered and said, "See how thou still dost smite
thyself with thine own words.For the sake of God and thy
salvation, confess, for if thou knowest thyself to be innocent,
how, then, canst thou think that thou wilt be burnt?"But she
still looked him fixedly in the face, and cried aloud in Latin,
"_Innocentia, quid est innocentia!Ubi libido dominatur,
innocentia leve praesidium est._" [Footnote: These words are
from Cicero, if I do not mistake.]Consul_ again shuddered, so that his beard
wagged, and said, "What, dost thou indeed know Latin?Where didst
thou learn the Latin?"And when I answered this question as well
as I was able for sobbing, he shook his head, and said, "I never
in my life heard of a woman that knew Latin."Upon this he knelt
down before her coffer, and turned over everything therein, drew
it away from the wall, and when he found nothing he bade us show
him her bed, and did the same with that.This, at length, vexed
the sheriff, who asked him whither they should not drive back
again, seeing that night was coming on?But he answered, "Nay, I
must first have the written paction which Satan has given her;"
and he went on with his search until it was almost dark.[Footnote: At this time it was believed that as a man bound
himself to the devil by writing, so did the devil in like manner
to the man.]But they found nothing at all, although _Dom.Consul_, together with the constable, passed over no hole or
corner, even in the kitchen and cellar.Hereupon he got up again
into the coach, muttering to himself, and bade my daughter sit so
that she should not look upon him.And now we once more had the same _spectaculum_ with the
accursed old witch Lizzie Kolken, seeing that she again sat at her |
bedroom | Where is John? | But she screeched like a stuck pig, so
that _Dom.Consul_ was amazed thereat, and when he had heard
who she was, he asked the sheriff whether he would not that she
should be seized by the constable and be tied behind the coach, to
run after it, as we had no room for her elsewhere; for that he had
often been told that all old women who had red squinting eyes and
sharp voices were witches, not to mention the suspicious things
which _Rea_ had declared against her.But he answered that he
could not do this, seeing that old Lizzie was a woman in good
repute, and fearing God, as _Dom.Consul_ might learn for
himself; but that, nevertheless, he had had her summoned for the
morrow, together with the other witnesses.Yea, in truth, an excellently devout and worthy woman!--for
scarcely were we out of the village, when so fearful a storm of
thunder, lightning, wind, and hail burst over our heads, that the
corn all around us was beaten down as with a flail, and the horses
before the coach were quite maddened; however, it did not last
long.But my poor child had to bear all the blame again,
[Footnote: Such sudden storms were attributed to witches.]Consul_ thought that it was not old Lizzie,
which, nevertheless, was as clear as the sun at noon-day, but my
poor daughter who brewed the storm;--for, beloved reader, what
could it have profited her, even if she had known the black art?This, however, did not strike _Dom.Consul_, and Satan, by
the permission of the all-righteous God, was presently to use us
still worse; for just as we got to the Master's Dam, [Footnote: It
is also called to the present day, and is distant a mile from
Coserow.]he came flying over us in the shape of a stork, and
dropped a frog so exactly over us that it fell into my daughter
her lap: she gave a shrill scream, but I whispered her to sit
still, and that I would secretly throw the frog away by one leg.But the constable had seen it, and cried out, "Hey, sirs!what has the devil just thrown into her
lap?"Consul_ looked round
and saw the frog, which crawled in her lap, and the constable,
after he had blown upon it three times, took it up and showed it
to their lordships.Consul_ began to spew, and
when he had done, he ordered the coachman to stop, got down from
the coach, and said we might drive home, that he felt qualmish,
and would go a-foot and see if he got better.But first he
privately whispered to the constable, which, howbeit, we heard
right well, that when he got home he should lay my poor child in
chains, but not so as to hurt her much; to which neither she nor I
could answer save by tears and sobs.But the sheriff had heard it
too, and when his worship was out of sight he began to stroke my
child her cheeks from behind her back, telling her to be easy, as
he also had a word to say in the matter, and that the constable
should not lay her in chains.But that she must leave off being so
hard to him as she had been hitherto, and come and sit on the seat
beside him, that he might privately give her some good advice as
to what was to be done.To this she answered, with many tears,
that she wished to sit only by her father, as she knew not how
much longer she might sit by him at all; and she begged for
nothing more save that his lordship would leave her in peace.But
this he would not do, but pinched her back and sides with his
knees; and as she bore with this, seeing that there was no help
for it, he waxed bolder, taking it for a good sign.Consul_ called out close behind us (for being
frightened he ran just after the coach), "Constable, constable,
come here quick; here lies a hedgehog in the midst of the road!"whereupon the constable jumped down from the coach.This made the sheriff still bolder; and at last my child rose up
and said, "Father, let us also go a-foot; I can no longer guard
myself from him here behind!"But he pulled her down again by her
clothes, and cried out angrily, "Wait, thou wicked witch, I will
help thee to go a-foot if thou art so wilful; thou shalt be
chained to the block this very night."Whereupon she answered, "Do
you do that which you cannot help doing: the righteous God, it is
to be hoped, will one day do unto you what He cannot help doing."Meanwhile we had reached the castle, and scarcely were we got out
of the coach, when _Dom.Consul_, who had run till he was all
of a sweat, came up, together with the constable, and straightway
gave over my child into his charge, so that I had scarce time to
bid her farewell.I was left standing on the floor below, wringing
my hands in the dark, and hearkened whither they were leading her,
inasmuch as I had not the heart to follow; when _Dom.Consul_, who had stepped into a room with the sheriff, looked
out at the door again, and called after the constable to bring
_Rea_ once more before them.And when he had done so, and I
went into the room with them, _Dom.Consul_ held a letter in
his hand, and, after spitting thrice, he began thus, "Wilt thou
still deny, thou stubborn witch?John journeyed to the garden.Hear what the old knight, Hans
von Nienkerken, writes to the court!"Whereupon he read out to us,
that his son was so disturbed by the tale the accursed witch had
told of him, that he had fallen sick from that very hour, and that
he, the father, was not much better.That his son, Ruediger, had
indeed at times, when he went that way, been to see Pastor
Schweidler, whom he had first known upon a journey; but that he
swore that he wished he might turn black if he had ever used any
folly or jesting with the cursed devil's whore his daughter; much
less ever been with her by night on the Streckelberg, or embraced
her there.At this dreadful news we both (I mean my child and I) fell down in
a swound together, seeing that we had rested our last hopes on the
young lord; and I know not what further happened.For when I came
to myself, my host, Conrad Seep, was standing over me, holding a
funnel between my teeth, through which he ladled some warm beer
down my throat, and I never felt more wretched in all my life;
insomuch that Master Seep had to undress me like a little child,
and to help me into bed._Of the malice of the Governor and of old Lizzie--item, of the
examination of witnesses._
The next morning my hairs, which till _datum_ had been
mingled with grey, were white as snow, albeit the Lord otherwise
blessed me wondrously.John travelled to the office.Mary travelled to the hallway.For near daybreak a nightingale flew into
the elder-bush beneath my window, and sang so sweetly that
straightway I thought it must be a good angel.For after I had
hearkened awhile to it, I was all at once able again to pray,
which since last Sunday I could not do; and the spirit of our Lord
Jesus Christ began to speak within me, "Abba, Father;" [Footnote:
Gal.and straightway I was of good cheer, trusting that
God would once more be gracious unto me His wretched child; and
when I had given Him thanks for such great mercy, I fell into a
refreshing slumber, and slept so long that the blessed sun stood
high in the heavens when I awoke.And seeing that my heart was still of good cheer, I sat up in my
bed, and sang with a loud voice, "Be not dismayed, thou little
flock:" whereupon Master Seep came into the room, thinking I had
called him.But he stood reverently waiting till I had done; and
after marvelling at my snow-white hair, he told me it was already
seven; _item_, that half my congregation, among others, my
ploughman, Claus Neels, were already assembled in his house to
bear witness that day.When I heard this, I bade mine host
forthwith send Claus to the castle, to ask when the court would
open, and he brought word back that no one knew, seeing that
_Dom.Consul_ was already gone that morning to Mellenthin to
see old Nienkerken, and was not yet come back.This message gave
me good courage, and I asked the fellow whether he also had come
to bear witness against my poor child?To which he answered, "Nay,
I know naught save good of her, and I would give the fellows their
due, only----"
These words surprised me, and I vehemently urged him to open his
heart to me.But he began to weep, and at last said that he knew
nothing.he knew but too much, and could then have saved my
poor child if he had willed.But from fear of the torture he held
his peace, as he since owned; and I will here relate what had
befallen him that very morning.He had set out betimes that morning, so as to be alone with his
sweetheart, who was to go along with him (she is Steffen of Zempin
his daughter, not farmer Steffen, but the lame gouty Steffen), and
had got to Pudgla about five, where he found no one in the
ale-house save old Lizzie Kolken, who straightway hobbled up to
the castle; and when his sweetheart was gone home again, time hung
heavy on his hands, and he climbed over the wall into the castle
garden, where he threw himself on his face behind a hedge to
sleep.But before long the sheriff came with old Lizzie, and after
they had looked all round and seen no one, they went into an
arbour close by him, and conversed as follows:--
_Ille_.--Now that they were alone together, what did she want
of him?_Illa_.--She came to get the money for the witchcraft she had
contrived in the village._Ille_.--Of what use had all this witchcraft been to him?My
child, so far from being frightened, defied him more and more; and
he doubted whether he should ever have his will of her._Illa_.--He should only have patience; when she was laid upon
the rack she would soon learn to be fond._Ille_.--That might be, but till then she (Lizzie) should get
no money._Ille_.--Yes, if she felt chilly, and wanted a burning <DW19>
to warm her _podex_, she had better.Moreover, he thought
that she had bewitched him, seeing that his desire for the
parson's daughter was such as he had never felt before._Illa_ (laughing).--He had said the same thing some thirty
years ago, when he first came after her.thou old baggage, don't remind me of such
things, but see to it that you get three witnesses, as I told you
before, or else methinks they will rack your old joints for you
after all._Illa_.--She had the three witnesses ready, and would leave
the rest to him.But that if she were racked she would reveal all
she knew._Ille_.--She should hold her ugly tongue, and go to the
devil.John journeyed to the bedroom._Illa_.--So she would, but first she must have her money._Ille_.--She should have no money till he had had his will of
my daughter._Illa_.--He might at least pay her for her little pig which
she herself had bewitched to death, in order that she might not
get into evil repute._Ille_.--She might choose one when his pigs were driven by,
and say she had paid for it.Hereupon, said my Claus, the pigs
were driven by, and one ran into the garden, the door being open,
and as the swineherd followed it, they parted; but the witch
muttered to herself, "Now help, devil, help, that I may----" but
he heard no further.The cowardly fellow, however, hid all this from me, as I have said
above, and only said, with tears, that he knew nothing.I believed
him, and sat down at the window to see when _Dom.Consul_
should return; and when I saw him I rose and went to the castle,
where the constable, who was already there with my child, met me
before the judgment-chamber.she looked more joyful than I
had seen her for a long time, and smiled at me with her sweet
little mouth: but when she saw my snow-white hair, she gave a cry,
which made _Dom.Consul_ throw open the door of the
judgment-chamber, and say, "Ha, ha!thou knowest well what news I
have brought thee; come in, thou stubborn devil's brat!"Whereupon
we stepped into the chamber to him, and he lift up his voice and
spake to me, after he had sat down with the sheriff, who was by.He said that yester-even, after he had caused me to be carried
like one dead to Master Seep his ale-house, and that my stubborn
child had been brought to life again, he had once more adjured
her, to the utmost of his power, no longer to lie before the face
of the living God, but to confess the truth; whereupon she had
borne herself very unruly, and had wrung her hands and wept and
sobbed, and at last answered that the young _nobilis_ never
could have said such things, but that his father must have written
them, who hated her, as she had plainly seen when the Swedish king
was at Coserow.Consul_, had indeed doubted
the truth of this at the time, but as a just judge had gone that
morning right early with the _scriba_ to Mellenthin, to
question the young lord himself.That I might now see myself what horrible malice was in my
daughter.For that the old knight had led him to his son's
bedside, who still lay sick from vexation, and that he had
confirmed all his father had written, and had cursed the
scandalous she-devil (as he called my daughter) for seeking to rob
him of his knightly honour.he continued;
"wilt thou still deny thy great wickedness?See here the
_protocollum_ which the young lord hath signed _manu
propria!_" But the wretched maid had meanwhile fallen on the
ground again, and the constable had no sooner seen this than he
ran into the kitchen, and came back with a burning brimstone
match, which he was about to hold under her nose.But I hindered him, and sprinkled her face with water, so that she
opened her eyes, and raised herself up by a table.She then stood
awhile, without saying a word or regarding my sorrow.At last she
smiled sadly, and spake thus: That she clearly saw how true was
that spoken by the Holy Ghost, "Cursed be the man that trusteth in
man;" [Footnote: Jer.and that the faithlessness of the
young lord had surely broken her poor heart if the all-merciful
God had not graciously prevented him, and sent her a dream that
night, which she would tell, not hoping to persuade the judges,
but to raise up the white head of her poor father."After I had sat and watched all the night," quoth she, "towards
morning I heard a nightingale sing in the castle garden so sweetly
that my eyes closed, and I slept.Then methought I was a lamb,
grazing quietly in my meadow at Coserow.Suddenly the sheriff
jumped over the hedge, and turned into a wolf, who seized me in
his jaws, and ran with me towards the Streckelberg, where he had
his lair.I, poor little lamb, trembled and bleated in vain, and
saw death before my eyes, when he laid me down before his lair,
where lay the she-wolf and her young.But behold a hand, like |
bedroom | Where is John? | Hereupon the hand took me up,
and carried me back to my meadow."Only think, beloved reader, how I felt when I heard all this, and
about the dear nightingale too, which no one can doubt to have
been the servant of God.I clasped my child with many tears, and
told her what had happened to me, and we both won such courage and
confidence as we had never yet felt, to the wonderment of _Dom.Consul_, as it seemed; but the sheriff turned as pale as a
sheet when she stepped towards their worships and said, "And now
do with me as you will, the lamb fears not, for she is in the
hands of the Good Shepherd!"Camerarius_ came
in with the _scriba_, but was terrified as he chanced to
touch my daughter's apron with the skirts of his coat; and stood
and scraped at his coat as a woman scrapes a fish.At last, after
he had spat out thrice, he asked the court whether it would not
begin to examine witnesses, seeing that all the people had been
waiting some time both in the castle and at the ale-house.Hereunto they agreed, and the constable was ordered to guard my
child in his room, until it should please the court to summon her.I therefore went with her, but we had to endure much from the
impudent rogue, seeing he was not ashamed to lay his arm round my
child her shoulders, and to ask for a kiss _in mea
presentia_.John journeyed to the garden.But, before I could get out a word, she tore
herself from him, and said, "Ah, thou wicked knave, must I
complain of thee to the court; hast thou forgotten what thou hast
already done to me?"To which he answered, laughing, "See, see!how coy;" and still sought to persuade her to be more willing, and
not to forget her own interest; for that he meant as well by her
as his master; she might believe it or not; with many other
scandalous words besides which I have forgot; for I took my child
upon my knees and laid my head on her neck, and we sat and wept.John travelled to the office.When we were summoned before the court again, the whole court was
full of people, and some shuddered when they saw us, but others
wept; my child told the same tale as before.But when our old Ilse
was called, who sat on a bench behind, so that we had not seen
her, the strength wherewith the Lord had gifted her was again at
an end, and she repeated the words of our Saviour, "He that eateth
bread with Me hath lift up his heel against Me:" and she held fast
by my chair.Old Ilse, too, could not walk straight for very
grief, nor could she speak for tears, but she twisted and wound
herself about before the court, like a woman in travail.Consul_ threatened that the constable should presently
help her to her words, she testified that my child had very often
got up in the night, and called aloud upon the foul fiend.Whether she had ever heard Satan answer her?--_R_.Whether she had perceived that _Rea_ had a familiar
spirit, and in what shape?She should think upon her oath, and
speak the truth.--_R_.Whether she had ever heard her fly up the
chimney?--_R_.Nay, she had always gone softly out at the
door.Whether she never at mornings had missed her broom or
pitchfork?--_R_.Once the broom was gone, but she had found
it again behind the stove, and may be left it there herself by
mistake.Whether she had never heard _Rea_ cast a spell, or
wish harm to this or that person?--_R_.No, never; she had
always wished her neighbours nothing but good, and even in the
time of bitter famine had taken the bread out of her own mouth to
give it to others.Mary travelled to the hallway._Q_.--Whether she did not know the salve which had been found
in _Rea_ her coffer?--_R_.her young mistress
had brought it back from Wolgast for her skin, and had once given
her some when she had chapped hands, and it had done her a vast
deal of good.Whether she had anything further to say?--_R_.Hereupon my man Claus Neels was called up.He also came forward in
tears, but answered every question with a "nay," and at last
testified that he had never seen nor heard anything bad of my
child, and knew naught of her doings by night, seeing that he
slept in the stable with the horses; and that he firmly believed
that evil folks--and here he looked at old Lizzie--had brought
this misfortune upon her, and that she was quite innocent.When it came to the turn of this old limb of Satan, who was to be
the chief witness, my child again declared that she would not
accept old Lizzie's testimony against her, and called upon the
court for justice, for that she had hated her from her youth up,
and had been longer by habit and repute a witch than she herself.But the old hag cried out, "God forgive thee thy sins; the whole
village knows that I am a devout woman, and one serving the Lord
in all things;" whereupon she called up old Zuter Witthahn and my
churchwarden Claus Bulk, who bore witness hereto.But old Paasch
stood and shook his head; nevertheless when my child said,
"Paasch, wherefore dost thou shake thy head?"he started, and
answered, "Oh, nothing!"Consul_ likewise perceived this, and asked
him, whether he had any charge to bring against old Lizzie; if so,
he should give glory to God, and state the same; _item_, it
was competent to every one so to do; indeed, the court required of
him to speak out all he knew.But from fear of the old dragon, all were still as mice, so that
you might have heard the flies buzz about the inkstand.I then
stood up, wretched as I was, and stretched out my arms over my
amazed and faint-hearted people, and spake: "Can ye thus crucify
me together with my poor child?Speak, then; alas, will none speak?"I heard, indeed, how
several wept aloud, but not one spake; and hereupon my poor child
was forced to submit.And the malice of the old hag was such that she not only accused
my child of the most horrible witchcraft, but also reckoned to a
day when she had given herself up to Satan to rob her of her
maiden honour; and she said that Satan had, without doubt, then
defiled her, when she could no longer heal the cattle, and when
they all died.Hereupon my child said naught, save that she cast
down her eyes and blushed deep for shame at such filthiness; and
to the other blasphemous slander which the old hag uttered with
many tears, namely, that my daughter had given up her (Lizzie's)
husband, body and soul, to Satan, she answered as she had done
before.But when the old hag came to her re-baptism in the sea,
and gave out that while seeking for strawberries in the coppice
she had recognised my child's voice, and stolen towards her, and
perceived these devil's doings, my child fell in smiling, and
answered, "Oh, thou evil woman!John journeyed to the bedroom.how couldst thou hear my voice
speaking down by the sea, being thyself in the forest upon the
mountain?surely thou liest, seeing that the murmur of the waves
would make that impossible."This angered the old dragon, and
seeking to get out of the blunder she fell still deeper into it,
for she said, "I saw thee move thy lips, and from that I knew that
thou didst call upon thy paramour the devil!"Daniel moved to the garden.for my child
straightway replied, "Oh, thou ungodly woman!thou saidst thou
wert in the forest when thou didst hear my voice; how then up in
the forest couldst thou see whether I, who was below by the water,
moved my lips or not?"Consul_, and he began
to threaten the old hag with the rack if she told such lies;
whereupon she answered and said, "List, then, whether I lie!When
she went naked into the water she had no mark on her body, but
when she came out again I saw that she had between her breasts a
mark the size of a silver penny, whence I perceived that the devil
had given it her, although I had not seen him about her, nor,
indeed, had I seen any one, either spirit or child of man, for she
seemed to be quite alone."Hereupon the sheriff jumped up from his seat, and cried, "Search
must straightway be made for this mark;" whereupon _Dom.Consul_ answered, "Yea, but not by us, but by two women of good
repute," for he would not hearken to what my child said, that it
was a mole, and that she had had it from her youth up.Wherefore
the constable his wife was sent for, and _Dom.Consul_
muttered somewhat into her ear, and as prayers and tears were of
no avail, my child was forced to go with her.Howbeit, she
obtained this favour, that old Lizzie Kolken was not to follow
her, as she would have done, but our old maid Ilse.I, too, went
in my sorrow, seeing that I knew not what the women might do to
her.She wept bitterly as they undressed her, and held her hands
over her eyes for very shame.Well-a-day, her body was just as white as my departed wife's;
although in her childhood, as I remember, she was very yellow, and
I saw with amazement the mole between her breasts, whereof I had
never heard aught before.But she suddenly screamed violently and
started back, seeing that the constable his wife, when nobody
watched her, had run a needle into the mole, so deep that the red
blood ran down over her breasts.I was sorely angered thereat, but
the woman said that she had done it by order of the judge,
[Footnote: It was believed that these marks were the infallible
sign of a witch when they were insensible, and that they were
given by the devil; and every one suspected of witchcraft was
invariably searched for them.]which, indeed, was true; for when
we came back into court, and the sheriff asked how it was, she
testified that there was a mark of the size of a silver penny, of
a yellowish colour, but that it had feeling, seeing that
_Rea_ had screamed aloud, when she had, unperceived, driven a
needle therein.Camerarius_
suddenly rose, and stepping up to my child, drew her eyelids
asunder and cried out, beginning to tremble, "Behold the sign
which never fails:" [Footnote: See, among other authorities,
Delrio, _Disquisit.whereupon the whole court started to their feet, and looked at the
little spot under her right eyelid, which in truth had been left
there by a sty, but this none would believe.Consul_
now said, "See, Satan hath marked thee on body and soul!and thou
dost still continue to lie unto the Holy Ghost; but it shall not
avail thee, and thy punishment will only be the heavier.thou hast refused to accept the testimony of old
Lizzie; wilt thou also refuse that of these people, who have all
heard thee on the mountain call upon the devil thy paramour, and
seen him appear in the likeness of a hairy giant, and kiss and
caress thee?"Hereupon old Paasch, goodwife Witthahn, and Zuter, came forward
and bare witness, that they had seen this happen about midnight,
and that on this declaration they would live and die; that old
Lizzie had awakened them one Saturday night about eleven o'clock,
had given them a can of beer, and persuaded them to follow the
parson's daughter privately, and to see what she did upon the
mountain.At first they refused; but in order to get at the truth
about the witchcraft in the village, they had at last, after a
devout prayer, consented, and had followed her in God's name.They had soon through the bushes seen the witch in the moonshine;
she seemed to dig, and spake in some strange tongue the while,
whereupon the grim arch-fiend suddenly appeared, and fell upon her
neck.Hereupon they ran away in consternation, but, by the help of
the Almighty God, on whom from the very first they had set their
faith, they were preserved from the power of the evil one.For,
notwithstanding he had turned round on hearing a rustling in the
bushes, he had had no power to harm them.Finally, it was even charged to my child as a crime, that she had
fainted on the road from Coserow to Pudgla, and none would believe
that this had been caused by vexation at old Lizzie her singing,
and not from a bad conscience, as stated by the judge.When all the witnesses had been examined, _Dom.Consul_ asked
her whether she had brewed the storm, what was the meaning of the
frog that dropped into her lap, _item_, the hedgehog which
lay directly in his path?To all of which she answered, that she
had caused the one as little as she knew of the other.Consul_ shook his head, and asked her, last of all,
whether she would have an advocate, or trust entirely in the good
judgment of the court.To this she gave answer, that she would by
all means have an advocate.Wherefore I sent my ploughman, Claus
Neels, the next day to Wolgast to fetch the _Syndicus_
Michelson, who is a worthy man, and in whose house I have been
many times when I went to the town, seeing that he courteously
invited me.I must also note here that at this time my old Ilse came back to
live with me; for after the witnesses were gone she stayed behind
in the chamber, and came boldly up to me, and besought me to
suffer her once more to serve her old master and her dear young
mistress; for that now she had saved her poor soul, and confessed
all she knew.Wherefore she could no longer bear to see her old
master in such woeful plight, without so much as a mouthful of
victuals, seeing that she had heard that old wife Seep, who had
till _datum_ prepared the food for me and my child, often let
the porridge burn; _item_, over-salted the fish and the meat.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.[Illustration]
ON INSTRUCTIN'."Tiny" was in a shocking temper."No one thinks 'igher of the Volunteers than I do," he said to the
Junior Subaltern."But now an' then they gives me the fair 'ump.Look at
this 'ere las' business.Fust of all they 'olds out as they ought to be
considered part of the country's forces, instead of being shoved out of
the way, so to speak.Bimeby along comes a reg'lashun as
they don't like.Take it quiet like the harmy
does, an' do the best they can?No, they writes to the papers and gets
up in the 'Ouse and kicks up a row till it's knocked off.A reg'lashun
_hain't_ a reg'lashun when it applies to Volunteers.If that's their
notion o' discipline, no wonder the reg'lars looks down on 'em.What if
it did send their numbers down a bit; the rest 'ud be all the better for
it: some good men would 'ave to go, but you take it from me, Sir, the
best of 'em would manage to stay.If a lad ain't fond enough of it to
give up enough time to make a soldier of 'isself, 'e oughtn't to join,
an' if there ain't enough of 'em who do it, the sooner they're made to
the better; there's plenty as can find time enough for football or
anything o' that sort, but duty don't suit them.'It's a free country,'
ses they.It's a good deal too free in more ways than one."Not but what you wants tact, Sir, in dealin' |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | For
instance, you comes down to drill the recruits, an' instead of a crowd
of intelligent lads, all anxious for to learn the rudiments o' squad
drill, you find a lonely and depressed lookin' lad, that would 'ave
recollected an engagement connected with a drink in about two minutes.You can't call it a drill, and it'll take the
heart out of 'im if you send 'im off.John journeyed to the garden.An' mind you, often it's none so
easy in a country Battalion, with one company 'ere an' another there,
an' a detachment in the nex' village, for the best of lads to put his
drills in.There aint no drill 'alls with canteen attachments, and
sergeants' mess, an' readin' rooms, so as a chap can pass a pleasant
evening any time 'e likes; that's doin' it in style, Sir.But what are
you goin' to do?'Fall in,' ses you, 'an' dress by the right.Stop that
talkin' in the ranks,' ses you.'I'm glad to see there's _one_ recruit
at least as is fond of 'is duty, tho' 'e'd look better,' ses you, 'if
'e'd 'old 'is 'ead up.Now actin',' ses you, 'as a rear rank, the front
rank not being in their places, and 'aving been numbered off from the
right which you 'aven't, and supposin' the first two men is elsewhere,
what would you do on the command "Form fours?"It's not a guessin'
competition,' ses you.'Don't know,' ses 'e.'Well, you'll learn in
time,' ses you.'We will now proceed to something which is not laid down
in the drill book, an' on which the Reg'lashuns,' ses you, 'is
discreetly silent.Whenever you 'appen to be on sentry go an' the
'armless passer by that 'as been celebratin' 'is birthday won't listen
to yer words o' wisdom, but wants to 'ug you round the neck, don't bring
yer baynit down to the charge, or any foolishness of that sort,
although you've bin expressly told to do it, but gently but firmly drop
the butt on 'is toes, an' you'll experience all the delight o' hurtin' a
fellow creature, without,' ses you, 'any unpleasantness at the inquiry
afterwards.'Return the arms to the racks
quietly an' without noise, an' tell the rest of the squad when you see
'em that you know a bit more than they do.'"John travelled to the office.[Illustration]
[Illustration: Not to be trifled with._Private:_ "Whoy, Jarge!_Sentry:_ "'Corse I do; but where be goin'?"]_Newly-enlisted Yeoman:_ "Somebody--tell--those--silly--idiots--
to stop--frightenin'--my--horse!"]"I don't know whether you've observed it or not, Sir," said "Tiny" to
the Junior Subaltern, "but in this great an' glorious country no one
ever starts on a job without providing 'imself with something to throw
the blame on in case 'e loses the trick.Sometimes they blame procedure
an' sometimes the Constitution; in our case 'tis the System.What that
system is no one even pretends to know.In one respect it's like the
Reg'lashuns; everybody starts off in the same way when discussing of
'em.You never yet met anyone that didn't preface 'is remarks on the
subject with 'As far as I can understand,' an' that's about as far as 'e
_can_."The ord'nary man that runs a bank, or a railway, or a hire-purchase
pianner works, would think to 'isself, ''Ere's the old country, bless
'er, an 'ere's the boys to defend 'er.Now, if the brutil an' licentious
foe is dumped down on these 'ere shores, 'e won't go c'lectin' seaweed,
neither will 'e pause for to admire the landscape, but, d'rectly the
pistol's fired, 'e'll get off the mark, an' make a bee line for the
winning post.Now the question is, can these boys stop 'im or can they
not?If they can, they must be got ready for the job, an' if they can't,
we ain't running a Charity Bazaar, and I ain't going to pay anything for
what's worth nothing, so we'll 'ave to think up something else.'But
that haint the way they looks at it, bless yer 'eart.'Why, you've
forgotten the votes,' ses the Gov'mint.'What in the name o' goodness
'as that got to do with it?'ses the Gov'mint, an' turns an' addresses the deputation:--
"'Friends!Gallant an' patriotic defenders of our
island 'ome!You are unique in the history of this terrestral sphere.There is not another country,' ses he, 'as would treat you as you're
treated here.Mary travelled to the hallway.Yer self-sacrificin' spirit is the joy o' me heart, an' if
there's not enough troops to go round I will allow you to line the back
streets when processions is on, but yer "present arms" is a disgrace an'
yer marchin' past makes me cold down the spine.Yer shooting--well, we
will pass that.But for your sense o' duty the curse of conscription
would be weighin' on us, so let me point out the necessity of keeping
your numbers up.'John journeyed to the bedroom."But to answer the question of me noble friend, we 'ave not forgotten
the great object for which you exist.In the disastrous an'
unparalleled catastrophe of foreign invasion, which we 'ope will never
come to pass, but which, if it does, we trust will happen when the
Opposition is in power--if, I say, at that momentuous time, you should
be found unequal to the task, our plans is made.If our opponents is in,
we shall demand a General Election an' promptly proceed to throw them
out; but, if by some mistake _we_ should be managing the vessel o' state
at the time, we shall throw the blame on our predecessors for neglecting
to train you properly.So our minds is easy as to the future.'There's
some guns we don't want in the corner, an' you can wear putties if you
pay for them yourselves,' ses the Gov'mint, 'an' we trust to you to vote
straight at the nex' Election.'"Then the Volunteer Off'cer, being by nature contrary, wants to know
something about 'is duties an' ses to the Gov'mint, 'Yer remarks is
excellent an' to the point, but what can I do to correct me errors?''Anything you like,' ses the Gov'mint, cheerfully, 'that's not agin the
Reg'lashuns.''I give up my time,' ses the Volunteer, 'an' pay for
nearly everything out of my own pocket, an' I'm anxious for to learn,
but I ain't a prophet,' ses 'e.'I'll do
anything you like in reason,' ses the Gov'mint, 'but I will not train
you.''Tell me how to teach myself, then,' ses the Volunteer.'I don't
know an' I don't care,' ses the Gov'mint, 'but I'll spare the time to
examine you if you pay yer expenses.An' meanwhile I will regard you in
the light of a nuisance.'An' so matters 'ave stood, the Volunteer
trying to do 'is best an' the Gov'mint doin' its level to stop 'im at
it.[Illustration: "Very," ses the General.]'Th' Army's not big enough,' 'e ses.'we must 'ave more men or I won't be responsible for breakages,' 'e ses.'Conscrip,' ses the General.'I daren't,' ses the
Gov'mint in a whisper; 'the Opposition 'ud get in at the next election.''The country requires it,' ses the General.'It requires _us_ more; it would be as much as my place is
worth to ask every man to do his duty, an' besides, there's me brave and
devoted Volunteers.''They'll never be any real good till they have the
M'litia Ballot be'ind 'em,' ses the General.'They're asking for it
themselves,' ses he.'Never will I consent to force any one,' ses the
Gov'mint, 'in this Land of Freedom.''Something must be done,' ses the
General.'Ah,' ses the Gov'mint, 'I have it!Crowd them--I mean the
Volunteers--for all you're worth, an' if anything busts, we can throw
the blame on them.Increase the work an' cut down the pay, 'tis a sound
business principle.Is the new
cap to have a peak, or is it not?An' who is it to be named after?'"[Illustration]
[Illustration: Our First Puttie Parade.]_Captain of Cadet Corps:_ "I've come over to ask you if you
would mind my cadets running over your land for once, Mr.I want to give them a little field work."_Stubbles:_ "Wull I dunno as I've got any objection,'s long as they
don't do no damage; but whatever kind o' dog be they now?I know
o' 'arriers an' beagles, but I never 'eard tell o' that sort afore."][Illustration]
ON THE G.O.C."The Junior Off'cers," said "Tiny" to the youngest Subaltern, "is on the
whole as smart an' efficient a lot of young gents as I'd wish to see,
fond o' their work, eager to learn, an' ready to take suggestions from
their Comp'ny Instructors, but if you listen to them you'd think they
was Generals.They may not know 'ow to c'mmand a comp'ny as they should,
but there never was one of 'em who, after being a week at Aldershot, but
what could have devised an' carried out a course of trainin' that would
have been twice as good an' ten times more suitable to the requiremints
of _their_ Battalion at any rate."It's true they don't go into details, but they're sure of the results.'But,' I ses, 'think of the poor man that's in charge of all these 'ere
Auxiliary Forces, d'you think 'e got the billet for 'is looks?'Daniel moved to the garden.'The General,' ses you, 'can't know the Volunteer like the Volunteer
'isself does.'Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Daniel went to the office.'Now, put yerself in his place,' ses I, 'an' let's work
the sum out to four places o' decimals.To commence with,' ses I, 'the
first thing 'e does on being appointed to the job is to go an' 'ave a
chat with the Gov'mint on the subjec'.Ses he, 'I've bin studyin' the
thing.''I know ye 'ave,' ses the Gov'mint; 'that's why you've got the
place.We want a man as understan's the machine; it wants over'aulin'
before we goes on tour with it.Not simply washin' out the bearin's an'
replatin' the 'andle bars, but takin' to bits, an' shovin' together
agin.Yer predecessor, poor man, did 'is best, but----, well, _de
mortuis_, you know, _de mortuis_.'A sweet sentimint, Sir, but one
tendin' to untruthfulness.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.'So,' ses the Gov'mint, 'you see 'ow the
matter stands.'Ere is the great mass of patriotic defenders of this
glorious country, ready to be trained into a force that shall be the
envy an' hatred of every Foreign Power.'Tis a noble an' inspirin'
prospec' that unrolls itself before you, an' one that should stimulate
yer vital energies to their utmost; the 'arder the work to you, the
greater the glory to us.You 'ave a free 'and in the matter.'"'Well,' ses the General, 'takin' into consideration that, if the
Volunteers is ever wanted, they'll be wanted in a hurry, I should
suggest that they might be advantageously employed in fitting themselves
for the task.''Excellent,' ses the Gov'mint; 'why ever wasn't it
thought of before?'They should be trained,' ses the
General, 'to the use of the most modern weapons, an' practised in the
lessons which we 'ave learned by bitter experience, to the end that, in
the event of an invasion, threatened or actual, every unit shall be able
to take the field without delay, sufficiently organised an' equipped to
carry it through a short campaign.'I will be interviewed on the matter to-morrow.''Of course,' ses the General, 'this will undoubtedly entail a certain
amount of hextra expense.'Train 'em, give 'em transport, stand 'em on their 'eads, or
teach 'em to sing; anything you like as long as it don't cost anything.Take a fresh start,' ses 'e."So the General sits down with 'is Staff an' 'ammers away at it, an'
cuts down the bills till 'e ain't givin' more than fifteen pence for
'arf-a-crown's worth of stuff, an' by an' by, round comes the Gov'mint.'I've dropped in to see 'ow we're getting on,' ses 'e.'Some of the
corps,' ses the General, 'wants training in one way, I find, an' some in
others, so I propose that the Commanding Off'cers of the various
districts should adapt the training to the requirements of the troops
under their command, an' should carry it out wherever we consider it
would be most advantageous.''Splendid,' ses the Gov'mint.'Speak it
into the funnygraph that I may listen to it by nights.We'll do it,' ses
'e, 'at some future date.Just now I want ye to get 'em all together in
one spot where the correspondents of the Daily Press can see an' realize
from their own personal observation what a mighty weapon we are
creatin'.The spectacle of tens of thousands of our brave defenders
practisin' together the evolutions of war will be amazin' to them.Never
again will they dare assert that we are neglectin' the defences of the
country.The next three elections,' ses the Gov'mint, 'ought to be
certs.'"'But,' ses the G.O.C., 'there won't be space to train quarter of them
properly.''Oh, never mind,' ses the Gov'mint, 'give 'em enough room to
turn round, an' stick a sintry on every telegraph pole, an' tell 'em
it's all practice; they won't know any better.I ought
to be playin' Bridge with Lady Betty by now!Tar-tar,' ses 'e; 'be
good.'"'Well,' ses the G.O.C., goin' to the sideboard an' mixing a couple o'
stiff ones, 'wash it down with that,' 'e ses, givin' one to 'is Staff.'e ses, fallin' into a chair.''Twas
ever thus,' ses the Staff, bein' by nature poetic."An' now, Sir," said "Tiny" to the Junior Subaltern, "things bein' like
this, what would _you_ do under the circumstances?"[Illustration]
The
Seven Ages
of the
Volunteer.[Illustration: (1)]
[Illustration: (2)]
At first the raw Recruit, unused to arms
And awkward at his drill, thinking the "manual" |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Then the bold "Lance,"
Quick to salute, and glad to have escaped
His turn as orderly.And then
The Sergeant, full of wrath because
His section, squad, or what you will,
Misunderstand him, and do fail
To grasp the thing he drives at.Then he's a "Sub," and cannot for the world
Imagine how on earth they ever did without him,
Don't you know.[Illustration: (3)]
[Illustration: (4)]
[Illustration: (5)]
[Illustration: (6)]
And after that he's Captain, and at first
Wakes up his company, but as the years go on
He slackens, and betimes he wonders
If it is not time to chuck it, as it were.A Major then, and now bestrides a "gee,"
Thanking his lucky stars the "double" does
No longer make him gasp.Lastly, the Colonel, sporting the bold V.D.,
Wishing to goodness he had not to put
His hand to pocket to such great extent; but dreading, all the same,
The time when he must, in the course of things,
Retire.[Illustration: (7)]
[Illustration]
WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN."I would like to get 'old of some of the gentry as writes to the papers
on warlike topics," said "Tiny" to the world at large, "more especially
them that takes the Volunteers under their special care.Now 'ere's one of 'em as 'olds the opinion that
shootin's _everything_, an' 'e quotes the opinion of a furriner who 'as
bin through the war an' ses the first thing a soldier needs is to shoot
well, an' the next thing is to shoot well, an' the last thing is to
shoot well.Now that's all right, but me worthy friend misses the first
point, which is that it refers to a _soldier_, an' not a civilian.So 'e
jumps off from the wrong place to start with.'Then,' ses 'e, 'teach 'em
to shoot, an' take 'em down to the carefully selected position an' 'ave
the distances marked off, an' the Boers 'ave taught us that under these
circumstances good rifle shots is a match for trained troops.'Now
there's where 'e run's the wrong side of the post.In the fust place
this 'ere country ain't the Transvaal, an' what 'ud be first rate out
there 'ud be all wrong 'ere; an' in the nex' place, _is_ it just by good
shootin' the Boers 'ave done what they 'ave?Don't think I despise
shootin', but drivin' comfortable to the range an' gettin' up to the
firin' line is two different things.Our own thoughtful Subaltern has carefully studied the new
firing positions, and has also read that "methods must be
improvised for utilizing the fire of two or even more ranks,"
and, by the above arrangement, he hopes to fulfil both conditions.]"I will ask you one question: 'If the King's prize man can only walk ten
miles, an' 'e 'as to march twenty, how many bullseyes is 'e likely to
make when 'e's fallen out an' lying in the ambulance?For there'll be no
goin' down comfortable to a camp that's bin arranged an' catered for
months before, an' finding yer tent up an' the tea ready.There'll be no
breaking you in soft an' easy, so that at the end of the week too many
of you won't fall out on a twenty-five mile field day.The bloomin' foe
won't study yer convenience, an' you'll get no notice before'and of the
picnic.The Foreign Power that 'as made up its mind for a slap at us
will not advertize that it'll 'old a remnant sale in the metropolis on
the first of nex' month.Our relations will be most friendly with 'im
'till all of a sudden 'e ses, ''Ere goes for London.'There'll be a navy
fight first, an' twill be no ordinary one, for 'e'll lose two ships to
our one, cheerfully, if 'e can clear the Channel for a week."We 'ope 'e won't manage it, and we don't think 'e will, but _if_ 'e
does, it'll be no week's camp then.The orders one day, the assembly
nex' mornin' an' the trains waitin'.John journeyed to the garden.'Arf the camp kettles ain't 'ere,
Sir.''Can't be helped, you'll have to manage as best you can.'Heaven
help the man that 'as forgot to stuff his haversack with a ration!Twenty-four hours they'll be before they have a chance of a meal, an'
then, Heaven help the corps twice over as 'asn't been used to feeding
itself, or that 'asn't give a thought to how to meet an emergency like
this!Quartermaster, Captain, or Corporal, anyone as knows his job at
the camp kitchen, will be worth his weight in gold then, an' that's only
the start.John travelled to the office.* * * * *
"Tired an' stale, the lads 'll work like <DW65>s at the trenches, but
before they're finished the order will come to get to somewhere without
delay, the enemy not 'aving been kind enough to fall in with our plans.No trains this time, the lines being blocked.Twenty miles before nex'
mornin', an' all baggage to be left be'ind.The boys will stay in the
ranks till they drop, an' where they drop they will stay.'Ave ye ever seen a stiff field day?Lucky the Battalion that can feed its men that
night.[Illustration]
* * * * *
"'We're in reserve, thank God!'Mary travelled to the hallway.they'll cry, though every mother's son
is only wishful to fight, an' they'll fall asleep by companies till the
section commanders kick 'em to wake up.'You've had an easy day, Colonel.Hold your men in readiness to attack
at nightfall.'* * * * *
"Mile after mile through the mud.'What are we going to do,
Dick?''Spoil their beauty sleep; they've been kept at it two days,
and if we----.'* * * * *
"'Men, their picquets are on that hill, ready for us.We are going to
take it, and hold it to the last man.* * * * *
"You'll want _soldiers_ then, gents; an' you must 'ave 'em ready
before'and."[Illustration]
[Illustration: Our Review]
[Illustration: Army Orders.Great care should be exercised in reconnoitring woods.][Illustration: (1) The simple mudcrusher thought it would be rather
sporting to entrap the mounted scout and laid his plans accordingly.][Illustration: (2) And the scout thought it was only his duty to bag
the mudcrusher, so, disregarding his enemy's fire, he started to round
him up.]John journeyed to the bedroom.[Illustration: (3) _Scout_: "Halt!You're my----"]
[Illustration: (4) "---- My prisoner, I think!"]_Scout:_ "There's a pub down there right enough, but there's an officer
coming up the hill."_Corporal:_ "Over the bank, boys; an' take cover behind those ricks!"][Illustration]
THE LOST PATROL.It seems as if we'd been here for weeks,
although this is only the third day; but I suppose one's first camp
always seems like that.It _is_ different from anything else; the drill
I've done before don't help me a little bit.It's all very well to pass
exams an' get _P.S._ after your name in the Army List, but that don't do
much good out on a field day, as far as I can see.He's a bit of a slacker, I fancy.Wish he'd
buck the men up more in their drill.They were simply awful yesterday,
_I_ thought, but he didn't seem to notice it; in fact, I rather
imagined he didn't approve of my goin' for 'em in the way I did.By
Jove, if I said "Wake up those men," once, I must have said it a hundred
times.I'm attached to X Company to-day, as young Jackson is on
the sick list?Why, they're the worst company we've
got.That's all bally fine, but----all
right, I'm off."My goodness, they _are_ a
lot!and their Captain don't seem up to much either----"Yes, Sir."But--er--I've never----" "Hurry up, for goodness sake, the Adjutant's
looking as black as thunder."Straight along till I come to the cross roads, take
the N.E.one, and keep on till I come in touch with the enemy?But----"
"Just ready, Sir.I am only asking for final instruc----" "Oh, No.1
Section, right turn, quick march."Oh, bother, I've forgotten to <DW72>
the arms.By gad, that's a pretty poor start.What
_is_ the Adjutant howling about?"That isn't the way to march an
advanced guard."Just going to send them out,
Sir."Have you ever been in an advanced guard before?Why--oh, it's your first camp, is it?Any of the men been used to
this sort of thing?Well, we must do the best we
can.Take two men and examine that little wood on the right.I will halt
the section at the corner till you rejoin.""Captain Jones says, will I push on
at once, as I'm stopping the whole column."Hang me if I
see the good of sending out flankers if you can't wait for them to
examine anything."Step out there, men, we're blocking the column."Oh, my sainted aunt, _Five_, an' not a
blessed sign-post!"Any of you men know which is the way to Muddiford?I wonder which
_is_ the N.E.I thought it was all bally rot getting maps and
compasses, but I wish to goodness I had now.If there was only a gleam
of sunshine it would help, but you can't even guess where the sun is
through these clouds.Oh, the Adjutant's swearing
like old boots?"Take the turning down the hill, boys,
and push ahead as hard as you can."Thank goodness we seem to have got
clear of 'em now, and by the powers, here's a villager."I say, is this right for Muddiford?"Down that lane, across the common to the wood, straight on till you
get to the path, and that will take us right on to the main road long
before the rest of the column can get there."Cheap at half-a-crown.[Illustration]
"Fall in there.You shall have a rest when we pick the column up, we're
a bit off the track.Yes, yes, over the fields and straight through the
wood.What the deuce are you men opening out like that for?You've always been told to spread out when going through a wood?If they lose themselves it's their look-out.Oh, er--er, curse it, that
fellow didn't tell me.Let's see, we turned to the left and then again,
so I think it must be to the right.Well, it can't be helped--here goes.I daren't own up to the men that I haven't a notion where we are, but I
haven't, and that's a fact.Here's a _sort_ of a road?_This_ isn't a main
road.Well, the men must have a rest, so----Where's the rest of the
section?There aren't more than half of them here.Expect they've gone
back the way they came?"I'm beginning to wish _I_ had too."Corporal, there's no doubt that we've lost touch with the column.Daniel moved to the garden.We
must work our way along the road till we come across a house and find
out where we are; unfortunately, I forgot to bring my map with me."The men had better rest while I make a few inquiries."Oh, you're a stranger in these parts?But, my good woman, is there any
place where I can find----The Red Lion?Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Just down the
road, where those soldiers are running to?"[Illustration:]
[Illustration: A Fair Samaritan.][Illustration: Our N.C.O._Captain:_ "Look here, Corporal, you know the great object of the new
system is to train the N.C.O.Daniel went to the office.'s to act on their own initiative and
responsibility.Now I want you to take a couple of men--understand?Two
men, and advance along the main road and select a position commanding a
good view of the road, where your sentry can see without being
seen--understand?Now you should choose if possible a place giving some
shelter for your men, as you are to imagine you've got to occupy it for
twenty-four hours, and it ought to be so chosen that you could offer a
certain amount of resistance if attacked--understand?You're in
absolute command, and you are to do whatever you think best under the
circumstances, keeping in mind the object for which you were sent
out--understand?"_Corporal:_ "Yessir."][Illustration: Our N.C.O.[Illustration: Hints for Patrols."When reconnoitring a village, one of the inhabitants should be detained
and questioned."]Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.[Illustration: The Best Laid Schemes, etc.That able and efficient officer, Captain Smith, had prepared a really
beautiful ambush that would have put the opposing force out of action
without a doubt, had not this happened just before the psychological
moment!][Illustration]
CAMP DIARIES
No.Sir DIGBY SANDILANDS, M.P.John travelled to the hallway.Hunter tells me the barometer is falling
again.We really get terribly bad luck with the weather.I know what it
will be--we shall get to camp wet through, and find everything
absolutely sodden.Wish I had sent Hunter on yesterday to look after
things.Lady Sandilands says it's perfectly absurd going on a day like
this; suggests that I should go later when everything is straight.Women
take the most extraordinary views of one's duty to the country, but
really, under the circumstances, I almost wish it were feasible.Williams has just come up to say that Brown Bess is very lame, shall he
get Sultan ready?It is really most annoying: he positively hates the
band, while old Bess is as steady as a rock.Daniel went back to the garden.Sharpe & Sharpe write me about those mortgages.If I caught the express to town I could settle the matter, and
then get to the camp about the time the Battalion should arrive.Major
Strahan would take charge of them; he rather likes doing it, I fancy.If
there's nothing important to see to I think that's what I must do, but
it is extremely annoying after looking forward to the week and making
all arrangements.The girls very disappointed; say it's not worth while going to see the
Battalion start if I'm not there.Promise them they shall have a wire
letting them know the exact time of our return.They say that's not the
same thing, as we invariably come back smothered in dust and looking
generally disreputable.They seem to regard the whole thing as a mild
form of amusement for them.Have arranged everything with the |
garden | Where is Daniel? | Really relieves me of no end of little worries.* * * * *
_Sunday._--Arrived rather later than I expected last night.Found they
had had rather a bad time getting here, but everything seemed all right;
hope it is; always like the men to start camp in a good temper.We
parade fairly strong, but men not so smart as I should like to see them.I must impress it on the company officers to look after that sort of
thing rather more carefully.Church parade not improved by slight drizzle; but the chaplain very
sensibly shortened the service.Quite forgot to provide myself with
anything for the collection; asked the Adjutant if he could lend me
something; he had only half-a-crown and a sovereign; so--well, I suppose
it's for a good cause.Inspected camp this afternoon, seems fairly
comfortable.Our mess president tells me he has had a lot of bother with
the caterers, but he hopes it will be better in a day or two.* * * * *
_Monday._--Passed a terribly bad night.Camp may be a pleasant change
for younger men, but it really is a great trial in many ways for
commanding officers.I find one misses what are usually termed, I
believe, "home comforts."The work to-day is to be confined to sections
and the training of the N.C.O.'s.This new drill reads simple enough in
the book, but the men don't seem to catch on to it as quickly as they
should; but really everything has so changed of late years that one
hardly likes to criticize.Spoke to the Adjutant about it; he says
they're doing quite as well as he expected.Very irritating order from
headquarters to the effect that as we are a manoeuvres camp, officers
will not dine in mess dress.A most senseless order; if they allow us
mess tents and board floors, and things of that sort, why on earth can't
they allow us to dine as gentlemen?* * * * *
_Tuesday._--Weather improving, am happy to say.To-day's training, I
believe, is to be left in the hands of the company commanders; field
officers to exercise general supervision.On the whole, not bad,
although I doubt if they will be able to carry out my commands as
intelligently as I could wish without a tremendous amount of
explanation.I must impress upon them the importance of grasping the
idea of the commands, at the same time acting on their own initiative,
otherwise we shall have endless confusion.* * * * *
_Wednesday._--Something about living in the open that has a very
stimulating effect upon one.The
Adjutant gave a most interesting lecture on outpost work before we
started; he mentioned several points that I don't mind confessing had
slipped my memory.I feel sure, with a little careful instruction, the
efficiency of the Volunteer Force would be enormously increased.Must
refer to it in the House on earliest opportunity.Did an attack with the
Brigade this afternoon; very disappointing.Up to certain stage
everything went well, but, as attack developed, got in some way mixed up
with the Blankshires, who were, undoubtedly, far out of their proper
line.Dear old chap, of course, but
absolutely pig-headed.'s remarks rather
uncalled for, under the circumstances.Had to speak to several of the
company officers about letting their men get out of hand.The various
Adjutants seem to regard the matter with an amount of levity which I
don't altogether approve of.Mess very uproarious to-night; most
unnecessarily so in my opinion.Heard afterwards one of the subalterns
had given a lecture on "Tactics, as he understood them."* * * * *
_Thursday._--Inspection to-day.Passed off fairly satisfactorily; faults
found of course, but that's inevitable.Thank goodness, that's over for a year._Friday._--Every prospect of a hot day of course, on the one occasion
that we should rejoice in a cloudy sky.Hope there will be no trouble
with the water-cart.Got the Battalion away early, so could give the men
a rest before commencing operations.Don't quite know what we're intended to be doing or where we're going.Somewhat awkward, as I haven't been able to tell Williams where to meet
me with spare horse and a sandwich.Rather a joke (or the reverse) if I
had to patronize the water-cart!Complimented on the way I handled the Battalion in
awkward position.Very trying march back, but men stuck to it well.Will
back a country Battalion against a town one any time for a stiff day's
work, although they may not be so smart.Ordered extra ration of beer,
or its equivalent, to be issued to each man.Capital camp fire at night,
and some very good choruses.Great pity that just as we have got into
our stride, so to speak, we have to break up.Must bring up the question of
extended camps in the House.* * * * *
_Saturday._--Brought Battalion home.Never knew the men march better,
and every man looks as hard as nails.The girls say I look years
younger.[Illustration]
[Illustration: A Conundrum._1st Umpire:_ "I say, Jimmy, which would you consider the most sporting
thing to do--award both sides the palm of victory, or put 'em both out
of action?"]_Saturday._--I don't think I ever felt less inclined to get up in my
life.It is simply dreadful to contemplate the fact that for the next
week there won't be a moment's peace for me after 5 A.M.And something
horrible is sure to happen--either the Sergeant Major will go sick, or
the Colonel's wine will be corked, or I shall be asked to explain
things.The Station Master seems unduly flurried for one of his years--says we
shall block the whole line if we don't get away soon.Had no idea the
railway system of the country was so easily upset.What is the matter
with the youth Thompson?Oh, he is in charge of the baggage for the time
being.Fortunately, baggage has a nice
little way of turning up in the long run, somehow.I wish they wouldn't
ask me what sort of work we shall do in camp; they must think I'm a sort
of military encyclopaedia.Frightful scene detraining, Volunteers always
remind me of flustered hens on these occasions.* * * * *
_Sunday._--"Oh those dreadful bugles!"The Colonel
is certain to forget his purse, so I'll take a sovereign for him.His
expression when he sees I've nothing less, will be touching.As a
spectacle, effect somewhat marred by the presence of a cyclist in
violent tweeds.* * * * *
_Monday._--Really a very amusing day.The struggles of the various
Company officers simply fascinating to watch, they have so many ways of
doing the same thing.I have never been able to fathom the mind of the
Volunteer N.C.O., but I should think he conceives his duty consists of
remaining eternally in rear of his men.I asked one what he thought he
was placed in charge of a section for, and he answered very truthfully
that he didn't know.Yet such a mood
was always followed by doubt, and she could not say whether the
reaction distressed or soothed her.These months that had gone by
brought one result, not to be disguised.Whatever the true nature of
her feeling for Godwin, the thought of marrying him was so difficult to
face that it seemed to involve impossibilities.He himself had warned
her that marriage would mean severance from all her kindred.It was
practically true, and time would only increase the difficulty of such a
determination.The very fact that her love (again, if love it were) must be indulged
in defiance of universal opinion tended to keep emotion alive.A woman
is disposed to cling to a lover who has disgraced himself, especially
if she can believe that the disgrace was incurred as a result of
devotion to her.Could love be separated from thought of marriage,
Sidwell would have encouraged herself in fidelity, happy in the
prospect of a life-long spiritual communion--for she would not doubt of
Godwin's upward progress, of his eventual purification.If Godwin's passion were steadfast, the day would come when
she must decide either to cast in her lot with his, or to bid him be
free.And could she imagine herself going forth into exile?There came a letter from him, and she was fortunate enough to receive
it without the knowledge of her relatives.He wrote that he had
obtained employment.The news gave her a troubled joy, lasting for
several days.That no emotion appeared in her reply was due to a fear
lest she might be guilty of misleading him.--was it not a promise and an
appeal?Now she had not the excuse of profound agitation, there must be
no word her conscience could not justify.But in writing those formal
lines she felt herself a coward.She was drawing back--preparing her
escape.It was the first she had
ever received from a man who professed to love her.So long without
romance in her life, she could not but entertain this semblance of it,
and feel that she was still young.It told much in Godwin's favour that he had not ventured to write
before there was this news to send her.It testified to the force of
his character, the purity of his purpose.A weaker man, she knew, would
have tried to excite her compassion by letters of mournful strain,
might even have distressed her with attempts at clandestine meeting.She had said rightly--his nature was not base.She
was passionately grateful to him for proving that her love had not been
unworthily bestowed.When he wrote again, her answer should not be cowardly.The life of the household went on as it had been wont to do for years,
but with the spring came events.An old lady died whilst on a visit to
the house (she was a half-sister of Mrs.Warricombe), and by a will
executed a few years previously she left a thousand pounds, to be
equally divided between the children of this family.Sidwell smiled
sadly on finding herself in possession of this bequest, the first sum
of any importance that she had ever held in her own right.If she
married a man of whom all her kith and kin so strongly disapproved that
they would not give her even a wedding present, two hundred and fifty
pounds would be better than no dowry at all.Then Fanny had an attack of bronchitis, and whilst she was recovering
Buckland came down for a few days, bringing with him a piece of news
for which no one was prepared.As if to make reparation to his elder
sister for the harshness with which he had behaved in the affair of
Godwin Peak, he chose her for his first confidante.Daniel journeyed to the garden.'Sidwell, I am going to be married.Long ago she had been assured of Sylvia Moorhouse's sincerity in
rejecting Buckland's suit.That was still a grief to her, but she
acknowledged her friend's wisdom, and was now very curious to learn who
it was that the Radical had honoured with his transferred affections.'The lady's name,' Buckland began, 'is Miss Matilda Renshaw.She is the
second daughter of a dealer in hides, tallow, and that kind of thing.Both her parents are dead; she has lived of late with her married
sister at Blackheath.'Sidwell listened with no slight astonishment, and her countenance
looked what she felt.'That's the bald statement of the cause,' pursued her brother, seeming
to enjoy the consternation he had excited.'Now, let me fill up the
outline.Miss Renshaw is something more than good-looking, has had an
admirable education, is five-and-twenty, and for a couple of years has
been actively engaged in humanitarian work in the East End.She has
published a book on social questions, and is a very good public
speaker.Finally, she owns property representing between three and four
thousand a year.''The picture has become more attractive,' said Sidwell.If I persuade mother to invite
her down here presently, do you think you could be friendly with her?''I see no reason why I should not be.'She has nothing to do with creeds and dogmas.'Sidwell's mind was a mystery to him.'I shall make no inquiry about her religious views,' his sister
replied, in a dispassionate tone, which conveyed no certain meaning.'Then I feel sure you will like her, and equally sure that she will
like you.'His parents had no distinct fault to find with this choice, though they
would both greatly have preferred a daughter-in-law whose genealogy
could be more freely spoken of.Miss Renshaw was invited to Exeter, and
the first week of June saw her arrival.Buckland had in no way
exaggerated her qualities.She was a dark-eyed beauty, perfect from the
social point of view, a very interesting talker,--in short, no ordinary
woman.That Buckland should have fallen in love with her, even after
Sylvia, was easily understood; it seemed likely that she would make him
as good a wife as he could ever hope to win.Sidwell was expecting another letter from the north of England.The
silence which during those first months had been justifiable was now a
source of anxiety.But whether fear or hope predominated in her
expectancy, she still could not decide.She had said to herself that
her next reply should not be cowardly, yet she was as far as ever from
a courageous resolve.Martin, watching her with
solicitude, declared that for her sake as much as for Fanny's they must
have a thorough holiday abroad.Urged by the approaching departure, Sidwell overcame her reluctance to
write to Godwin before she had a letter to answer.It was done in a
mood of intolerable despondency, when life looked barren before her,
and the desire of love all but triumphed over every other
consideration.The letter written and posted, she would gladly have
recovered it--reserved, formal as it was.Cowardly still; but then
Godwin had not written.She kept a watch upon the postman, and again, when Godwin's reply was
delivered, escaped detection.Hardly did she dare to open the envelope.Her letter had perchance been
more significant than she supposed; and did not the mere fact of her
writing invite a lover's frankness?But the reply was hardly more moving than if it had come from a total
stranger.For a moment she felt relieved; in an hour's time she
suffered indescribable distress.Godwin wrote--so she convinced herself
after repeated perusals--as if discharging a task; not a word suggested
tenderness.John moved to the garden.Had the letter been unsolicited, she could have used it
like the former one; but it was the answer to an appeal.The phrases
she had used were still present in her mind.it is
more than half a year since you wrote.anything that is of interest to you will interest me.How could
she imagine that this was reserved and formal?Shame fell upon her; she
locked herself from all companionship, and wept in rebellion against
the laws of life.A fortnight later, she wrote from Royat to Sylvia Moorhouse.It was a
long epistle, full of sunny descriptions, breathing renewed vigour of
body and mind.The last paragraph ran thus:
'Yesterday was my birthday; I was twenty-eight.At this age, it is
wisdom in a woman to remind herself that youth is over.I don't regret
it; let it go with all its follies!But I am sorry that I have no
serious work in life; it is not cheerful to look forward to perhaps
another eight-and-twenty years of elegant leisure--that is to say, of
wearisome idleness.Try and think of some task for me,
something that will last a |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | Part VII
CHAPTER I
At the close of a sultry day in September, when factory fumes hung low
over the town of St.Helen's, and twilight thickened luridly, and the
air tasted of sulphur, and the noises of the streets, muffled in their
joint effect, had individually an ominous distinctness, Godwin Peak
walked with languid steps to his lodgings and the meal that there
awaited him.The routine of his life
disgusted him; the hope of release was a mockery.What was to be the
limit of this effort to redeem his character?How many years before the
past could be forgotten, and his claim to the style of honourable be
deemed secure?It was an idea out of old-fashioned romances.What he was, he was, and no extent of dogged duration at St.Helen's or
elsewhere, could affect his personality.What, practically, was to be
the end?If Sidwell had no money of her own, and no expectations from
her father, how could she ever become his wife?Women liked this kind
of thing, this indefinite engagement to marry when something should
happen, which in all likelihood never would happen--this fantastic
mutual fidelity with only the airiest reward.A heavy cart seemed to be rumbling in the next street.If only a good rattling storm would sweep the bituminous
atmosphere, and allow a breath of pure air before midnight.Of course there prevails much
conventional nonsense about women's age; there are plenty of women who
reckon four decades, and yet retain all the essential charm of their
sex.And as a man gets older, as he begins to persuade himself that at
forty one has scarce reached the prime of life----
The storm was coming on in earnest.He
quickened his pace, reached home, and rang the bell for a light.His landlady came in with the announcement that a gentleman had called
to see him, about an hour ago; he would come again at seven o'clock.A youngish gentleman, speaking like a Londoner.It might be Earwaker, but that was not likely.Godwin sat down to his
plain meal, and after it lit a pipe.Thunder was still rolling, but now
in the distance.He waited impatiently for seven o'clock.Daniel journeyed to the garden.To the minute, sounded a knock at the house-door.A little delay, and
there appeared Christian Moxey.His visitor had a very grave
face, and was thinner, paler, than three years ago; he appeared to
hesitate, but at length offered his hand.'I got your address from Earwaker.I was obliged to see you--on
business.'They sat down, and Godwin, unable to strike the note of friendship lest
he should be met with repulse, broke silence by regretting that Moxey
should have had to make a second call.I went and had dinner.--Peak, my sister is dead.'Their eyes met; something of the old kindness rose to either face.John moved to the garden.'That must be a heavy blow to you,' murmured Godwin, possessed with a
strange anticipation which he would not allow to take clear form.Whilst staying in the country
last June she met with an accident.She went for a long walk alone one
day, and in a steep lane she came up with a carter who was trying to
make a wretched horse drag a load beyond its strength.The fellow was
perhaps half drunk; he stood there beating the horse unmercifully.Marcella couldn't endure that kind of thing--impossible for her to pass
on and say nothing.She interfered, and tried to persuade the man to
lighten his cart.He was insolent, attacked the horse more furiously
than ever, and kicked it so violently in the stomach that it fell.Even
then he wouldn't stop his brutality.Marcella tried to get between him
and the animal--just as it lashed out with its heels.The poor girl was
so badly injured that she lay by the roadside until another carter took
her up and brought her back to the village.Three months of accursed
suffering, and then happily came the end.'A far, faint echoing of thunder filled the silence of their voices.'She said to me just before her death,' resumed Christian, '"I have ill
luck when I try to do a kindness--but perhaps there is one more
chance."I didn't know what she meant till afterwards.Peak, she has
left nearly all her money to you.'Godwin knew it before the words were spoken.His heart leaped, and only
the dread of being observed enabled him to control his features.When
his tongue was released he said harshly:
'Of course I can't accept it.'Daniel travelled to the bathroom.He had no such
thought, and the sound of his voice shook him with alarm.'I have no right--it belongs to you, or to some other relative--it
would be'----
His stammering broke off.Flushes and chills ran through him; he could
not raise his eyes from the ground.'It belongs to no one but you,' said Moxey, with cold persistence.'Her
last wish was to do you a kindness, and I, at all events, shall never
consent to frustrate her intention.The legacy represents something
more than eight hundred a year, as the investments now stand.This will
make you independent--of everything and everybody.''Her own life was not a very happy one; she did what
she could to save yours from a like doom.''Did she speak of me during her illness?''She asked me once, soon after the accident, what had become of you.As
I knew from Earwaker, I was able to tell her.'She was the one woman in ten thousand--at once
strong and gentle; a fine intellect, and a heart of rare tenderness.But because she had not the kind of face that'----
He checked himself.'To the end her mind kept its clearness and courage.One day she
reminded me of Heine--how we had talked of that "conversion" on the
mattress-grave, and had pitied the noble intellect subdued by disease."I shan't live long enough," she said, "to incur that danger.What I
have thought ever since I could study, I think now, and shall to the
last moment."I buried her without forms of any kind, in the cemetery
at Kingsmill.I should have despised myself
if I had lacked that courage.''And I wear no mourning, you see.All that kind of thing is ignoble.I
am robbed of a priceless companionship, but I don't care to go about
inviting people's pity.If only I could forget those months of
suffering!Some day I shall, perhaps, and think of her only as she
lived.''Were you alone with her all the time?''You don't know, of course, that she has gone in for medical
work--practises at Kingsmill.The accident was at a village called
Lowton, ten miles or more from Kingsmill.Godwin mused on this development of the girl whom he remembered so
well.He could not direct his thoughts; a languor had crept over him.'Do you recollect, Peak,' said Christian, presently, 'the talk we had
in the fields by Twybridge, when we first met?'The old friendliness was reappearing in his manner, He was yielding to
the impulse to be communicative, confidential, which had always
characterised him.'If only my words then had had any weight with you!And if only I had
acted upon my own advice!Just for those few weeks I was sane; I
understood something of life; I saw my true way before me.You and I
have both gone after ruinous ideals, instead of taking the solid good
held out to us.Of course, I know your story in outline.I don't ask
you to talk about it.You are independent now, and I hope you can use
your freedom.--Well, and I too am free.'Godwin glanced at the speaker,
whose sadness was not banished, but illumined with a ray of calm hope.'Have you ever thought of me and my infatuation?''I have outlived that mawkish folly.I used to drink too much; the two
things went well together.It would shame me to tell you all about it.But, happily, I have been able to go back about thirteen years--recover
my old sane self--and with it what I then threw away.'Marcella knew of it, just before her death, and it made her
glad.But the waste of years, the best part of a lifetime!It's
incredible to me as I look back.Janet called on us one day in London.Heaven be thanked that she was forgiving enough to do so!'How are you going to live, then?'My income is sufficient'----
'No, no; I mean, where and how will you live in your married life?'Janet mustn't go on with professional work.In
any case, I don't think she could for long; her strength isn't equal to
it.But I shouldn't wonder if we settle in Kingsmill.At Kingsmill Janet
has a large circle of friends; in London we know scarcely half-a-dozen
people--of the kind it would give us any pleasure to live with.We
shall have no lack of intellectual society; Janet knows some of the
Whitelaw professors.The atmosphere of Kingsmill isn't illiberal, you
know; we shan't be fought shy of because we object to pass Sundays in a
state of coma.'There's nothing so idle as regretting the past,' said Godwin, with
some impatience.'Why groan over what couldn't be otherwise?The
probability is, Janet and you are far better suited to each other now
than you ever would have been if you had married long ago.''I have tried to see it
in that light.'She, I take it, doesn't think you so,' Godwin muttered.I have tried to tell her everything, but
she refused to listen.Perhaps Marcella told her all she cared to know.'Each brooded for a while over his own affairs, then Christian reverted
to the subject which concerned them both.You will take this gift of Marcella's as it was
meant?'Critic and analyst as ever, Godwin could not be
content to see in it the simple benefaction of a woman who died loving
him.Was it not rather the last subtle device of jealousy?Marcella
knew that the legacy would be a temptation he could scarcely
resist--and knew at the same time that, if he accepted it, he
practically renounced his hope of marrying Sidwell Warricombe.Doubtless she had learned as much as she needed to know of Sidwell's
position.Refusing this bequest, he was as far as ever from the
possibility of asking Sidwell to marry him.Profiting by it, he stood
for ever indebted to Marcella, must needs be grateful to her, and some
day, assuredly, would reveal the truth to whatever woman became his
wife.Conflict of reasonings and emotions made it difficult to answer
Moxey's question.'I must take time to think of it,' he said, at length.But--well, I know so little of your
circumstances'----
'Is that strictly true?'I have only the vaguest idea of what you have been doing since
you left us.'There's a train at 10.20.'Then let us forget everything but your own cheerful outlook.At ten,
I'll walk with you to the station.'Reluctantly at first, but before long with a quiet abandonment to the
joy that would not be suppressed, Christian talked of his future wife.Her mind was something more than
the companion of his own.Already she had begun to inspire him with a
hopeful activity, and to foster the elements of true manliness which he
was conscious of possessing, though they had never yet had free play.With a sense of luxurious safety, he submitted to her influence,
knowing none the less that it was in his power to complete her
imperfect life.Studiously he avoided the word 'ideal'; from such
vaporous illusions he had turned to the world's actualities; his
language dealt with concretes, with homely satisfactions, with
prospects near enough to be soberly examined.Godwin promised to
write in a few days.He took a roundabout way back to his lodgings.The rain was over, the
sky had become placid.He was conscious of an effect from Christian's
conversation which half counteracted the mood he would otherwise have
indulged,--the joy of liberty and of an outlook wholly new.Sidwell
might perchance be to him all that Janet was to Christian.Was it not
the luring of 'ideals' that prompted him to turn away from his long
hope?There must be no more untruthfulness.Sidwell must have all the facts
laid before her, and make her choice.Without a clear understanding of what he was going to write, he sat
down at eleven o'clock, and began, 'Dear Miss Warricombe'.'Dear Sidwell,--To-night I can remember only your last word to me when
we parted.I cannot address you coldly, as though half a stranger.Thus
long I have kept silence about everything but the outward events of my
life; now, in telling you of something that has happened, I must speak
as I think.'Early this evening I was surprised by a visit from Christian Moxey--a
name you know.He came to tell me that his sister (she of whom I once
spoke to you) was dead, and had bequeathed to me a large sum of money.He said that it represented an income of eight hundred pounds.'I knew nothing of Miss Moxey's illness, and the news of her will came
to me as a surprise.In word or deed, I never sought more than her
simple friendship--and even _that_ I believed myself to have forfeited.'If I were to refuse this money, it would be in consequence of a
scruple which I do not in truth respect.Christian Moxey tells me that
his sister's desire was to enable me to live the life of a free man;
and if I have any duty at all in the matter, surely it does not
constrain me to defeat her kindness.The gift releases me from the necessity of leading a hopeless
existence--leaves me at liberty to direct my life how I will.'I wish, then, to put aside all thoughts of how this opportunity came
to me, and to ask you if you are willing to be my wife.'Though I have never written a word of love, my love is unchanged.Sandra went back to the garden.The
passionate hope of three years ago still rules my life.Is _your_ love
strong enough to enable you to disregard all hindrances?I cannot of
course know whether, in your sight, dishonour still clings to me, or
whether you understand me well enough to have forgiven and forgotten
those hateful things in the past.Do you wish me
still to wait, still to prove myself?Is your interest in the free man
less than in the slave?For my life has been one of slavery and
exile--exile, if you know what I mean by it, from the day of my birth.'Dearest, grant me this great happiness!I
am not rich enough to promise all the comforts and refinements to which
you are accustomed, but we should be safe from sordid anxieties.We can
travel; we can make a home in any European city.It would be idle to
speak of the projects and ambitions that fill my mind--but surely I may
do something worth doing, win some position among intellectual men of
which you would not be ashamed.With you at my side--Sidwell grant me this chance, that I may know the
joy of satisfied love!I am past the age which is misled by vain fancies.I have suffered unspeakably, longed for the calm strength, the pure,
steady purpose which would result to me from a happy marriage.There is
no fatal divergence between our minds; did you not tell me that?You
said that if I had been truthful from the first, you might have loved
me with no misgiving.Forget the madness into which I was betrayed.I offer you love as noble as any man
is capable of.Think--think well--before replying to me; let your true
self prevail.You _did_ love me, dearest.----
Yours ever, Godwin Peak.'At first he wrote slowly, as though engaged on a literary composition,
with erasions, insertions.Facts once stated, he allowed himself to
forget how Sidwell would most likely view them, and thereafter his pen
hastened: fervour inspired the last paragraph.Sidwell's image had
become present to him, and exercised all-- |
garden | Where is Sandra? | The letter must be copied, because of that laboured beginning.Copying
one's own words is at all times a disenchanting drudgery, and when the
end was reached Godwin signed his name with hasty contempt.What answer
could he expect to such an appeal?How vast an improbability that
Sidwell would consent to profit by the gift of Marcella Moxey!With what show of sincerity could he
_offer_ to refuse the bequest?Nay, in that case he must not offer to
do so, but simply state the fact that his refusal was beyond recall.Logically, he had chosen the only course open to him,--for to refuse
independence was impossible.A wheezy clock in his landlady's kitchen was striking two.For very
fear of having to revise his letter in the morning, he put it into its
envelope, and went out to the nearest pillar-post.Whether Sidwell answered with 'Yes' or with 'No', he was
a free man.On the morrow he went to his work as usual, and on the day after that.The third morning might bring a reply--but did not.On the evening of
the fifth day, when he came home, there lay the expected letter.He
felt it; it was light and thin.That hideous choking of suspense--Well,
it ran thus:
'I cannot.It is not that I am troubled by your accepting the legacy.You have every right to do so, and I know that your life will justify
the hopes of her who thus befriended you.But I am too weak to take
this step.To ask you to wait yet longer, would only be a fresh
cowardice.You cannot know how it shames me to write this.In my very
heart I believe I love you, but what is such love worth?You must
despise me, and you will forget me.I live in a little world; in the
greater world where your place is, you will win a love very different.Godwin laughed aloud as the paper dropped from his hand.Daniel journeyed to the garden.Well, she was not the heroine of a romance.Had he expected her to
leave home and kindred--the 'little world' so infinitely dear to
her--and go forth with a man deeply dishonoured?Very young girls have
been known to do such a thing; but a thoughtful mature woman----!Present, his passion had dominated her: and perhaps her nerves only.But she had had time to recover from that weakness.A woman, like most women of cool blood, temperate fancies.A domestic
woman; the ornament of a typical English home.Most likely it was true that the matter of the legacy did not trouble
her.In any case she would not have consented to marry him, and
_therefore_ she knew no jealousy.why, truly, what was it
worth?He knew it, but this was
not the moment for such a truth.)Then thoughts, planning,
world-building.He was awake all night, and Sidwell's letter lay within reach.--Did
_she_ sleep calmly?Had she never stretched out her hand for _his_
letter, when all was silent?There were men who would not take such a
refusal.A scheme to meet her once more--the appeal of passion, face to
face, heart to heart--the means of escape ready--and then the 'greater
world'----
But neither was he cast in heroic mould.He had not the
self-confidence, he had not the hot, youthful blood.A critic of life,
an analyst of moods and motives; not the man who dares and acts.The
only important resolve he had ever carried through was a scheme of
ignoble trickery--to end in frustration.It was a phrase that had been in his own mind once
or twice since Moxey's visit.To point him thither was doubtless the
one service Sidwell could render him.And in a day or two, that phrase
was all that remained to him of her letter.On a Sunday afternoon at the end of October, Godwin once more climbed
the familiar stairs at Staple Inn, and was welcomed by his friend
Earwaker.Earwaker knew all about the
legacy; that it was accepted; and that Peak had only a few days to
spend in London, on his way to the Continent.'You are regenerated,' was his remark as Godwin entered.John moved to the garden.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.I have shaken off a good (or a bad)
ten years.'Sandra went back to the garden.The speaker's face, at all events in this moment, was no longer that of
a man at hungry issue with the world.'It isn't often that fortune does a man such a kind turn.One often
hears it said: If only I could begin life again with all the experience
I have gained!I can break utterly with the
past, and I have learnt how to live in the future.'Earwaker pushed a box of cigars across the table.Godwin accepted the
offer, and began to smoke.During these moments of silence, the man of
letters had been turning over a weekly paper, as if in search of some
paragraph; a smile announced his discovery.'Here is something that will interest you--possibly you have seen it.'He began to read aloud:
'"On the 23rd inst.Bragg's, Torquay, the
marriage of the Rev.Bruno Leathwaite Chilvers, late Rector of St
Margaret's, Exeter, and the Hon.Bertha Harriet Cecilia Jute, eldest
daughter of the late Baron Jute.J. C. Jute, uncle of the bride, assisted by the Rev.H. S. Crook, and the Rev.The bride was given away by Lord Jute.Mr Horatio
Dukinfield was best man.The bridal dress was of white brocade, draped
with Brussels lace, the corsage being trimmed with lace and adorned
with orange blossoms.The tulle veil, fastened with three diamond
stars, the gifts of"----Well, shall I go on?''A blooming beauty, I dare say.how many people it takes to
marry a man like Chilvers!How sacred the union must be!--Pray take a
paragraph more: "The four bridesmaids--Miss--etc., etc.--wore cream
crepon dresses trimmed with turquoise blue velvet, and hats to match.The bridegroom's presents to them were diamond and ruby brooches."''Chilvers _in excelsis_!--So he is no longer at Exeter; has no living,
it seems.What does he aim at next, I wonder?'Earwaker cast meaning glances at his friend.'I understand you,' said Godwin, at length.'You mean that this merely
illustrates my own ambition.Well, you are right, I confess my
shame--and there's an end of it.'He puffed at his cigar, resuming presently:
'But it would be untrue if I said that I regretted anything.Constituted as I am, there was no other way of learning my real needs
and capabilities.Much in the past is hateful to me, but it all had its
use.There are men--why, take your own case.You look back on life, no
doubt, with calm and satisfaction.'Godwin let his cigar fall, and laughed bitterly.My
good qualities--I mean what I say--have always wrecked me.Now that I
haven't to fight with circumstances, they may possibly be made
subservient to my happiness.''But what form is your happiness to take?'On the Continent I shall make no fixed
abode, but live in the places where cosmopolitan people are to be met.I shall make friends; with money at command, one may hope to succeed in
that.Hotels, boarding-houses, and so on, offer the opportunities.It
sounds oddly like the project of a swindler, doesn't it?There's the
curse I can't escape from!Though my desires are as pure as those of
any man living, I am compelled to express myself as if I were about to
do something base and underhand.Simply because I have never had a
social place.I am an individual merely; I belong to no class, town,
family, club'----'Cosmopolitan people,' mused Earwaker.I seek now only
the free, intellectual people--men who have done with the old
conceptions--women who'----
His voice grew husky, and he did not complete the sentence.'I shall
find them in Paris, Rome.--Earwaker, think of my being able to speak
like this!No day-dreams, but actual sober plans, their execution to
begin in a day or two.And a month ago I was a hopeless
slave in a vile manufacturing town.--I wish it were possible for me to
pray for the soul of that poor dead woman.I don't speak to you of her;
but do you imagine I am brutally forgetful of her to whom I owe all
this?''I do you justice,' returned the other, quietly.'How grand it is to go forth as I am now going!'Godwin resumed, after
a long pause.'Nothing to hide, no shams, no pretences.I am an independent Englishman, with so and so much a
year.In England I have one friend only--that is you.The result, you
see, of all these years savage striving to knit myself into the social
fabric.''Well, you will invite me some day to your villa at Sorrento,' said
Earwaker, encouragingly.'By-the-bye, a request.I'll send you one from Paris--it will be better done.''You shall have the thing in less than a fortnight.'Earwaker received an admirable photograph, which
he inserted in his album with a curious sense of satisfaction.A face
by which every intelligent eye must be arrested; which no two observers
would interpret in the same way.'His mate must be somewhere,' thought the man of letters, 'but he will
never find her.'CHAPTER II
In his acceptance of Sidwell's reply, Peak did not care to ask himself
whether the delay of its arrival had any meaning one way or another.Decency would hardly have permitted her to answer such a letter by
return of post; of course she waited a day or so.Sylvia Moorhouse was staying with her friend.The death of Mrs
Moorhouse, and the marriage of the mathematical brother, had left
Sylvia homeless, though not in any distressing sense; her inclination
was to wander for a year or two, and she remained in England only until
the needful arrangements could be concluded.'You had better come with me,' she said to Sidwell, as they walked
together on the lawn after luncheon.Daniel went back to the office.'Indeed, you had better.--What are you doing here?What are you going
to make of your life?'Yet one ought to live on some kind of plan.I think it is
time you got away from Exeter; it seems to me you are finding its
atmosphere _morbific_.''You know,' she said, 'that the reverend gentleman is shortly to be
married?''Oh yes, I have heard all about it.'Retiring only for a time, they say.''Forgive the question, Sidwell--did he honour you with a proposal?''Some one told me it was imminent, not long ago.''Quite a mistake,' Sidwell answered, with her grave smile.'Mr Chilvers
had a singular manner with women in general.It was meant, perhaps, for
subtle flattery; he may have thought it the most suitable return for
the female worship he was accustomed to receive.'He brought a new subject of
conversation, and as they talked the trio drew near to the gate which
led into the road.The afternoon postman was just entering; Mr
Warricombe took from him two letters.'One for you, Sylvia, and--one for you, Sidwell.'A slight change in his voice caused Sidwell to look at her father as he
handed her the letter.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.In the same moment she recognised the writing of
the address.It was Godwin Peak's, and undoubtedly her father knew it.The
construction of all writings is therefore, by the Anglo-American
common law, as by the judicial system of most countries, deemed,
in case of a question affecting litigated rights, to belong of
right to the judges.Their possession of this power in the
United States is especially necessary in respect to written law.In every government there must be some human voice speaking with
supreme authority.It may be that of one man or of many men.The essential thing is that it should be a personal utterance,
proceeding from persons to whom, by acknowledged law or custom,
submission is due, and one that, if need be, can be enforced by
the whole power of the State.The fundamental principle of American government, as laid down in
the words of Harrington in the oldest of our State Constitutions,
after which many of the rest, and that of the United States as
well, have been largely patterned, is that it is one of "laws and
not of men."[Footnote: Constitution of Massachusetts, Part the
First, Art.Laws,
however, must be administered by men.Their meaning, if it be
uncertain, must be determined by men.It must be the subject, as
the same Constitution twice affirms, of "impartial
interpretation."[Footnote: _Id_., Preamble, and Part the
First, Art.This interpretation is really what gives them
force.It is the personal utterance of one speaking for the
State, and who speaks the last word.It was simply following
English precedent to give this power to the courts as respects
legislative enactments.But the principle which required it
inevitably extended with equal force to constitutional
provisions.The people who adopt written constitutions for their
government put their work in a form which must often give rise to
questions as to what they intended to express.They rely on the
judiciary to secure their enforcement, and the judiciary must
enforce them according to what it understands their meaning to
be.There is but a step from interpretation to enlargement.Every
statute is passed to accomplish something.If the object is
clear, the rules of Anglo-American law allow the court that may
be called on to apply it to extend its operation to cases within
the purpose evidently intended, although the language used is
inadequate fully to express it.This is styled giving effect to
"the equity of the statute."Even violence can be done to the
words, if so only can this judge-discovered intent be made
effectual.The rules governing judicial interpretation of
statute law fill a good-sized volume.As the Roman lawyers worked out by force of logic and analogy an
extensive system of private law from the meagre fabric of the
Twelve Tables, so under the lead of American lawyers American
judges have applied the processes familiar in the development of
unwritten law to the development of our written law, both
statutory and constitutional.Carlyle said that the Roman republic was allowed so long a day
because on emergencies the constitution was suspended by a
dictatorship.The American republics have a right, upon this
theory, to a still longer one.With them the Constitution need
not be temporarily set aside on an emergency.It may simply be
permanently enlarged or limited by judicial construction.A
Constitution is the garment which a nation wears.Whether
written or unwritten, it must grow with its growth.Bryce
has put it: "Human affairs being what they are, there must be a
loophole for expansion or extension in some part of every scheme
of government; and if the Constitution is Rigid, Flexibility must
be supplied from the minds of the Judges."[Footnote: "Studies in
History and Jurisprudence," 197.]The Constitution of the United States declares that no State
shall pass any law impairing the obligation of contracts.This
proposition being the major premise, Chief Justice Marshall added
the minor premise that every charter of a private corporation is
a contract, and completed the syllogism by the conclusion that no
State can pass any law impairing the obligation of such charters.The counsel who opposed this doctrine urged that every one must
acknowledge that neither the men who framed the Constitution nor
the people who adopted it ever thought that the word "contracts,"
as so used, embraced "charters."Be it so, was Marshall's
answer, that proves nothing unless you can go farther and satisfy
the court that if they had contemplated the construction we put
upon it they would have used words to exclude it.[Footnote:
Dartmouth College _v._ Woodward, 4 Wheaton's Reports, 518.]The acquisition of foreign territory is a matter not especially
provided for in the Constitution of the United States.Jefferson
hesitated to make the Louisiana purchase on this account, and was
quite inclined to think, when he did make it, that he |
garden | Where is Sandra? | The courts gave the
Constitution a different interpretation, and stamped this upon it
as permanently as if it had been a birthmark.It was done by
Marshall in a single sentence."The Constitution," he observed,
"confers absolutely on the government of the Union the powers of
making war and of making treaties: consequently that government
possesses the power of acquiring territory either by conquest or
by treaty._v._ Canter, 1
Peters' Reports, 511, 542.]In the course of the same opinion, the great Chief Justice led
the way toward the doctrine, to be developed later, that the
manner in which such territory was to be held and its inhabitants
governed need not be such as the Constitution prescribed for the
territory within one of the United States.It was to be
prescribed by Congress under its power "to make all needful rules
and regulations respecting the territory or other property
belonging to the United States."Congress had set up a
Legislative Council in the Territory of Florida, and the
Legislative Council had established a court of admiralty, with
judges holding office for four years.The case in hand turned
upon the effect of a judgment of that court.It was contended at
the bar that it had no effect, because by the express terms of
the Constitution the judicial power of the United States extended
to all cases of admiralty jurisdiction, and must be vested in one
Supreme Court and such inferior courts as Congress might ordain."We have only," was Marshall's reply, "to pursue this subject one
step further to perceive that this provision of the Constitution
does not apply to it.The next sentence declares that 'the
judges both of the Supreme and inferior courts shall hold their
offices during good behaviour.'The Judges of the Superior Courts
of Florida hold their offices for four years.These Courts,
then, are not constitutional Courts in which the judicial power
conferred by the Constitution on the general government can be
deposited.They are
legislative Courts, created in virtue of the general right of
sovereignty which exists in the government, or in virtue of that
clause which enables Congress to make all needful rules and
regulations respecting the territory belonging to the United
States.The jurisdiction with which they are invested is not a
part of that judicial power which is defined in the third article
of the Constitution, but is conferred by Congress in the
execution of those general powers which that body possesses over
the territories of the United States.Although admiralty
jurisdiction can be exercised in the States in those Courts only
which are established in pursuance of the third article of the
Constitution, the same limitation does not extend to the
territories.In legislating for them, Congress exercises the
combined powers of the general and of a State
government._v._ Canter,
1 Peters' Reports, 511, 546.]It will be perceived that the argument here was that the Florida
court did not exercise any of the judicial power of the United
States because it could not, and that it could not because the
judges were not commissioned for life.This left unanswered the
deeper question whether any act of Congress could serve to
support a court existing under authority of the United States,
the judges of which were to hold office only for a term of years.Daniel journeyed to the garden.It was assumed that the provision for a life tenure did not apply
to the Florida judges, because if it did the court would be
illegally constituted.Whether it was legally or illegally
constituted was not discussed, except for the general reference
to the power of Congress to legislate for the territories and
exercise the rights of sovereignty over territory newly acquired
by contest or treaty.On this decision has been built up our present system of
governing territorial dependencies at the will of
Congress.[Footnote: Mormon Church _v._ United States, 136
United States Reports, 1, 43; Dorr _vs._ United States, 195
United States Reports, 138, 141.]Marshall's was the last appointment made to the Supreme bench
from the Federalist party.It was not many years before that
party disappeared from the face of the earth.Jefferson put
three men there representing the other school of political
doctrine,[Footnote: Among Jefferson's papers is a description of
five men whom he especially considered with reference to filling
the first vacancy which occurred during his administration.As to William
Johnson, whom he selected, it is noted that he is of "republican
convictions and of good nerves in his political principles."and his appointments were
followed by others of a similar nature, until in 1830, after
Mr.Justice Baldwin had taken his seat, it became evident that
the nationalizing tendencies which the great Chief Justice from
the beginning of the century had impressed upon its opinions were
likely soon to cease.He apprehended himself that the court
would come to decline jurisdiction in the cases ordinarily
presented over writs of error to reverse the judgments of State
courts.[Footnote: Proceedings: Massachusetts Historical Society,
2d Series, XIV, 342.]In the following year he thought seriously
of resigning.Justice Story, to
leave him almost alone to represent the old school of thought,
but he adds, "the solemn convictions of my judgment, sustained by
some pride of character, admonish me not to hazard the disgrace
of continuing in office a mere inefficient pageant."[Footnote:
Proceedings Massachusetts Historical Society, 2d Series, XIV,
347.]The next Chief Justice, while far from being of Marshall's
school, was not one to attempt to overthrow what he had done.In
Ableman _v._ Booth,[Footnote: 21 Howard's Reports, 506.]he
insisted on the supremacy of the courts of the United States over
those of the States with the utmost firmness, and defended the
doctrine on principle with force and ability.The Supreme Court,
however, under Taney, was not looked on with much favor by the
survivors of the old Federalists."I do not," wrote Chancellor
Kent in 1845 to Justice Story, "regard their decisions (yours
always excepted) with much reverence, and for a number of the
associates I feel habitual scorn and contempt."[Footnote:
Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, 2d Series,
XIV, 420.]Our State constitutions generally guarantee the citizen against
deprivation of his rights without "due process of law" or "due
course of law."A similar provision was made for the United
States by the fifth amendment to their Constitution, and since
1868 the fourteenth amendment has established the same rule
inflexibly for every State.It is
for the courts to say, and while they have cautiously refrained
from assuming to give any precise and exhaustive definition, they
have, in many instances, enforced the guaranty at the cost of
declaring some statute which they held incompatible with it to be
no law.They have also, and much more frequently, supported some
act of government claimed to contravene it, and which, according
to the ancient common law of England, would contravene it,
because in their opinion this ancient law had been outgrown.Sir Edward Coke, whom no expounder of the English common law
outranks in authority, in his "Institutes," in treating of
_Magna Charta_, referred to the phrase _per legem
terrae_, as equivalent to "by the law of the land (that is, to
speak it once for all) by the due course and process of law."It
is incontestable that due course and process of law in England at
the time when the American colonies were planted was understood
to require the action of a grand jury before any one could be put
on trial for a felony.Some of our States have abolished grand
juries in whole or part.To review a capital sentence for murder
in one of these States, a writ of error was prayed out from the
Supreme Court of the United States in 1883.The
constitutionality of the State law was sustained.In disposing
of the case the court did not controvert the position that by the
English common law no man could be tried for murder unless on a
presentment or indictment proceeding from a grand jury.But,
said the opinion, while that is due process of law which had the
sanction of settled usage, both in England and in this country,
at the time when our early American constitutions were adopted in
the eighteenth century, it by no means follows that nothing else
can be.To hold that every feature of such procedure "is
essential to due process of law would be to deny every quality of
the law but its age, and to render it incapable of progress or
improvement.It would be to stamp upon our jurisprudence the
unchangeableness attributed to the laws of the Medes and
Persians.... It is most consonant to the true philosophy of our
historical legal institutions to say that the spirit of personal
liberty and individual right, which they embodied, was preserved
and developed by a progressive growth and wise adaptation to new
circumstances and situations of the forms and processes found fit
to give, from time to time, new expression and greater effect to
modern ideas of self-government.... It follows that any legal
proceeding enforced by public authority, whether sanctioned by
age and custom or newly devised in the discretion of the
legislative power in furtherance of the general public good,
which regards and preserves these principles of liberty and
justice, must be held to be due process of law."[Footnote:
Hurtado _v._ California, 110 United States Reports, 513,
528, 529, 530, 537.]John moved to the garden.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Many of our State Constitutions specify certain rights as
inherent and indefeasible, and among them that "of acquiring,
possessing, and protecting property."American courts have said that it includes the right of every one
to work for others at such wages as he may choose to accept.One
of them, in supporting a decree for an injunction against
combined action by a labor union to deprive non-union men of a
chance to work, by force or intimidation, notwithstanding a
statute abrogating the common law rule making such acts a
criminal conspiracy, has put it thus:
The right to the free use of his hands is the workman's
property, as much as the rich man's right to the undisturbed
income from his factory, houses, and lands.By his work he
earns present subsistence for himself and family.His savings
may result in accumulations which will make him as rich in
houses and lands as his employer.This right of acquiring
property is an inherent, indefeasible right of the workman.To
exercise it, he must have the unrestricted privilege of working
for such employer as he chooses, at such wages as he chooses to
accept.This is one of the rights guaranteed to him by our
Declaration of Rights.It is a right of which the legislature
cannot deprive him, one which the law of no trades union can
take from him, and one which it is the bounden duty of the
courts to protect.The one most concerned in jealously
maintaining this freedom is the workman himself.[Footnote:
Erdman _v._ Mitchell, 207 Pennsylvania State Reports, 79;
56 Atlantic Reporter, 331.]But, as already suggested in the preceding chapter, the judges
whose opinions have vitalized and enlarged our written law by
reading into it some new meaning or application have but echoed
the voice of the bar.The greatest achievements of Marshall in this direction were
really but a statement of his approbation of positions laid down
before him by Daniel Webster.In the early stages of the
Dartmouth College case, when it was before the State courts in
New Hampshire, it was Webster and his associates, Jeremiah Mason
and Jeremiah Smith, both lawyers of the highest rank, who first
put forward the doctrine that the charter of a private
corporation was a contract; and when the cause came before the
Supreme Court of the United States it fell to the lot of Webster
to bring it to the attention of the great Chief
Justice.[Footnote: "Works of Daniel Webster," V, 497.]So in the
Florida case it was he, in supporting the cause of the prevailing
party, who suggested that the Territory of Florida, though owned
by the United States, was no part of them.Sandra went back to the garden."By the law of
England," he went on to say, "when possession is taken of
territories, the king, _Jure Corona_, has the power of
legislation until parliament shall interfere.Congress have the
_Jus Corona_ in this case, and Florida was to be governed by
Congress as she thought proper._v._ Canter, 1 Peters' Reports, 611, 538.]This argument did not spend its force in its effect on Marshall.Daniel went back to the office.When, after the lapse of two generations, greater problems of the
relations of the United States to territory newly acquired from
Spain arose, it was, as has been said above, made one of the
cornerstones of the opinion of the same court which determined
what they were.[Footnote: Downes _v._ Bidwell, 182 United
States Reports, 244, 265.]So in the Hurtado case, which has been described at length, no
description of due process of law was found better and none is
better than that given by Webster so many years before in the
Dartmouth College case.The Supreme Court of New Hampshire, from
whose judgment that cause came up by writ of error, had held--and
on that point its decision was final--that the change in the
college charter was no violation of the bill of rights embodied
in the Constitution of that state.This, following _Magna
Charta_, provided (Part I, Art.15) that no subject should be
"despoiled or deprived of his property, immunities, or
privileges, put out of the protection of the law, exiled, or
deprived of his life, liberty or estate, but by the judgment of
his peers or the law of the land."_Magna Charta_ was wrung
from a tyrant king.So, said the State court, this article was
inserted to protect the citizens against the abuse of the
executive power.When it speaks of the law of the land it means
the law of New Hampshire, and that is whatever the legislature of
New Hampshire chooses to enact, so long as it contravenes no
other constitutional provision.Webster, in paving the way toward his claim that the charter was
a contract, and, as a vested right of property, inviolable by a
State, alluded to the sacredness of all rights under the
guaranties to be found in our American system of constitutional
government.It was not surprising that the Constitution of the
United States should protect them in the way he asserted.All
the States, and New Hampshire among them, had done the same in
placing the great features of _Magna Charta_ in their bills
of rights.What, he asked, was this law of the land by which all
things were to be tried and judged?This was his answer: "By the
law of the land is most clearly intended the general law; a law
which hears before it condemns; which proceeds upon inquiry, and
renders judgment only after trial.The meaning is that every
citizen shall hold his life, liberty, property and immunities
under the protection of the general rules which govern society.Everything which may pass under the form of an enactment is not
therefore to be considered the law of the land.If this were so,
acts of attainder, bills of pains and penalties, acts of
confiscation, acts reversing judgments, and acts directly
transferring one man's estate to another, legislative judgments,
decrees and forfeitures in all possible forms, would be the law
of the land.Mary journeyed to the bedroom."[Footnote: "Works of Daniel Webster," V, 486.]Daniel went to the kitchen.Justice Mathews in Hurtado _v._
California he observes: "It is not every act, legislative in
form, that is law.Law is something more than mere will exerted
as an act of power.It must be not a special rule for a
particular person or a particular case, but, in the language of
Mr.Webster, in his familiar definition, 'the general law, a law
which hears before it condemns, which proceeds upon inquiry, and
renders judgment only after trial,' so 'that every citizen shall
hold his life, liberty, property and immunities under the
protection of the general rules which govern society.'"John journeyed to the kitchen.[Footnote: Hurtado _v._ California, 110 United States
Reports, 516, 535.]Other instances might be mentioned, equally conspicuous, which
will entitle Webster to the name given him by his contemporaries
of "the expounder of the Constitution."[Footnote: See Article by
Everett P. Wheeler on Constitutional Law of the United States as
Moulded by Daniel Webster, in Yale Law Journal, Vol.366, and in the 27th Annual Report of |
office | Where is Sandra? | No one American lawyer has done as much in that
direction, but there are few of the greater ones who have not
done something.As, however, the glory of a battle won is for
the commander of the victorious forces, so the glory of adding a
new meaning to a constitution at a vital point is, with the
public, always for the judge whose opinion is the first to
announce it.Who announced it to him they never know or soon
forget.The acknowledged possession by the judiciary of the power to
interpret written law, and thus to delimit its effect, has led to
a serious abuse in our methods of legislation.Statutes are
often favorably reported and enacted, both in Congress and the
State legislatures, which are admitted to be either of doubtful
constitutionality or to contain expressions of doubtful meaning,
on the plea that those are questions for the courts to settle.This has been aptly termed the method of the "_referendum_
to the courts in legislation."[Footnote: Thomas Thacher, Address
before the State Bar Association of New Jersey, 1903.]Daniel journeyed to the garden.It is
unfair to them, so far as any question of the Constitution is
concerned, since as soon as the measure is enacted a presumption
arises that it is not unconstitutional.The courts will not hold
otherwise without strong grounds.It comes to them with the
benefit of a full legislative endorsement.It is unfair to the
people, both as to questions of constitutionality and of
interpretation.A statute can be so drawn as to need no
interpretation, or none the outcome of which can be a matter of
doubt to any competent lawyer.A legislature abandons its
function when it enacts what it does not understand.The Sherman Anti-Trust Act is an instance of legislation of this
character.It forbids contracts "in restraint of trade or
commerce" between the States.When the bill was reported it was
objected in the House of Representatives that these terms were
vague and uncertain.The chairman of the committee himself
stated that just what contracts will be in restraint of such
commerce would not and could not be known until the courts had
construed and interpreted the phrase.The real intent of those who inserted it was that it should not
embrace contracts which were reasonable and not contrary to
public policy.A similar term in the English Railway and Canals
Traffic Act had received that interpretation in the English
courts, and they supposed that our courts would follow those
precedents.[Footnote: George F. Hoar, "Autobiography," II, 364.]The Supreme Court of the United States did construe it as
embracing all contracts in restraint of inter-State trade,
whether reasonable or unreasonable, fair or unfair.[Footnote:
United States _v._ Joint Traffic Association, 171 United
States Reports, 505, 570.]One of the justices who concurred in
that opinion, in a subsequent case arising under the same statute
intimated that on reconsideration he thought the view that had
been thus adopted was wrong._v._ United States, 193 United States Reports, 197,
361.]The addition by those who drafted the bill of three or
four words to make their intended meaning clear would have
avoided a result unexpected by them and probably undesired, and
relieved the court from deciding questions of doubtful
construction involving important political considerations and
immense pecuniary interests.* * * * *
CHAPTER VII
THE JUDICIAL POWER OF DECLARING WHAT HAS THE
FORM OF LAW NOT TO BE LAW
Government is a device for applying the power of all to secure
the rights of each.Any government is good in which they are
thus effectually secured.That government is best in which they
are so secured with the least show of force.It is not too much
to say that this result has been worked out in practice most
effectually by the American judiciary through its mode of
enforcing written constitutions.John moved to the garden.How far it has gone in
developing their meaning and building upon the foundations which
they furnish has been made the subject of discussion in the
preceding chapter.It remains to consider its office of
adjudging statutes which come in conflict with their meaning, as
thus determined, to be void.The idea of a supreme authority exercising the function of
setting aside acts of legislative bodies which it deemed
inconsistent with a higher law was familiar to Americans from an
early period of our colonial history.I;
Dicey, "Law of the Constitution," 152; "Two Centuries Growth of
American Law," 12, 19.]The charter of each colony served the
office of a constitution.The Lords of Trade and Plantations
exercised the power of enforcing its observance.They did in
effect what, as the colonies passed into independent States with
written Constitutions, naturally became the function of their own
courts of last resort.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.The Constitution, like the charter, was
the supreme law of the land.Sandra went back to the garden.Whatever statutes the legislature
of a State might pass, it passed as the constitutional
representative of the people of that State.It was not made
their plenary representative.Every Constitution contained some
provisions restricting the legislative power.If any particular
legislative action transgressed these restrictions, it
necessarily went beyond the authority of the body from which it
emanated.The Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, which now exercises
the functions formerly belonging to the Lords of Trade and
Plantations, and is in fact the same body, deals in a similar way
today with questions of a constitutional character.If one of
the provinces included in the Dominion of Canada should in its
local legislation infringe upon a field belonging to the Dominion
Parliament, this committee can "humbly advise the king" that the
act in question is for that reason void.[Footnote: In July, 1903,
for instance, an Act of the Province of Ontario, entitled the
"Lord's Day Profanation Act," was thus declared _ultra
vires_.]The Revolution found the new-made States of the Union without
this safeguard against a statute repugnant to a higher law.They
had enjoyed as colonies the advantage which Burke declared was an
ideal in government."The supreme authority," he said, "ought to
make its judicature, as it were, something exterior to the
State."The supreme judicature for America had been in England.There was now no King in Council with power to set a statute
aside forthwith by an executive order.But the other function of
the King in Council, that of acting as a court of appeal from
colonial judgments, had been simply transferred to new hands.The State into which the colony had been converted now exercised
it for itself and through her judiciary.The judgment of a court is the legal conclusion from certain
facts.Unless it is a legal conclusion from the facts on which
it purports to rest it is erroneous, and, if there is any higher
court of appeal, can be reversed.If such a judgment depends
upon a statute which justifies or forbids the act or omission
which constituted the cause of action, it is legal or illegal
according as this statute is or is not law.It cannot be law if
its provisions contravene rules laid down by the Constitution of
the State to restrict the legislative power.The court which
tries the cause must meet this question whenever it arises like
any other and decide it.A court of law must be governed by law.What has the form of law is not law, in a country governed by a
written constitution, unless it is consistent with all which that
instrument provides.The first decision of an American court bottomed on these
principles was probably rendered as early as 1780, and in New
Jersey.[Footnote: Holmes _v._ Walton, IV _American
Historical Review_, 456.]One of her greatest statesmen, who
after taking a distinguished part in framing the federal
Constitution became a justice of the Supreme Court of the United
States, vigorously enforced the same doctrine on the circuit
fifteen years later in trying a cause turning on the
unconstitutionally of a confirming act passed by the legislature
of Pennsylvania."I take it," Justice Patterson said in charging
the jury, "to be a clear position that if a legislative act
oppugns a constitutional principle the former must give way and
be rejected on the score of repugnance.I hold it to be a
position equally clear and sound that in such case it will be the
duty of the court to adhere to the Constitution, and to declare
the act null and void."[Footnote: Vanhorne's Lessee _v._
Dorrance, 2 Dallas' Reports, 304, 309, 316.]The accession of the Republicans to power in 1801, only to find
the courts of the country controlled by judges appointed from the
ranks of the Federalists, was the occasion of new attacks upon
the doctrine thus laid down.It was vigorously denied by Senator
Breckenridge of Kentucky, afterward Attorney-General of the
United States, in the debates preceding the repeal of the
Judiciary Act of 1801.[Footnote: Elliot's Debates, IV, 444.]A
year later (in 1803) the question came for the first time before
the Supreme Court of the United States, and the same positions
advanced by Patterson were taken in what is known as the leading
case upon this subject by Chief Justice Marshall.Daniel went back to the office.[Footnote:
Marbury _v._ Madison, I Cranch's Reports, 137.See
Willoughby, "The American Constitutional System," 39.]It was
unfortunate that the action was one involving a matter of
practical politics, in which the plaintiff sought the benefit of
a commission the issue of which had been directed by President
Adams at the close of his term, but which was withheld by the
Secretary of State under President Jefferson.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.The views of Breckenridge were shared by
many, and the supremacy of the judicial department, which this
prerogative, if it possessed it, seemed to imply, was distasteful
to a large part of the people.An eminent judge of a State court, Chief Justice Gibson of
Pennsylvania, as late as 1825, in a dissenting opinion, combated
at length the reasoning of Marshall as weak and inconclusive.Daniel went to the kitchen.If, he said, the judiciary had the power claimed, it would be a
political power.Our judicial system was patterned after that of
England.Our judges had, as such, no power not given by the
common law.It was conceded that English judges could not hold
an act of Parliament void because it departed from the British
constitution.No more could American judges hold an act of a
State legislature void because it departed from the State
Constitution, unless that Constitution in plain terms gave them
such a power.The Constitution of the United States did give it,
political though it was, to all judges (Art.2), and a
State statute which was contrary to that Constitution might
therefore properly be declared void by the courts.[Footnote:
Eakin _v._ Raub, 12 Sergeant and Rawle's Reports, 330.]Later in his judicial career Gibson abandoned this position,
[Footnote: Norris _v._ Clymer, 2 Pennsylvania State Reports,
281.]and the ground taken by Marshall has been since 1845
universally accepted.The last official attack upon it was made in 1831, at the time
when the feeling against protective tariffs was strong in the
South, and South Carolina was known to be meditating opposition
to their enforcement.The judiciary committee of the House of
Representatives reported a bill to repeal the section of the
Judiciary Act which gave the Supreme Court of the United States
the right to reverse judgments of State courts that it might deem
contrary to the Constitution of the United States.The report
said that such a grant was unwarranted by the Constitution and "a
much greater outrage upon the fundamental principles of
theoretical and practical liberty as established here than the
odious writ of _quo warranto_ as it was used in England by a
tyrannical king to destroy the right of corporations."The
House, however, rejected the bill by a very large majority.John journeyed to the kitchen.A proper regard for the coordination of the departments of
government forbids courts to declare that a statute is
inconsistent with the Constitution unless the inconsistency is
plain.It has been judicially asserted that it must be plain
beyond a reasonable doubt, thus applying a rule of evidence which
governs the disposition of a criminal cause.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.As judgments
declaring a statute inconsistent are often rendered by a divided
court, this position seems practically untenable.The majority
must concede that there is a reasonable doubt whether the statute
may not be consistent with the Constitution, since some of their
associates either must have such a doubt, or go further and hold
that there is no inconsistency between the two documents.This right of a court to set itself up against a legislature, and
of a court of one sovereign to set itself up against the
legislature of another sovereign, is something which no other
country in the world would tolerate.It rests on solid reason,
but as the Due de Noailles has said, "Un semblable raisonnement
ne ferait pas fortune aupres des republicans d'Europe, fort
chatouilleux sur le chapitre de la puissance legislative.C'est
que la notion de l'Etat differe d'une facon essentielle sur les
deux rives de l'Atlantique."[Footnote: Cent Ans de Republique aux
Etats-Unis, II, 145.]Our people have been satisfied with the interposition of the
courts to defend their Constitutions from executive or
legislative attack, because these Constitutions stand for
something in which they thoroughly believe.President Hadley has
well said that "a written Constitution serves much the same
purpose in public law which a fence serves in the definition and
protection of private rights to real estate.A fence does not
make a boundary; it marks one.If it is set where a boundary
line has previously existed by tradition and agreement, it forms
an exceedingly convenient means of defending it against
encroachments.If it is set near the boundary and allowed to
stay there unchallenged, it may in time become itself the
accepted boundary.But if the attempt is made to establish a
factitious boundary by the mere act of setting up a fence the
effort fails.Americans took principles and institutions with which they had
become familiar in colonial days and made their Constitutions out
of them.Their attachment to what the Constitution provides goes
behind the Constitution to the rock of ancient custom and
precedent on which it rests, the common heritage of all the
States.There is an obvious reason for the unwillingness of the judiciary
to exercise the power under consideration unless in case of
necessity.The legislature presumably does only what the public
sentiment of the day justifies or demands.One branch of it, at
least, is the direct representative of the people.To defeat the
operation of a statute is therefore always presumably an
unpopular thing to do, and if in any case there is known to be
truth behind the presumption, it requires, as the Federalist
[Footnote: No.put it, "an uncommon portion of
fortitude in the judges to do their duty as faithful guardians of
the constitution."It is seldom that an inferior court declares a statute void.The
mere fact that it was enacted by the legislature imports the
opinion of that body that it was within its powers; and such an
opinion of a department of government is entitled to great
respect.If a different, opinion is to prevail, it should
ordinarily be first pronounced by the highest authority that can
speak for the judicial department.Sandra went back to the office.--the rallying-cry of the French wood-runner since
first he set out from Quebec in the sixteen-hundreds to thread his way
westward through the wilds of the continent.Behind at a sort of dog-trot came women, clothed in skirts and shawls
made of red and green blankets; papooses in moss bags on their mothers'
backs, their little heads wobbling under the fur flaps and capotes.Then, as the dog teams sped from a trot to a gallop with whoops and
jingling of bells, there whipped past a long, low, toboggan-shaped
sleigh with the fastest dogs and the finest robes--the equipage of the
chief factor or trader.Before the spectator could take in any more of
the scene, dogs and sleighs, runners and women, had swept inside the
gate.[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF OLD FORT GARRY Drawn by H. A.
Strong]
At a still earlier period, say in the seventies, one who in summer
chanced to be on Lake |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Summer or winter, it was a life of wild adventure and daily romance.Here on the Saskatchewan every paddle-dip, every twist and turn of the
supple canoes, revealed some new caprice of the river's moods.In places
the current would be shallow and the canoes would lag.Then the paddlers
must catch the veer of the flow or they would presently be out
waist-deep shoving cargo and craft off sand bars.Again, as at Grand
Rapids, where the banks were rock-faced and sheer, the canoes would run
merrily in swift-flowing waters.No wonder the Indian voyageurs regarded
all rivers as living personalities and made the River Goddess offerings
of tobacco for fair wind and good voyage.And it is to be kept in mind
that no river like the Saskatchewan can be permanently mapped.No map or
chart of such a river could serve its purpose for more than a year.Chart it to-day, and perhaps to-morrow it jumps its river bed; and
where was a current is now a swampy lake in which the paddlemen may lose
their way.When the waters chanced to be low at Grand Rapids, showing huge rocks
through the white spray, cargoes would be unloaded and the peltry sent
across the nine-mile portage by tramway; but when the river was high--as
in June after the melting of the mountain snows--the voyageurs were
always keen for the excitement of making the descent by canoe.Lestang,
M'Kay, Mackenzie, a dozen famous guides, could boast two trips a day
down the rapids, without so much as grazing a paddle on the rocks.Indeed, the different crews would race each other into the very vortex
of the wildest water; and woe betide the old voyageur whose crew failed
of the strong pull into the right current just when the craft took the
plunge!Here, where the waters of the vast prairie region are descending
over huge boulders and rocky islets between banks not a third of a mile
apart, there is a wild river scene.Far ahead the paddlers can hear the
roar of the swirl.Now the surface of the river rounds and rises in the
eddies of an undertow, and the canoe leaps forward; then, a swifter
plunge through the middle of a furious overfall.The steersman rises
at the stern and leans forward like a runner.[Illustration: TRACK SURVEY of the SASKATCHEWAN between CEDAR LAKE &
LAKE WINNIPEG]
'Pull!'shouts the steersman; and the canoe shoots past one rock to
catch the current that will whirl it past the next, every man bending to
his paddle and almost lifted to his feet.The canoe catches the right
current and is catapulted past the roaring place where rocks make the
water white.Instantly all but the steersman drop down, flat in the
bottom of the canoe, paddles rigid athwart.The
waters do the work; and motion on the part of the men would be fatal.Here the strongest swimmer would be as a chip on a cataract.The task
now is not to paddle, but to steer--to keep the craft away from the
rocks.This is the part of the steersman, who stands braced to his
paddle used rudder-wise astern; and the canoe rides the wildest plunge
like a sea-gull.One after another the brigades disappear in a white
trough of spray and roaring waters.No human power can
bring them out of that maelstrom!like corks on a wave,
mounting and climbing and riding the highest billows, there they are
again, one after another, sidling and lifting and falling and finally
gliding out to calm water, where the men fall to their paddles and
strike up one of their lusty voyageur songs!The Company would not venture its peltry on the lower rapid where the
river rushes down almost like a waterfall.Above this the cargoes were
transferred to the portage, and prosaically sent over the hill on a
tram-car pulled by a horse.The men, however, would not be robbed of the
glee of running that last rapid, and, with just enough weight for
ballast in their canoes and boats, they would make the furious descent.At the head of the tramway on the Grand Rapids portage stands the Great
House, facing old warehouses through which have passed millions of
dollars' worth of furs.The Great House is gambrel-roofed and is built
of heavily timbered logs whitewashed.Round it is a picket fence; below
are wine cellars.It is dismantled and empty now; but here no doubt good
wines abounded and big oaths rolled in the days when the lords of an
unmapped empire held sway.[Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL POSTS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY
Map by Bartholomew.]A glance at the map of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts will show the
extent of the fur traders' empire.To the Athabaska warehouses at Fort
Chipewyan came the furs of Mackenzie river and the Arctic; to Fort
Edmonton came the furs of the Athabaska and of the Rockies; to Fort Pitt
came the peltry of the Barren Lands; and all passed down the broad
highway of the Saskatchewan to Lake Winnipeg, whence they were sent out
to York Factory on Hudson Bay, there to be loaded on ships and taken to
the Company's warehouses in London.* * * * *
Incidentally, the fur hunters were explorers who had blazed a trail
across a continent and penetrated to the uttermost reaches of a northern
empire the size of Europe.But it was fur these explorers were seeking
when they pushed their canoes up the Saskatchewan, crossed the Rocky
Mountains, went down the Columbia.Fur, not glory, was the quest when
the dog bells went ringing over the wintry wastes from Saskatchewan to
Athabaska, across the Barren Lands, and north to the Arctic.Beaver, not
empire, was the object in view when the horse brigades of one hundred
and two hundred and three hundred hunters, led by Ogden, or Ross, or
M'Kay or Ermatinger went winding south over the mountains from New
Caledonia through the country that now comprises the states of
Washington and Oregon and Idaho, across the deserts of Utah and Nevada,
to the Spanish forts at San Francisco and Monterey.It is a question
whether La Salle could have found his way to the Mississippi, or
Radisson to the North Sea, or Mackenzie to the Pacific, if the little
beaver had not inspired the search and paid the toll.CHAPTER II
THE TRAGEDY OF HENRY HUDSON
Though the adventurers to Hudson Bay turned to fur trading and won
wealth, and discovered an empire while pursuing the little beaver across
a continent, the beginning of all this was not the beaver, but a
myth--the North-West Passage--a short way round the world to bring back
the spices and silks and teas of India and Japan.It was this quest, not
the lure of the beaver, that first brought men into the heart of New
World wilds by way of Hudson Bay.In this search Henry Hudson led the way when he sent his little
high-decked oak craft, the _Discovery_, butting through the ice-drive of
Hudson Strait in July of 1610; 'worming a way' through the floes by
anchor out to the fore and a pull on the rope from behind.Smith,
Wolstenholme, and Digges, the English merchant adventurers who had
supplied him with money for his brig and crew, cared for nothing but
the short route to those spices and silks of the orient.They thought,
since Hudson's progress had been blocked the year before in the same
search up the bay of Chesapeake and up the Hudson river, that the only
remaining way must lie through these northern straits.So now thought
Hudson, as the ice jams closed behind him and a clear way opened before
him to the west on a great inland sea that rocked to an ocean tide.How easily does a wish become father to
the thought!Ice lay north, open water south and west; and so south-west
steered Hudson, standing by the wheel, though Juet, the old mate, raged
in open mutiny because not enough provisions remained to warrant further
voyaging, much less the wintering of a crew of twenty in an ice-locked
world.Henry Greene, a gutter-snipe picked off the streets of London, as
the most of the sailors of that day were, went whispering from man to
man of the crew that the master's commands to go on ought not to be
obeyed.But we must not forget two things when we sit in judgment on
Henry Hudson's crew.First, nearly all sailors of that period were
unwilling men seized forcibly and put on board.Secondly, in those days
nearly all seamen, masters as well as men, were apt to turn pirate at
the sight of an alien sail.The ships of all foreign nations were
considered lawful prey to the mariner with the stronger crew or fleeter
sail.[Illustration: THE ROUTES OF HUDSON AND MUNCK
Map by Bartholomew.]The waters that we know to-day as the Pacific were known to Hudson as
the South Sea.And now the tide rolled south over shelving, sandy
shores, past countless islands yellowing to the touch of September
frosts, and silent as death but for the cries of gull, tern, bittern,
the hooting piebald loon, match-legged phalaropes, and geese and ducks
of every hue, collected for the autumnal flight south.It was a
yellowish sea under a sky blue as turquoise; and it may be that Hudson
recalled sailor yarns of China's seas, lying yellow under skies blue as
a robin's egg.At any rate he continued to steer south in spite of the
old mate's mutterings.Men in unwilling service at a few shillings a
month do not court death for the sake of glory.The shore line of rocks
and pine turned westward.So did Hudson, sounding the ship's line as he
crept forward one sail up, the others rattling against the bare masts in
the autumn wind--doleful music to the thoughts of the coward crew.The
shore line at the south end of Hudson Bay, as the world now knows, is
cut sharply by a ridge of swampy land that shoals to muddy flats in
what is known as Hannah Bay.Hudson's hopes must have been dimmed if not dashed as he saw the western
shore turn north and bar his way.He must suddenly have understood the
force of the fear that his provisions would not last him to England if
this course did not open towards China.It was now October; and the
furious equinoctial gales lashed the shallow sea to mountainous waves
that swept clear over the decks of the _Discovery_, knocking the sailors
from the capstan bars and setting all the lee scuppers spouting.In a
rage Juet threw down his pole and declared that he would serve no
longer.Hudson was compelled to arrest his old mate for mutiny and
depose him with loss of wages.The trial brought out the fact that the
crew had been plotting to break open the lockers and seize firearms.It
must be remembered that most of Hudson's sailors were ragged, under-fed,
under-clothed fellows, ill fitted for the rigorous climate of the north
and unmoved by the glorious aims that, like a star of hope, led Hudson
on.Sandra moved to the bathroom.They saw no star of hope, and felt only hunger and cold and that
dislike of the hardships of life which is the birthright of the
weakling, as well as his Nemesis.What with the north wind driving water back up the shallows, and with
tamarac swamps on the landward side, Hudson deemed it unwise to anchor
for the winter in the western corner of the Bay, and came back to the
waters that, from the description of the hills, may now be identified as
Rupert Bay, in the south-east corner.The furious autumn winds bobbled
the little high-decked ship about on the water like a chip in a
maelstrom, and finally, with a ripping crash that tore timbers asunder,
sent her on the rocks, in the blackness of a November night.The
starving crew dashed up the hatchway to decks glassed with ice and
wrapped in the gloom of a snow-storm thick as wool.To any who have been
on that shore in a storm it is quite unnecessary to explain why it was
impossible to seek safety ashore by lowering a boat.Shallow seas always
beat to wilder turbulence in storm than do the great deeps.Even so do
shallow natures, and one can guess how the mutinous crew, stung into
unwonted fury by cold and despair, railed at Hudson with the rage of
panic-stricken hysteria.But in daylight and calm, presumably on the
morning of November 11, drenched and cold, they reached shore safely,
and knocked together, out of the tamarac and pines and rocks, some
semblance of winter cabins.Of game there was abundance then, as now--rabbit and deer and grouse
enough to provision an army; and Hudson offered reward for all
provisions brought in.But the leaven of rebellion had worked its
mischief.Certainly none of them had ever before felt such cold as this--cold that
left the naked hand sticking to any metal that it touched, that filled
the air with frost fog and mock suns, that set the wet ship's timbers
crackling every night like musket shots, that left a lining of
hoar-frost and snow on the under side of the berth-beds, that burst the
great pines and fir trees ashore in loud nightly explosions, and set the
air whipping in lights of unearthly splendour that passed them moving
and rustling in curtains of blood and fire.[1] As anyone who has lived
in the region knows, the cowardly incompetents should have been up and
out hunting and wresting from nature the one means of protection against
northern cold--fur clothing.That is the one demand the North makes of
man--that he shall fight and strive for mastery; but these whimpering
weaklings, convulsed with the poison of self-pity, sat inside shivering
over the little pans and braziers of coal, cursing and cursing Hudson.In the midst of the smouldering mutiny the ship's gunner died, and
probably because the gutter boy, Greene, was the most poorly clad of
all, Hudson gave the dead man's overcoat to the London lad.Instantly
there was wild outcry from the other men.It was customary to auction a
dead seaman's clothes from the mainmast.In disgust Hudson turned the coat over to the new mate--thereby
adding fresh fuel to the crew's wrath and making Greene a real source of
danger.Greene was, to be sure, only a youth, but small snakes sometimes
secrete deadly venom.How the winter passed there is no record, except that it was 'void of
hope'; and one may guess the tension of the sulky atmosphere.The old
captain, with his young son, stood his ground against the mutineers,
like a bear baited by snapping curs.If they had hunted half as
diligently as they snarled and complained, there would have been ample
provisions and absolute security; and this statement holds good of more
complainants against life than Henry Hudson's mutinous crew.It holds
good of nearly all mutineers against life.Spring came, as it always comes in that snow-washed northern land, with
a ramp of the ice loosening its grip from the turbulent waters, and a
whirr of the birds winging north in long, high, wedge-shaped lines, and
a crunching of the icefloes riding turbulently out to sea, and a piping
of the odorous spring winds through the resinous balsam-scented woods.Hudson and the loyal members of the crew attempted to replenish
provisions by fishing.Then a brilliant thought penetrated the wooden
brains of the idle and incompetent crew--a thought that still works its
poison in like brains of to-day--namely, if there were half as many
people there would be twice as much provisions for each.John journeyed to the office.Ice out, anchor up, the gulls and wild geese winging northward
again--all was ready for sail on June 18, 1611.With the tattered canvas
and the seams tarred and the mends in the hull caulked, Hudson handed
|
bedroom | Where is John? | He had failed to find the North-West Passage.He was going home a
failure, balked, beaten, thrown back by the waves that had been beating
the icefloes to the mournful call of the desolate wind all winter.There were tears in the eyes of the old captain as he handed out the
last of the bread.Any one who has watched what snapping mongrels do
when the big dog goes down, need not be told what happened now.There
were whisperings that night as the ship slipped before the wind,
whisperings and tale-bearings from berth to berth, threats uttered in
shrill scared falsetto 'to end it or to mend it; better hang at home for
mutiny than starve at sea.'Prickett, the agent for the merchant
adventurers, pleaded for Hudson's life; the mutineers, led by Juet and
Greene, roughly bade him look to his own.Prickett was ill in bed with
scurvy, and the tremor of self-fear came into his plea.Then the
mutineers swore on the Bible that what they planned was to sacrifice the
lives of the few to save the many.When the destroyer profanes the Cross
with unclean perjury, 'tis well to use the Cross for firewood and
unsheath a sword.Peevish with sickness, Prickett punily acquiesced.When Hudson stepped from the wheel-house or cabin next morning, they
leaped upon him like a pack of wolves.No oaths on Scripture and Holy
Cross this break of day!Oaths of another sort--oaths and blows and
railings--all pretence of clean motives thrown off--malice with its
teeth out snapping!Somewhere north of Rupert, probably off Charlton
Island, Hudson, his son, and eight loyal members of the crew were thrown
into one of the boats on the davits.The boat was lowered on its pulleys
and touched sea.The _Discovery_ then spread sail and sped through open
water to the wind.The little boat with the marooned crew came climbing
after.Somebody threw into it some implements and ammunition, and some
one cut the painter.The abandoned boat slacked and fell back in the
wave wash; and that is all we know of the end of Henry Hudson, who had
discovered a northern sea, the size of a Mediterranean, that was to be a
future arena of nations warring for an empire, and who had before
discovered a river that was to be a path of world commerce.[Illustration: THE LAST HOURS OF HUDSON From the painting by Collier]
What became of Hudson?A famous painting represents him, with his little
son and the castaway crew, huddling among the engulfing icebergs.That
may have been; but it is improbable that the dauntless old pathfinder
would have succumbed so supinely.Three traditions, more or less
reasonable, exist about his end.When Captain James came out twenty
years later seeking the North-West Passage he found on a little
island (Danby), south-east from Charlton Island, a number of sticks
standing in the ground, with the chip marks of a steel blade.Did the
old timbers mark some winter house of Hudson and his castaways?When
Radisson came cruising among these islands fifty years later, he
discovered an old house 'all marked and battered with bullets'; and the
Indians told Radisson stories of 'canoes with sails' having come to the
Bay.Had Indians, supplied with firearms overland from Quebec traders,
assailed that house where nine white men, standing at bay between
starvation and their enemies, took their last stand?The third tradition
is of a later day.A few years ago a resident of Fort Frances, who had
spent the summer at the foot of James Bay, and who understood the Indian
language, wrote that the Indians had told him legends of white men who
had come to the Bay long long ago, before ever 'the Big Company came,'
and who had been cast away by their fellows, and who came ashore and
lived among the Indians and took Indian wives and left red-haired
descendants.It is probable that fur traders had told the Indians the
story of Hudson; and this would explain the origin of this tradition.On
the other hand, in a race utterly isolated from the outside world,
among whom neither printing nor telegraph ever existed, traditions
handed down from father to son acquire peculiar value; and in them we
can often find a germ of truth.The legends are given for what they are
worth.There is no need to relate the fate of the mutineers.The fate of
mutineers is the same the world over.When they found their way back
through the straits all provisions were exhausted.While they were
prisoners in the icefloes, scurvy assailed the crew.Landing to gather
sorrel grass as an antidote to scurvy, they were attacked by Eskimos.Only four men were left to man the ship home, and they were reduced to a
diet of sea moss and offal before reaching Ireland.Greene perished
miserably among the Indians, and his body was thrown into the sea.Old
Juet died of starvation in sight of Ireland, raving impotent curses.But
however dire Nemesis may be, or however deep may be repentance, neither
undoes the wrong; and Hudson had gone to his unknown grave, sent thither
by imbeciles, who would not work that they might eat, nor strive that
they might win, but sat crouching, as their prototypes sit, ready to
spring at the throat of Endeavour.Thomas Button, afterwards knighted for his effort, came out the very
next year at the expense of the merchant adventurers--Walstenholme,
Smith, and Digges--to search for Hudson.He wintered (1612-13) at Port
Nelson, which he explored and named after his mate, who died there of
scurvy; but the sea gave up no secret of its dead.Prickett and Bylot,
of Hudson's former crew, were there also with the old ship _Discovery_
and a large frigate called _Resolution_, an appropriate name.Button's
crew became infected with scurvy, and Port Nelson a camp for the dead.Sandra moved to the bathroom.Then came Captain Gibbon in 1614; but the ice caught him at Labrador and
turned him back.The merchant adventurers then fitted out Bylot,
Hudson's second mate, and in 1615-16 he searched the desolate, lonely
northern waters.He found no trace of Hudson, nor a passage to the South
Sea; but he gave his mate's name--Baffin--to the lonely land that lines
the northern side of the straits.Novelists are frequently accused of
sensationalism and exaggeration, but if, as tradition seems to suggest,
Hudson were still alive seven hundred miles south at the lower end of
the Bay, straining vain eyes for a sail at sea, like Alexander Selkirk
of a later day--with a Button and a Gibbon and a Bylot and a Baffin
searching for him with echoing cannon roll and useless call in the
north--then the life and death of the old pathfinder are more like a
tale from Defoe than a story of real life.The English merchant adventurers then gave up--possibly for the very
good reason that they had emptied their purses.John journeyed to the office.This brings us to the
year 1617 with no North-West Passage discovered, and very little other
reward for the toll of life and heroism during seven years.Superficially, when we contemplate such failure, it looks like the
broken arc of a circle; but when we find the whole circle we see that it
is made up very largely of broken endeavour, and that Destiny has shaped
the wheel to roll to undreamed ends.There was no practicable North-West
Passage, as we know; but the search for such a passage gave to the world
a new empire.CHAPTER III
OTHER EXPLORERS ON THE BAY
Little Denmark, whose conquering Vikings on their'sea horses' had
scoured the coasts of Europe, now comes on the scene.Hudson, an
Englishman, had discovered the Bay, but the port of Churchill, later to
become an important post of the fur trade, was discovered by Jens Munck,
the Dane.In the autumn of 1619 Munck came across the Bay with two
vessels--the UNICORN, a warship with sea horses on its carved prow, and
the LAMPREY, a companion sloop--scudding before an equinoctial squall.Through a hurricane of sleet he saw what appeared to be an inlet between
breakers lashing against the rocky west shore.Steering the UNICORN for
the opening, he found himself in a land-locked haven, protected from the
tidal bore by a ridge of sunken rock.The LAMPREY had fallen behind, but
fires of driftwood built on the shore guided her into the harbour, and
Munck constructed an ice-break round the keels of his ships.Sandra went back to the hallway.Piles of
rocks sunk as a coffer-dam protected the boats from the indrive of tidal
ice; and the Danes prepared to winter in the new harbour.To-day there
are no forests within miles of Churchill, but at that time pine woods
crowded to the water's edge, and the crews laid up a great store of
firewood.With rocks, they built fireplaces on the decks--a paltry
protection against the northern cold.Later explorers wintering at
Churchill boarded up their decks completely and against the boarding
banked snow, but this method of preparation against an Arctic winter was
evidently unknown to the Danes.By November every glass vessel on the ships had been broken to splinters
by the frost.In the lurid mock suns and mock moons of the frost fog the
superstitious sailors fancied that they saw the ominous sign of the
Cross, portending disaster.One of the surgeons died of exposure, and
within a month all the crew were prostrate with scurvy.With the
exception, perhaps, of Bering's voyage a hundred years later, the record
of Munck's wintering is one of the most lamentable in all American
exploration.'Died this day my Nephew, Eric Munck,' wrote the captain on
April 1 of 1620, 'and was buried in the same grave as my second mate.May 6--The bodies of the dead lie
uncovered because none of us has strength to bury them.'By June the ships had become charnel-houses.Two men only, besides
Munck, had survived the winter.When the ice went out with a rush and a
grinding, and the ebb tide left the flats bare, wolves came nightly,
sniffing the air and prowling round the ships' exposed keels.'As I have
no more hope of life in this world,' wrote Jens Munck, 'herewith
good-night to all the world and my soul to God.'His two companions had
managed to crawl down the ship's ladder and across the flats, where they
fell ravenously on the green sprouting sorrel grass and sea nettles.As
all northerners know, they could have eaten nothing better for scurvy.Forthwith their malady was allayed.In a few days they came back for
their commander.The putrid dead were thrown into the river.John moved to the bedroom.Ballast and cargo were then
cast out.It thus happened that when the tide came in, the little sloop
_Lamprey_ lifted and floated out to sea.Munck had drilled holes in the
hull of the _Unicorn_ and sunk her with all her freight till he could
come back with an adequate crew; but he never returned.War broke out in
Europe, and Munck went to his place in the Danish Navy.Meanwhile Indians had come down to what they henceforth called the River
of the Strangers.When the tide went out they mounted the _Unicorn_ and
plundered her of all the water-soaked cargo.In the cargo were
quantities of powder.A fire was kindled to dry the booty.At once a
consuming flame shot into the air, followed by a terrific explosion; and
when the smoke cleared neither plunder nor plunderers nor ship remained.Eighty years afterwards the fur traders dug from these river flats a
sunken cannon stamped C 4--Christian IV--and thus established the
identity of Munck's winter quarters as Churchill harbour.Munck was not the last soldier of fortune to essay passage to China
through the ice-bound North Sea.Captain Fox of Hull and Captain James
of Bristol came out in 1631 on separate expeditions, 'itching,' as Fox
expressed it, to find the North-West Passage.Private individuals had
fitted out both expeditions.Fox claimed the immediate patronage of the
king; James came out under the auspices of the city of Bristol.Sailing
the same week, they did not again meet till they were south of Port
Nelson in the autumn, when Fox dined with James and chaffed him about
his hopes to'meet the Emperor of Japan.'But there was no need of
rivalry; both went back disappointed men.James wintered on Charlton
Island, and towards the end of 1632, after a summer's futile cruising,
returned to England with a terrible tale of bootless suffering.* * * * *
While England sought a short route to China by Hudson Bay, and the
Spaniards were still hoping to find a way to the orient by the Gulf of
Mexico and California, New France had been founded, and, as we may learn
from other narratives in this series, her explorers had not been idle.In the year 1660 two French pathfinders and fur traders, Medard Chouart
des Groseilliers and Pierre Esprit Radisson, men of Three Rivers, came
back from the region west of Lake Superior telling wondrous tales of a
tribe of Indians they had met--a Cree nation that passed each summer on
the salt waters of the Sea of the North.The two fur traders were
related, Radisson's sister having married Groseilliers, who was a
veteran of one of the Jesuit missions on Lake Huron.Radisson himself,
although the hero of many exploits, was not yet twenty-six years of age.Did that Sea of the North of which they had heard find western outlet by
the long-sought passage?So ran rumour and conjecture concerning the two
explorers in Three Rivers and Quebec; but Radisson himself writes: 'We
considered whether to reveal what we had learned, for we had not yet
been to the Bay of the North, knowing only what the Crees told us.We
wished to discover it ourselves before revealing anything.'In the execution of their bold design to journey to the North Sea,
Radisson and Groseilliers had to meet the opposition of the Jesuits and
the governor--the two most powerful influences in New France.The
Jesuits were themselves preparing for an expedition overland to Hudson
Bay and had invited Radisson to join their company going by way of the
Saguenay; but he declined, and they left without him.In June 1661 the
Jesuits--Fathers Dreuilletes and Dablon--ascended the Saguenay, but they
penetrated no farther than a short distance north of Lake St John, where
they established a mission.The fur trade of New France was strictly regulated, and severe
punishments were meted out to those who traded without a licence.Radisson and Groseilliers made formal application to the governor for
permission to trade on the Sea of the North.The governor's answer was
that he would give the explorers a licence if they would take with them
two of his servants and give them half the profits of the undertaking.The two explorers were not content with this proposal and were forbidden
to depart; but in defiance of the governor's orders they slipped out
from the gates of Three Rivers by night and joined a band of Indians
bound for the northern wilds.The two Frenchmen spent the summer and winter of 1661-62 in hunting with
the Crees west of Lake Superior, where they met another tribe of
Indians--the Stone Boilers, or Assiniboines--who also told them of the
great salt water, or Sea of the North.In the spring of 1662, with some
Crees of the hinterland, they set out in canoes down one of the
rivers--Moose or Abitibi--leading to Hudson Bay.Radisson had sprained
his ankle; and the long portages by the banks of the ice-laden,
rain-swollen rivers were terrible.The rocks were slippery as glass with
ice and moss.The forests of this region are full of dank heavy
windfall that obstructs the streams and causes an endless succession of
|
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | In these the paddlers had to wade to mid-waist, 'tracking' their
canoes through perilous passage-way, where the rip of an upturned branch
might tear the birch from the bottom of the canoe.When the swamps
finally narrowed to swift rivers, blankets were hoisted as sails, and
the brigade of canoes swept out to the sandy sea of Hudson Bay.'We were
in danger to perish a thousand times from the ice,' Radisson writes,
'but at last we came full sail from a deep bay to the seaside, where we
found an old house all demolished and battered with bullets.Sandra moved to the bathroom.We went from isle to isle all that summer in
the Bay of the North.We passed the summer coasting the seaside.'Some historians dispute his claims; but
even if his assertion that he sailed 'from isle to isle' during the
summer of 1662 be challenged, the fact that his companion, Groseilliers,
knew enough of the Bay to enable him six years later to guide a ship
round by sea to 'a rendezvous' on the Rupert river must be accepted.The only immediate results of the discovery to Radisson and Groseilliers
were condign punishment, disgrace, and almost utter ruin.When they came
back to the St Lawrence in the summer of 1663 with several hundred
Indians and a flotilla of canoes swarming over the surface of the river
below the heights of Quebec, and conveying a great cargo of beaver
skins, the avaricious old governor affected furious rage because the two
traders had broken the law by going to the woods without his permission.The explorers were heavily fined, and a large quantity of their beaver
was seized to satisfy the revenue tax.Of the immense cargo brought
down, Radisson and Groseilliers were permitted to keep only a small
remainder.Groseilliers sailed for France to appeal to the home authorities for
redress, but the friends of the governor at the French court proved too
strong for him and nothing was done.He then tried to interest merchants
of Rochelle in an expedition to Hudson Bay by sea, and from one of them
he obtained a vague promise of a ship for the following year.It was
agreed that in the following spring Radisson and Groseilliers should
join this ship at Isle Perce at the mouth of the St Lawrence.So it
happened that, in the spring of 1664, the two explorers, having
returned to Three Rivers, secretly took passage in a fishing schooner
bound for Anticosti, whence they went south to Isle Perce to meet the
ship they expected from Rochelle.But again they were to be
disappointed; a Jesuit just out from France informed them that no ship
would come.They could not go back to
Three Rivers, for their attempt to make another journey without a
licence rendered them liable to punishment.They went to Cape Breton,
and from there to the English at Port Royal in Nova Scotia.At Port Royal they found a Boston captain, Zachariah Gillam, who plied
in vessels to and fro from the American Plantations to England.Gillam
offered his vessel for a voyage to Hudson Bay; but the season was late,
and when the vessel reached the rocky walls of Labrador the captain lost
heart and refused to enter the driving straits.The ship returned and
landed the explorers in Boston.They then clubbed the last of their
fortunes together and entered into an agreement with shipowners of
Boston to take two ships to Hudson Bay on their own account in the
following spring.But, while fishing to obtain provisions for the
voyage, one of the vessels was wrecked, and, instead of sailing for the
North Sea, Radisson and Groseilliers found themselves in Boston involved
in a lawsuit for the value of the lost ship.When they emerged from this
they were destitute.CHAPTER IV
THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND'
In Boston the commissioners of His Majesty King Charles II were
reviewing the affairs of the American Plantations.One of the
commissioners was Sir George Carteret, and when he sailed for England in
August 1665 he was accompanied by the two French explorers.It gives one
a curiously graphic insight into the conditions of ocean travel in those
days to learn that the royal commissioner's ship was attacked, boarded,
and sunk by a Dutch filibuster.Carteret and his two companions landed
penniless in Spain, but, by pawning clothes and showing letters of
credit, they reached England early in 1666.At this time London was in
the ravages of the Great Plague, and King Charles had sought safety from
infection at Oxford.Thither Radisson and Groseilliers were taken and
presented to the king; and we may imagine how their amazing stories of
adventure beguiled his weary hours.In the last few seconds of the final round, however, a little out of
breath with his defensive display, the older man changed his tactics.With lowered head and ferocious face he advanced, a whirling bulk of
might and action, upon the amateur.Left--right, over
and under, through the guard and round the guard of the outfought
youngster the unclenched gloves totted up a score of points.There was
a careful restraint behind each blow, yet, when the gong sounded and
they smilingly shook hands amid tumults of enthusiasm, a thin red
stream was trickling from the right eyebrow of the amateur champion....
As they left the ring two boyish forms slipped through the ropes and
made their way to their respective corners.They both wore the
orthodox white singlet and blue shorts, and round each waist was
twisted the distinguishing sash, one red and the other green.They sat down with their gloved hands resting on their thin knees and
gravely surveyed the sea of expectant faces.Both bore traces of
previous conflicts on their features, and their united ages aggregated
something just over thirty.The Physical Training Officer again advanced to the ropes."Final of
the Junior Officers' Light-weights!""Midshipman
Harcourt on the left--green; Midshipman Mordaunt on my right--red," and
added the name of their ship.He looked from one to the other
interrogatively, and they nodded in turn.Stepping back he resumed his
seat amid a tense silence.Then the gong rang, and the two wiry figures rose to their feet and
stepped briskly to meet each other.The wearer of the green colours
was smiling, but his slim adversary looked grave and rather pale with
compressed lips.Their gloves met for an instant, and the fight started.There was
little or no preliminary sparring.Each knew the other's tactics by
heart.It was just grim, dogged, ding-dong fighting.In height and
weight they were singularly evenly matched, but Harcourt soon gave
evidences of being unquestionably the better boxer.He boxed coolly
and scientifically, but what his opponent lacked in style he made up in
determination.Twice his furious attacks drove Harcourt to the ropes,
and twice the latter extricated himself nimbly and good-humouredly.Between the thud of gloves and the patter of their feet on the
canvas-covered boards their breathing was audible in the tense hush of
the ring-side.went the gong, and the first round was over.They walked to
their corners amid a tempest of appreciative applause, and were
instantly pounced upon by their anxious seconds.In one of the chairs just below the ring, Thorogood removed his pipe
from his mouth and turned his head to speak to Mouldy Jakes, who sat
beside him.John journeyed to the office."Harcourt ought to win, of course,
but Mordaunt's fighting like a young tiger.I'm bothered if I know how he got into the finals."Harcourt'll start piling up the points in the next round."But when the second round started, Mordaunt developed unexpected skill
in defence.Harcourt led off with an offensive, but his opponent
dodged and ducked and guarded until the first fury of the onslaught
abated, and then a savage bout of in-fighting quickly equalised
matters, until as the end of the round approached disaster very nearly
overtook the red colours.Mordaunt swung rather wildly with his right
and missed.Harcourt's watchful left landed on the side of his
opponent's head as he lost his equilibrium, and Billy Mordaunt went
down with a thud.He was on his feet again the next instant, his eyes fairly alight with
battle, and his lip curled back savagely.In a whirlwind of smashing
blows he drove Harcourt to the ropes again, until a straight left
between the eyes sobered him.went the gong again, and again the applause burst out.The
seconds fell upon their men with furious energy.The water in the
basins was assuming a pinkish tinge, and they sponged and massaged and
flapped their towels as if striving to impart something of their own
vigour to their tired principals.The two combatants, breathing hard,
were leaning back with outstretched arms and legs, every muscle in
their resting bodies relaxed."Harcourt ought to win, you know," said Thorogood again."He's just as
fit and a better boxer.But he seems to be tiring.... He had a pretty
tough time in the heats, I fancy."Then the gong brought them to their feet.They shook hands unsmiling, and began to circle cautiously, sparring
for an opening.Sandra went back to the hallway.It was a stinging blow and it
landed fair enough.John moved to the bedroom.Billy took it, and several more; for a moment it
looked as if he had shot his bolt.Then he seemed suddenly to gather
all his tiring strength.He feinted and hit lightly with his left.Harcourt blocked it, then unexpectedly lowered his guard; a little
mocking smile flitted over his blood-smeared face.Billy's right came
in with every ounce of muscle and sinew in his body to back the jolt,
and it landed fair on the point of that flaunting chin so temptingly
offered.It seemed to Billy that Harcourt disappeared into a mist.There was a
thud and a great roar of voices and the sounds of clapping.said a warning voice at the ring-side, and somewhere,
apparently in the distance, another voice was counting the deliberate
seconds:
"... Five!The angry mist cleared away and revealed Harcourt sprawling on the
ground.He was leaning over on both hands, striving gallantly to rise.The white figure with the green sash was on hands and knees, swaying----
The gong rang.The referee glanced from one judge to the other and raised a little red
flag from the table.Unconscious of the deafening applause Billy bent down and slipped an
arm under his friend's shoulders.All the savage fighting blood in him
had suddenly cooled, and there was only pity and love for Harcourt in
his heart as he helped him to his feet.Harcourt's seconds had rushed into the ring as the gong rang, and they
now supported him to his corner.At his feeble request one unlaced the
glove from his right hand, which he extended to his late adversary with
a wan smile."That was a good 'un, Billy," he said faintly."My--head's--still
singing... like a top!..."
* * * *
The distribution of prizes to the winners of the different weights
followed, and then the great gathering broke up.The Admirals departed
with their staffs in their respective barges, the Captains in their
galleys, Wardroom and Gunroom officers in the picket-boats.Figures
paced up and down the quarterdeck talking together in pairs; farewells
sounded at the gangways, and the hoot of the steamboats' syrens astern
mingled with the ceaseless calling of the gulls overhead.Daniel moved to the garden.Harcourt and Mordaunt, descending the accommodation ladder in the rear
of the remainder of their party, were greeted by Morton, at the wheel
of the picket-boat, with a broad grin."Come on," he ejaculated impatiently.We've got to get back
and be hoisted in.Who won the Light-weights by the same token?"He settled himself comfortably on top
of the cabin of the picket boat and pulled up the collar of his
greatcoat about his face.Morton jerked the engine-room telegraph and the boat moved off.The boyish figure at the helm glanced aft to see his stern was clear,
and put the wheel over, heading the boat in the direction of their ship."At least a signal has just come through ordering us
to raise steam for working cables at seven p.m."Lettigne, perched beside Mordaunt on the other side of the cabin-top,
leaned across.The crowded excitements of the afternoon had lapsed
into oblivion."D'you mean the whole Fleet, or only just us?""The whole Fleet," replied Morton, staring ahead between the twin
funnels of his boat."I suppose it's the usual weary stunt; go out and
steam about trailing the tail of our coat for a couple of days, and
then come back again."The speaker gripped the spokes of the wheel
almost savagely.he added, "if only they'd come out...."
Mordaunt fingered his nose gingerly."They do come out occasionally, I
believe.You'd think their women 'ud boo them out.... They sneak
about behind their minefields and do exercises, and they cover their
Battle-cruisers when they nip out for a tip-and-run bombardment of one
of our watering-places.But we'll never catch 'em, although we can
stop them from being of the smallest use to Germany by just being where
we are.""We could catch them if they didn't know we were coming South," said
another Midshipman perched beside Mordaunt with his knees under his
chin."But they always do know," said Harcourt over his shoulder."Their
Zepps always see us coming and give them the tip to nip off home!""Fog..." said Mordaunt musingly."Yes," said another who had not hitherto spoken."That 'ud do it all
right.Daniel went back to the kitchen.But then you couldn't see to hit 'em.'Sides, you can't count
on a fog coming on just when you want it.""Well," said Morton, with the air of one who was wearied by profitless
discussion."Fog or no fog, I only hope they come out this time."He rang down "Slow" to the tiny engine-room underneath his feet, and
spun the wheel to bring the crowded boat alongside the port gangway.A Fleet proceeds to sea in War-time with little or no outward
circumstance.There was no apparent increase of activity onboard the
the great fighting "townships" even on the eve of departure.As the
late afternoon wore on the Signal Department onboard the Fleet Flagship
was busy for a space, and the daylight signalling searchlights splashed
and spluttered while hoist after hoist of flags leaped from the signal
platform to yardarm or masthead; and ever as they descended fresh
successive tangles climbed to take their place.But after a while even
this ceased, and the Flagships of the squadrons, who had been taking it
all in, nodded sagely, as it were, and turned round to repeat for the
benefit of the ships of their individual squadrons such portions as
they required for their guidance.Then from their hidden anchorage the Destroyers moved past on their way
out, flotilla after flotilla in a dark, snake-like procession, swift,
silent, mysterious, and a little later the Cruisers and Light Cruisers
crept out in the failing light to take up their distant positions.On
each high forecastle the minute figures of men were visible moving
about the crawling cables, and from the funnels a slight increased haze
of smoke trembled upwards like the breath of war-horses in a frosty
landscape.One by one the dripping anchors hove in sight.The water under the
sterns of the Battleships was convulsed by whirling vortices as the
great steel-shod bulks turned cautiously towards the entrance, like
partners revolving in some solemn gigantic minuet.The dusk was fast
closing down, but a saffron bar of light in the West still limned the
dark outlines of the far-off hills.One by one the majestic fighting
ships moved into their allotted places in the line, and presently
"Enormous, certain, slow...."
the lines began to move in succession towards the entrance and the open
sea.The light died out of the western sky altogether, and like great grey
shadows the |
office | Where is John? | CHAPTER IX
"SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES"
Betty finished her breakfast very slowly; she had dawdled over it, not
because there was anything wrong with her appetite, but because the
days were long and meals made a sort of break in the monotony.She
rose from the table at length and walked to the open casement window; a
cat, curled up on the rug in front of the small wood fire, opened one
eye and blinked contemplatively at the slim figure in the silk shirt,
the short brown tweed skirt above the brown-stockinged ankles, and
finally at the neat brogues, one of which was tapping meditatively on
the carpet.wondered Betty for about the thousandth time in
the last eight days.She stared out across the little garden, the
broad stretch of pasture beyond the dusty road that ended in a confused
fringe of trees bordering the blue waters of the Firth.A flotilla of
Destroyers that had been lying at anchor overnight had slipped from
their buoys and were slowly circling towards the distant entrance to
the harbour.Beyond the Firth the hills rose again, vividly green and
crowned with trees.A thrush in the unseen kitchen garden round a corner of the cottage
rehearsed a few bars of his spring song."It might be to-day," he sang."It might, it might, it might--or it
mightn't!"Eight days had passed somehow since an enigmatic telegram from the
India-rubber Man had brought Betty flying up to Scotland with hastily
packed trunks and a singing heart.Somehow she had expected him to meet her at the little station she
reached about noon after an all-night journey of incredible
discomforts.But no India-rubber Man had been there to welcome her;
instead a pretty girl with hair of a rusty gold, a year or two her
senior, had come forward rather shyly and greeted her.Despite the six-months-old wedding ring on her hand, Betty experienced
a faint jolt of surprise at hearing herself thus addressed."Yes," she said, and glanced half-expectantly up and down the platform."I hoped my husband would be here..."
The stranger shook her head."I'm afraid his squadron hasn't come in
yet," she said, and added reassuringly, "But it won't be long now.Your sister wrote and told me you were coming up.My name's Etta
Clavering...."
"Oh, thank you," said Betty."You got me rooms, didn't you--and I'm so
grateful to you.""It's rather a job getting them as a
rule, but these just happened to be vacant.Rather nice ones: nice
woman, too.No bath, of course, but up here you get used to tubbing in
your basin, and--and little things like that.But everything's nice
and clean, and that's more than some of the places are."They had
sorted out Betty's luggage while Mrs.Sandra moved to the bathroom.Clavering was talking, and left
it with the porter to bring on."We can walk," said Betty's guide."It's quite close, and I expect you won't be sorry to stretch your
legs."They skirted a little village of grey stone cottages straggling on
either side of a broad street towards a wooded glen, down which a river
wound brawling to join the waters of the Firth.Cottages and little
shops alternated, and half-way up the street a rather more pretentious
hotel of quarried stone rose above the level of the roofs.Hills
formed a background to the whole, with clumps of dark fir clinging to
their steep <DW72>s, and in the far distance snow-capped mountains stood
like pale opals against the blue sky.The air was keen and
invigorating, and little clouds like a flock of sheep drifted overhead.Clavering led the way past the village towards a neat row of
cottages on the brow of a little hill about a quarter of a mile behind
it, and as they ascended a steep lane she turned and pointed with her
ashplant.A confusion of chimneys, cranes and wharves were shrouded in
a haze of smoke and the kindly distance."You see," she said, "you can almost see the harbour from your house.That's where the ships lie when they come in here.I expect you're tired after travelling all
night.You must come and have tea with me, and meet some of the
others."She laughed and turned to descend the hill, stopping again a
few paces down to wave a friendly stick.Etta Clavering occupied a low-ceilinged room above a baker's shop in
the village, and had strewn it about with books and photographs and
nick-nacks until the drab surroundings seemed to reflect a little of
her dainty personality.Thither, later in the day, she took Betty off
to tea and introduced her to a tall fair girl with abundant hair and a
gentle, rippling laugh that had in it the quality of running water."We belong to the same squadron," she said."I'm glad we've met now,
because directly our husbands' ships come in we shall never see each
other!""It's like that up here, isn't
it?We sit in each other's laps all day till our husbands arrive, and
then we simply can't waste a minute to be civil...!"She laughed her soft ripple of amusement, cut short by the entrance of
another visitor.She was older than the other three: a sweet, rather
grave-faced woman with patient eyes that looked as if they had watched
and waited through a great many lonelinesses.There was something
tender, almost protecting, in her smile as she greeted Betty."You have only just come North, haven't you?""The latest
recruit to our army of--waiters, I was going to say, but it sounds
silly.Waitresses hardly seems right either, does it?John journeyed to the office.Anyhow, I hope
you won't have to wait for very long.""I hope not," said Betty, a trifle forlornly."So do I," said the tall fair girl whose name was Eileen Cavendish."I
am developing an actual liver out of sheer jealousy of some of these
women whose husbands are on leave.When Bill comes I shall hang on his
arm in my best 'clinging-ivy-and-the-oak' style, and walk him up and
down outside the hateful creatures' windows!It'll be _their_ turn to
gnash their teeth then!""Are there many of--of Us up here?""There are as many as the village will hold, and every farm and byre
and cow-shed for about six miles round," replied Mrs.Gascoigne, the
new-comer."And, of course, the little town, about four miles from
here, near where the ships anchor, simply couldn't hold another wife if
you tried to lever one in with a shoe-horn!""And then," continued their hostess, measuring out the tea into the
pot, "of course, there are some selfish brutes who stay on all the
time--I'm one of them," she added pathetically.Sandra went back to the hallway."But it's no use being
a hypocrite about it.I'd stay on if they all put me in Coventry and I
had to pawn my wedding ring to pay for my rooms.One feels nearer,
somehow.... Do sit down all of you.There's nothing to eat except
scones and jam, but the tea is nice and hot, and considering I bought
it at that little shop near the manse, it looks and smells very like
real tea.""I suppose, then, all the rooms are dreadfully expensive," said Betty.echoed the fair girl, consuming her buttered scone with
frank enjoyment."You could live at the Ritz or Waldorf a good deal
cheaper than in some of these crofter's cottages.You see, until the
War began they never let anything in their lives.No one ever wanted
to come and live here.Of course, there are nice women--like your Miss
McCallum, for example--who won't take advantage of the enormous demand,
and stick to reasonable prices.But if you could
see some of the hovels for which they are demanding six and seven
guineas a week--and, what's more, getting it...."
"I'm afraid we are giving Mrs.Standish an altogether rather gloomy
picture of the place," said Mrs.She turned to Betty with a
reassuring smile."You don't have to pay anything to be out of doors,"
she said."That much is free, even here; it's perfectly delightful
country, and when the weather improves a bit we have picnics and walks
and even do a little fishing in an amateurish sort of way.It all
helps to pass the time...."
"But it's not only the prices that turn one's hair grey up here,"
continued Mrs.Thatcher--her husband is
in a Destroyer or something--told me that her landlady has false
teeth...." The speaker extended a slender forefinger, to which she
imparted a little wriggling motion."They wobble... like that--when
she talks.She always talks when she brings in meals.... I suppose
it's funny, really----" She lapsed into her liquid giggle.Thatcher nearly cried when she told me about it.Every meal.... and trying not to look...!She said it
made her want to scream."Gascoigne, who had finished her
tea and was preparing to take her departure.John moved to the bedroom.I've
promised to go and sit with Mrs.She's laid up, poor thing,
and it's so dull for her all alone in those stuffy rooms.""I hope we shall see a lot more of each other,"
she said prettily."We're going to show you some of the walks round
here, and we'll take our tea out to the woods.... I hope you'll be
happy up here."The door closed behind her, and Eileen Cavendish explored the room in
search of cigarettes."Sybil Gascoigne is a dear," she observed."On the little table, there," said the hostess.She caught and lit it with an almost masculine neatness."Yes," she continued, "she's perfectly sweet.Her husband is a senior
Post-captain, and there isn't an atom of'side' or snobbishness in her
composition.She is just as sweet to that hopelessly dull and dreary
Daubney woman as she is to--well, to charming and well-bred attractions
like ourselves!"The speaker laughingly blew a cloud of smoke and
turned to Betty."In a sense, this war has done us good.You've never
lived in a Dockyard Port, though.You don't know the insane snobberies
and the ludicrous little castes that flourished in pre-war days.""I dare say you're right," said Eileen Cavendish.She moved idly about
the room examining photographs and puffing her cigarette."But even
the War isn't going to make me fall on the neck of a woman I don't
like.It's not seeing Bill for so
long...."
Mrs."No," she said, "I agree there are limits.But
up here, what does it matter if a woman's husband is an Engineer or a
Paymaster or a Commander or only an impecunious Lieutenant like
mine--as long as she is nice?Yet if it weren't for people like Sybil
Gascoigne we should all be clinging to our ridiculous little pre-war
sets, and talking of branches and seniority till we died of loneliness
and boredom with our aristocratic noses in the air.... As it is, I
don't believe even Sybil Gascoigne could have done it if she hadn't
been the Honourable Mrs.That carried her over some pretty
rough ground, childish though it sounds.""As----" She broke
off abruptly.There's no doubt about it: I have
got a liver... I think I'll go home and write to Bill.That tea-party was the first of many similar informal gatherings of
grass-widows in poky rooms and cottage parlours.They were quite young
for the most part, and many were pretty.They drank each other's tea
and talked about their husbands and the price of things, and
occasionally of happenings in an incredibly remote past when one hunted
and went to dances and bought pretty frocks.It was Etta Clavering who conducted Betty round the village shops on
the morning after her arrival, where she was introduced to the small
Scottish shopkeeper getting rich quick, and the unedifying revelation
of naked greed cringing behind every tiny counter.Through Eileen Cavendish, moreover, she secured the goodwill of a
washerwoman."My dear," said her benefactress, "money won't tempt them.They've got to like you before they will wring out a
stocking for you.Daniel moved to the garden.But I'll take you to the Widow Twankey; I'm one of
her protegees, and she shows her affection for me by feeling for my
ribs with her first two fingers to punctuate her remarks with <DW8>s.Daniel went back to the kitchen.She has only got two teeth, and they
don't meet."So the Widow Twankey was sought out, and Betty stood and looked
appealingly humble while Etta Cavendish suffered her ribs to be prodded
in a good cause, and the Widow agreed to "wash for" Betty at rates that
would have brought blushes to the cheeks of a Parisian _blanchisseuse
de fin_.Gascoigne, Betty explored the heathery moors where the
distraught pee-wits were already nesting, and the cool, clean air blew
down from the snowy Grampians, bracing the walkers like a draught of
iced wine.They even climbed some of the nearer hills, forcing their
way through the tangled spruce-branches and undergrowth to the summit,
from where the distant North Sea itself was visible, lying like a grey
menace to their peace.They would return from these expeditions by the path down the glen that
wound close to the brawling river; here, in the evenings, sometimes
with an unexpectedness embarrassing to both parties, they met some of
the reunited couples whom Eileen Cavendish found it hard to contemplate
unmoved; occasionally the fingers of such couples were interlaced, and
they talked very earnestly as they walked.On fine days the husbandless wives organised picnics and boiled the
kettle over a fire of twigs.On these occasions the arrangements were
generally in the hands of a fat, jolly woman everyone called "Mrs.She it was who chose the site, built the fire with gipsy
cunning, and cut the forked sticks on which the kettle hung.Pat would produce a blackened cigarette holder and sit and
smoke with reflective enjoyment while she translated the rustling,
furtive sounds of life in brake and hedge-row around them for the
benefit of anyone who cared to listen.No one knew whence she had
acquired such mysterious completeness of knowledge.It was as if an
invisible side of her walked hand in hand with Nature; sap oozing from
a bursting bud, laden bee or fallen feather, each was to Mrs.Pat the
chapter of a vast romance: and if she bored anyone with her
interpretation of it, they had only got to get up and go for a walk.Mary went back to the bedroom.She had a niece staying with her, the fiancee of a Lieutenant in her
husband's ship, a slim thing with blue eyes and a hint of the Overseas
in the lazy, unstudied grace of her movements.She spoke sparingly,
and listened to the conversation of the others with her eyes always on
the distant grey shadow that was the sea.In the evenings Betty read or knitted and inveigled her stout, kindly
landlady into gossip on the threshold while she cleared away the
evening meal, and so the morning of the ninth day found Betty staring
out of her window, listening for the thrush to begin again its
haunting, unfinished song.John went back to the office.An object moving rapidly along the top of the hedge that skirted the
lane leading to the cottage caught her eye; she watched it until the
hedge terminated, when it resolved itself into the top of Eileen
Cavendish's hat.Her pretty face was pink with exertion and
excitement, and she moved at a gait suggestive of both running and
walking.Betty greeted her at the gateway of her little garden, and her heart
quickened as she ran to meet the bearer of tidings.Cavendish, "they're coming in this morning.Monro--that's my landlady--has a brother in the town: I forget
what he does |
office | Where is John? | For an instant the colour ebbed from Betty's cheeks, and then her
beating heart sent it surging back again."Does that mean that our squadron is coming in?"Get your hat quick, and we'll climb up to
the top of the hill and see if we can get a glimpse of them coming in.You'll have plenty of time to get down again and powder your nose
before your Bunje-man, or whatever you call him, can get ashore.Together they toiled up the hill to the high stretch of moorland from
which a view of the entrance to the Firth could be obtained."This is where I always come," said Eileen Cavendish.I'm getting fat and short-winded.How long
is it since you've seen your husband?""Three months and seventeen days," was the reply.But now--at times like this, I almost feel as
if it's--worth it, I was going to say; but I suppose it's hardly that.I always vowed I'd never marry a sailor, and ever since I did I've felt
sorry for all the women with other kinds of husbands.... Bill is such
a dear!"They found seats in the lee of a stack of peat and sat down side by
side to watch the distant entrance.A faint grey haze beyond the
headlands on either side of the mouth of the harbour held the outer sea
in mystery."There's nothing in sight," said Betty."No," said the other, "but there will be, presently.She
put her elbows on her knees and rested her face in the cup of her two
hands."You haven't got used to waiting yet," she continued."It
seems to have made up half my life since I met Bill.I had a little
daughter once, and it didn't matter so much then.... But she died, the
mite..."
No Battleships had emerged from the blue-grey curtain of the mist when
lunch-time came; nothing moved across the surface of the empty harbour,
and they descended the hill to share the meal in Betty's room."Perhaps they won't be in till after tea," suggested Betty.So they put tea in a Thermos flask, and bread-and-butter and a slice of
cake apiece in a little basket, and climbed again to their vantage
point in the lee of the peat stack.They read novels and talked in
desultory snatches through the afternoon.Then they had tea and told
each other about the books they were reading.But as their shadows
lengthened across the blaeberry and heather, the silences grew longer,
and Betty, striving to concentrate her interest on her book, found the
page grow suddenly blurred and incomprehensible....
"It's getting chilly," said the elder girl at length.She rose to her
feet with a little involuntary shiver, and stood for a moment staring
out towards the sea."I wonder..." she began, and her voice trailed
off into silence.Betty began slowly to repack the basket."Sometimes
I pray," said Eileen Cavendish, "when I want things to happen very
much.And sometimes I just hold my thumbs like a pagan.So they sat silent side by side; one held her breath and the other held
her thumbs, but only the dusk crept in from the sea.CHAPTER X
THE BATTLE OF THE MIST
Thorogood, Lieutenant of the Afternoon Watch, climbed the ladder to the
upper bridge as the bell struck the half-hour after noon.A blue
worsted muffler, gift and handiwork of an aunt on the outbreak of war,
enfolded his neck.He wore a pair of glasses in a case slung over one
shoulder and black leather gauntlet-gloves.Sandra moved to the bathroom.The Officer of the Forenoon Watch, known among his messmates as
Tweedledee, was focusing the range-finder on the ship ahead of them in
the line; he looked round as the new-comer appeared, and greeted him
with a grin.John journeyed to the office.Sandra went back to the hallway."Hullo, James," he said.He made a comprehensive gesture embracing the vast Fleet that was
spread out over the waters as far as the eye could reach."Divisions in line ahead, columns disposed abeam, course S.E.The Cruisers are ahead there, beyond
the Destroyers," he nodded ahead."But you can't see them because of
the mist.The Battle-cruisers are somewhere beyond them again, with
their Light Cruisers and Destroyers--about thirty miles to the
southward.The hands are at dinner and all is peace.The speaker moved to the range-finder again
and peered into it at the next ahead."Thank you: I hope I'll succeed in keeping her
there."Well," replied Thorogood, "the perishing Hun, let's say."The Navigator, thoughtfully biting the end of a pencil, came out of the
chart-house with a note-book in his hand, in which he had been working
out the noon reckoning."Pilot," said the departing Officer of the Forenoon Watch, "James is
thirsting for news of the enemy."John moved to the bedroom.This
isn't Wolff's Agency, my lad.This is a Cook's tour of the North Sea.""Bracing air, change of scenery: no
undue excitement--sort of rest cure, in fact.And you come along
exhibiting a morbid craving for excitement."Daniel moved to the garden."I know," said Thorogood meekly."It's the effect of going to the
cinematograph.They say
Charlie Chaplin's got something to do with it.I suppose, though,
there's no objection to my asking what the disposition of our Light
Cruisers happens to be, is there?It's prompted more by a healthy
desire to improve my knowledge before I take over the afternoon watch
than anything else.""They're out on the starboard quarter," replied the late Officer of the
Watch.Daniel went back to the kitchen."You can't see them because of this cursed mist, but they're
there.""Strikes me this afternoon watch is going to be more of a faith cure
than a rest cure as the Pilot suggests," grumbled Thorogood."Battle-cruisers somewhere ahead, Cruisers invisible in the mist, Light
Cruisers----"
The report of a gun, followed almost instantly by a loud explosion,
came from far away on the port bow.A Destroyer that had altered
course was resuming her position in the Destroyer line on the outskirts
of the Fleet.A distant column of smoke and spray was slowly
dissolving into the North Sea haze.At the report of the gun the three men raised their glasses to stare in
the direction of the sound."Only one of the Huns' floating mines,"
said the Navigator."She exploded it with her 8-pounder."Well," said Tweedledee, "I can't stay here all day.Mary went back to the bedroom.Anything else you
want to know, James?"Boiled beef and carrots," replied Thorogood."_Mit_ apple tart and
cream: the Messman can't be well.No, I
don't think I want to know any more.Now for the boiled beef, and this afternoon Little Bright-eyes
is going to get his head down and have a nice sleep."I've just got to
give the noon position to the Owner on the way."They descended the ladder together, and left Thorogood alone on the
platform.The Battle-fleet was steaming in parallel lines about a mile apart,
each Squadron in the wake of its Flagship.John went back to the office.The Destroyers, strung out
on either flank of the Battle-fleet, were rolling steadily in the long,
smooth swell, leaving a smear of smoke in their trail.Far away in the
mist astern flickered a very bright light: the invisible Light Cruisers
must be there, reflected Thorogood, and presently from the Fleet
Flagship came a succession of answering blinks.The light stopped
flickering out of the mist.The speed at which the Fleet was travelling sent the wind thrumming
through the halliards and funnel stays and past Thorogood's ears with a
little whistling noise; otherwise few sounds reached him at the
altitude at which he stood.On the signal-platform below, a number of
signalmen were grouped round the flag-lockers with the halliards in
their hands in instant readiness to hoist a signal.The Signal
Boatswain had steadied his glass against a semaphore, and was studying
something on the misty outskirts of the Fleet.The Quartermaster at
the wheel was watching the compass card with a silent intensity that
made his face look as if it had been carved in bronze.The
telegraph-men maintained a conversation that was pitched in a low, deep
note inaudible two yards away.It concerned the photograph of a mutual
lady acquaintance, and has no place in this narrative.Thorogood moved to the rail and looked down at the familiar forecastle
and teeming upper-deck, thirty feet below.Seen thus from above, the
grey, sloping shields of the turrets, each with its great twin guns,
looked like gigantic mythical tortoises with two heads and
disproportionately long necks.Mary travelled to the office.It was the dinner hour, and men were
moving about, walking up and down, or sitting about in little groups
smoking.Some were playing cards in places sheltered from the wind and
spray; near the blacksmith's forge a man was stooping patiently over a
small black object: Thorogood raised his glasses for a moment and
recognised the ship's cat, reluctantly undergoing instruction in
jumping through the man's hands.He spoke: and, speaking, sauntered on,
The young girl by his side:
And then they talked no more of death,
But only of the happy things
That burst their buds, and spread their wings,
And break in song at Whitsuntide,
That burst to bloom at Whitsuntide,
And bring the summer in a breath.And, as they talked, the young girl's life
Broke into bloom and song;
And, one with all the happy things
That burst their buds, and spread their wings,
Her very blood was singing,
And at her pulses ringing;
Life tingled through her, sweet and strong,
From secret sources springing:
And, all at once, a quickening strife
Of hopes and fears was in her heart,
Where only wondering joy had been;
And, kindling with a sudden light,
Her eyes had sight
Of things unseen:
And, in a flash, a woman grown,
With pangs of knowledge, fierce and keen,
She knew strange things unknown.A year went by: at Whitsuntide,
He brought her home, a bride.Sandra went back to the bedroom.He planted her no lilac tree
Upon their wedding day:
And strange distress came over her,
As on the bed she lay:
For as he stood beside the bed,
The scent of lilac filled the room.Her heart knew well he smelt the bloom,
And thought upon the dead.Yet, she was glad to be his wife:
And when the blossom-time was past,
Her days no more were overcast;
And deep she drank of life:
And, thronged with happy household cares,
Her busy days went pleasantly:
Her foot was light upon the stairs;
And every room rang merrily,
And merrily, and merrily,
With song and mirth, for unto her
His heart seemed hers, and hers alone:
Until new dreams began to stir
Her wondering breast with bliss unknown
Of some new miracle to be:
And, though she moved more quietly,
And seldom sang, yet, happily,
From happy dawn to happy night
The mother's eyes shone bright.But, as her time drew near,
Her heart was filled with fear:
And when the lilac burst to bloom,
And brought the Summer in a breath,
A presence seemed to fill the room,
And fill her heart with death:
And, as her husband lay asleep,
Beside her, on the bed,
Into her breast the thought would creep
That he was dreaming of the dead.And all the mother's heart in her
Was mad with mother-jealousy
Of that sweet scented lilac tree;
And, blind with savage ecstasy,
Night after night she lay,
Until the blink of day,
With staring eyes and wild,
Half-crazy, lest the lilac tree
Should come betwixt him and his child.By day, her mother-tenderness
Was turned to brooding bitterness,
Whene'er she looked upon the bloom:
And, if she slept at all at night,
Her heart would waken in affright
To smell the lilac in the gloom:
And, when it rained, it seemed to her,
The fresh keen scent was bitterer:
Though, when the blaze of morning came,
And flooded all the room,
The perfume burnt her heart like flame.As, in the dark,
One night she lay,
A dark thought shot
Through her hot heart:
And, from a spark
Of smouldering wrong,
Hate burst to fire.Now, quaking cold,
Now, quivering hot,
With breath indrawn,
Through time untold,
She 'waited dawn
That lagged too long
For her desire.And when, at last, at break of day,
Her husband rose, and went his way
About his daily toil,
She, too, arose, and dressed,
With frenzy in her breast;
And stole downstairs, and took a spade,
And digged about the lilac roots,
And laid them bare of soil:
Then, with a jagged blade,
She hacked and slashed the naked roots--
She hacked and slashed with frantic hand,
Until the lilac scarce might stand;
And then again the soil she laid
About the bleeding roots--
(It seemed to her, the sap ran red
About the writhing roots!)But, now her heart was eased of strife,
Since she had sapped the lilac's life;
And, frenzy-spent, she dropped the knife:
Then, dizzily she crept to bed,
And lay all day as one nigh dead.That night a sudden storm awoke,
And struck the slumbering earth to life:
And, as the heavens in thunder broke,
She lay exulting in the strife
Of flash and peal,
And gust and rain;
For now, she thought: the lightning-stroke
Will lay the lilac low;
And he need never know
How I... and then, again,
Her heart went cold with dread,
As she remembered that the knife
Still lay beneath the lilac tree...
A blinding flash,
A lull, a crash,
A rattling peal...
And suddenly,
She felt her senses reel:
And, crying out: "The knife!Her pangs were on her...
Dawn was red,
When she awoke upon the bed
To life--and knew her babe was dead.She rose: and cried out fearfully:
"The lilac tree!But, when she waked again at noon,
And looked upon her sleeping child; |
hallway | Where is Mary? | And, not a word the father said
About the lilac, lying dead.A week went by, and Whitsuntide
Came round: and, as she lay,
And looked upon the newborn day,
Her husband, lying by her side,
Spoke to her very tenderly:
"Wife, 'tis again our wedding day,
And we will plant a lilac tree
In memory of the babe that died."They planted a white lilac tree
Upon their wedding day:
And, when the time of blossom came,
With kindly hearts they lay.The sunlight streamed upon the bed:
The scent of lilac filled the room:
And, as they smelt the breathing bloom,
They thought upon the dead.THE OLD MAN
The boat put in at dead of night;
And, when I reached the house, 'twas sleeping dark.I knew my gentlest tap would be a spark
To set my home alight:
My mother ever listening in her sleep
For my returning step, would leap
Awake with welcome; and my father's eyes
Would twinkle merrily to greet me;
And my young sister would run down to meet me
With sleepy sweet surprise.And yet, awhile, I lingered
Upon the threshold, listening;
And watched the cold stars glistening,
And seemed to hear the deep
Calm breathing of the house asleep--
In easy sleep, so deep, I almost feared to break it;
And, even as I fingered
The knocker, loth to wake it,
Like some uncanny inkling
Of news from otherwhere,
I felt a cold breath in my hair,
As though, with chin upon my shoulder,
One waited hard, upon my heel,
With pricking eyes of steel,
Though well I knew that not a soul was there.Until, at last, grown bolder,
I rapped; and in a twinkling,
The house was all afire
With welcome in the night:
First, in my mother's room, a light;
And then, her foot upon the stair;
A bolt shot back; a candle's flare:
A happy cry; and to her breast
She hugged her heart's desire:
And hushed her fears to rest.Then, shivering in the keen night air,
My sleepy sister, laughing came;
And drew us in: and stirred to flame
The smouldering kitchen-fire; and set
The kettle on the kindling red:
And, as I watched the homely blaze,
And thought of wandering days
With sharp regret;
I missed my father: then I heard
How he was still a-bed;
And had been ailing, for a day or so;
But, now was waking, if I'd go...
My foot already on the stair,
In answer to my mother's word
I turned; and saw in dull amaze,
Behind her, as she stood all unaware,
An old man sitting in my father's chair.A strange old man... yet, as I looked at him,
Before my eyes, a dim
Remembrance seemed to swim
Of some old man, who'd lurked about the boat,
While we were still at sea;
And who had crouched beside me, at the oar,
As we had rowed ashore;
Though, at the time, I'd taken little note,
I felt I'd seen that strange old man before:
But, how he'd come to follow me,
Unknown...
And to be sitting there...
Then I recalled the cold breath in my hair,
When I had stood, alone,
Before the bolted door.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.And now my mother, wondering sore
To see me stare and stare,
So strangely, at an empty chair,
Turned, too; and saw the old man there.And as she turned, he slowly raised
His drooping head;
And looked upon her with her husband's eyes.She stood, a moment, dazed;
And watched him slowly rise,
As though to come to her:
Then, with a cry, she sped
Upstairs, ere I could stir.Still dazed, I let her go, alone:
I heard her footstep overhead:
I heard her drop beside the bed,
With low forsaken moan.Yet, I could only stare and stare
Upon my father's empty chair.THE HARE
My hands were hot upon a hare,
Half-strangled, struggling in a snare--
My knuckles at her warm wind-pipe--
When suddenly, her eyes shot back,
Big, fearful, staggering and black:
And, ere I knew, my grip was slack;
And I was clutching empty air,
Half-mad, half-glad at my lost luck...
When I awoke beside the stack.'Twas just the minute when the snipe,
As though clock-wakened, every jack,
An hour ere dawn, dart in and out
The mist-wreaths filling syke and slack,
And flutter wheeling round about,
And drumming out the Summer night.I lay star-gazing yet a bit;
Then, chilly-skinned, I sat upright,
To shrug the shivers from my back;
And, drawing out a straw to suck,
My teeth nipped through it at a bite...
The liveliest lad is out of pluck
An hour ere dawn--a tame cock-sparrow--
When cold stars shiver through his marrow,
And wet mist soaks his mother-wit.But, as the snipe dropped, one by one;
And one by one the stars blinked out;
I knew 'twould only need the sun
To send the shudders right about:
And, as the clear East faded white,
I watched and wearied for the sun--
The jolly, welcome, friendly sun--
The sleepy sluggard of a sun
That still kept snoozing out of sight,
Though well he knew the night was done
And, after all, he caught me dozing,
And leapt up, laughing, in the sky
Just as my lazy eyes were closing:
And it was good as gold to lie
Full-length among the straw, and feel
The day wax warmer every minute,
As, glowing glad, from head to heel,
I soaked and rolled rejoicing in it...
When from the corner of my eye,
Upon a heathery knowe hard-by,
With long lugs cocked, and eyes astare,
Yet all serene, I saw a hare.Upon my belly in the straw,
I lay, and watched her sleek her fur,
As, daintily, with well-licked paw,
She washed her face and neck and ears:
Then, clean and comely in the sun,
She kicked her heels up, full of fun,
As if she did not care a pin
Though she should jump out of her skin,
And leapt and lolloped, free of fears,
Until my heart frisked round with her."And yet, if I but lift my head,
You'll scamper off, young Puss," I said."Still, I can't lie, and watch you play,
Upon my belly half-the-day.The Lord alone knows where I'm going:
But, I had best be getting there.Last night I loosed you from the snare--
Asleep, or waking, who's for knowing!--
So, I shall thank you now for showing
Which art to take to bring me where
My luck awaits me.When you're ready
To start, I'll follow on your track.Though slow of foot, I'm sure and steady..."
She pricked her ears, then set them back;
And like a shot was out of sight:
And, with a happy heart and light,
As quickly I was on my feet;
And following the way she went,
Keen as a lurcher on the scent,
Across the heather and the bent,
Across the quaking moss and peat.Of course, I lost her soon enough,
For moorland tracks are steep and rough;
And hares are made of nimbler stuff
Than any lad of seventeen,
However lanky-legged and tough,
However, kestrel-eyed and keen:
And I'd at last to stop and eat
The little bit of bread and meat
Left in my pocket overnight.So, in a hollow, snug and green,
I sat beside a burn, and dipped
The dry bread in an icy pool;
And munched a breakfast fresh and cool...
And then sat gaping like a fool...
For, right before my very eyes,
With lugs acock, and eyes astare,
I saw again the selfsame hare.So, up I jumped, and off she slipped:
And I kept sight of her until
I stumbled in a hole, and tripped;
And came a heavy, headlong spill:
And she, ere I'd the wit to rise,
Was o'er the hill, and out of sight:
And, sore and shaken with the tumbling,
And sicker at my foot for stumbling,
I cursed my luck, and went on, grumbling,
The way her flying heels had fled.The sky was cloudless overhead;
And just alive with larks asinging:
And, in a twinkling, I was swinging
Across the windy hills, lighthearted.A kestrel at my footstep started,
Just pouncing on a frightened mouse,
And hung o'erhead with wings a-hover:
Through rustling heath an adder darted:
A hundred rabbits bobbed to cover:
A weasel, sleek and rusty-red,
Popped out of sight as quick as winking:
I saw a grizzled vixen slinking
Behind a clucking brood of grouse
That rose and cackled at my coming:
And all about my way were flying
The peewit, with their slow wings creaking
And little jack-snipe darted, drumming:
And now and then a golden plover
Or redshank piped with reedy whistle.But never shaken bent or thistle
Betrayed the quarry I was seeking
And not an instant, anywhere
Did I clap eyes upon a hare.So, travelling still, the twilight caught me:
And as I stumbled on, I muttered:
"A deal of luck the hare has brought me!The wind and I must spend together
A hungry night among the heather.If I'd her here..." And as I uttered,
I tripped, and heard a frightened squeal;
And dropped my hands in time to feel
The hare just bolting 'twixt my feet.She slipped my clutch: and I stood there
And cursed that devil-littered hare,
That left me stranded in the dark
In that wide waste of quaggy peat
Beneath black night without a spark:
When, looking up, I saw a flare
Upon a far-off hill, and said:
"By God, the heather is afire!Mary travelled to the hallway.It's mischief at this time of year..."
And then, as one bright flame shot higher,
And booths and vans stood out quite clear;
My wits came back into my head:
And I remembered Brough Hill Fair.And, as I stumbled towards the glare,
I knew the sudden kindling meant
The Fair was over for the day;
And all the cattle-folk away
And gipsy-folk and tinkers now
Were lighting supper-fires without
Each caravan and booth and tent.And, as I climbed the stiff hill-brow,
I quite forgot my lucky hare.I'd something else to think about:
For well I knew there's broken meat
For empty bellies after fair-time;
And looked to have a royal rare time
With something rich and prime to eat:
And then to lie and toast my feet
All night beside the biggest fire.But, even as I neared the first,
A pleasant whiff of stewing burst
From out a smoking pot a-bubble:
And, as I stopped behind the folk
Who sprawled around, and watched it seething
A woman heard my eager breathing,
And, turning, caught my hungry eye:
And called out to me: "Draw in nigher,
Unless you find it too much trouble;
Or you've a nose for better fare,
And go to supper with the Squire...
You've got the hungry parson's air!"And all looked up, and took the joke,
As I dropped gladly to the ground
Among them, where they all lay gazing
Upon the bubbling and the blazing.My eyes were dazzled by the fire
At first; and then I glanced around;
And, in those swarthy, fire-lit faces--
Though drowsing in the glare and heat
And snuffing the warm savour in,
Dead-certain of their fill of meat--
I felt the bit between the teeth,
The flying heels, the broken traces,
And heard the highroad ring beneath
The trampling hoofs: and knew them kin.Then for the first time, standing there
Behind the woman who had hailed me,
I saw a girl with eyes astare
That looked in terror o'er my head:
And, all at once, my courage failed me...
For now again, and sore-adread,
My hands were hot upon a hare,
That struggled, strangling in the snare...
Then once more as the girl stood clear,
Before me--quaking cold with fear
I |
garden | Where is Mary? | While all the others slept asnore
In caravan and tent that night,
I lay alone beside the fire;
And stared into its blazing core,
With eyes that would not shut or tire,
Because the best of all was true,
And they looked still into the light
Of her eyes, burning ever bright.Within the brightest coal for me...
Once more, I saw her, as she started,
And glanced at me with red lips parted:
And, as she looked, the frightened hare
Had fled her eyes; and, merrily,
She smiled, with fine teeth flashing white,
As though she, too, were happy-hearted...
Then she had trembled suddenly,
And dropped her eyes, as that fat man
Stepped from the shadow of the van,
And joined the circle, as the pot
Was lifted off, and, piping-hot,
The supper steamed in wooden bowls.Yet, she had hardly touched a bite:
And never raised her eyes all night
To mine again: but on the coals,
As I sat staring, she had stared--
The black curls, shining round her head
From under the red kerchief, tied
So nattily beneath her chin--
And she had stolen off to bed
Quite early, looking dazed and scared.Then, all agape and sleepy-eyed,
Ere long the others had turned in:
And I was rid of that fat man,
Who slouched away to his own van.And now, before her van, I lay,
With sleepless eyes, awaiting day:
And, as I gazed upon the glare,
I heard, behind, a gentle stir:
And, turning round, I looked on her
Where she stood on the little stair
Outside the van, with listening air--
And, in her eyes, the hunted hare...
And then, I saw her slip away,
A bundle underneath her arm,
Without a single glance at me.I lay a moment wondering,
My heart a-thump like anything,
Then, fearing she should come to harm,
I rose, and followed speedily
Where she had vanished in the night.And, as she heard my step behind,
She started, and stopt dead with fright:
Then blundered on as if struck blind:
And now as I caught up with her,
Just as she took the moorland track,
I saw the hare's eyes, big and black...
She made as though she'd double back...
But, when she looked into my eyes,
She stood quite still and did not stir...
And, picking up her fallen pack,
I tucked it 'neath my arm; and she
Just took her luck quite quietly.As she must take what chance might come,
And would not have it otherwise,
And walked into the night with me,
Without a word across the fells.And, all about us, through the night,
The mists were stealing, cold and white,
Down every rushy syke or slack:
But, soon the moon swung into sight:
And, as we went, my heart was light,
And singing like a burn in flood:
And in my ears were tinkling bells:
My body was a rattled drum:
And fifes were shrilling through my blood
That summer night, to think that she
Was walking through the world with me.But when the air with dawn was chill,
As we were travelling down a hill,
She broke her silence with low-sobbing:
And told her tale, her bosom throbbing
As though her very heart were shaken
With fear she'd yet be overtaken...
She'd always lived in caravans--
Her father's, gay as any man's,
Grass-green, picked out with red and yellow
And glittering brave with burnished brass
That sparkled in the sun like flame,
And window curtains, white as snow...
But, they had died, ten years ago,
Her parents both, when fever came...
And they were buried, side by side,
Somewhere beneath the wayside grass...
In times of sickness, they kept wide
Of towns and busybodies, so
No parson's or policeman's tricks
Should bother them when in a fix...
Her father never could abide
A black coat or a blue, poor man...
And so, Long Dick, a kindly fellow,
When you could keep him from the can,
And Meg, his easy-going wife,
Had taken her into their van;
And kept her since her parents died...
And she had lived a happy life,
Until Fat Pete's young wife was taken...
But, ever since, he'd pestered her...
And she dared scarcely breathe or stir,
Lest she should see his eyes aleer...
And many a night she'd lain and shaken,
And very nearly died of fear--
Though safe enough within the van
With Mother Meg and her good-man--
For, since Fat Pete was Long Dick's friend,
And they were thick and sweet as honey;
And Dick owed Pete a pot of money,
She knew too well how it must end...
And she would rather lie stone dead
Beneath the wayside grass than wed
With leering Pete, and live the life,
And die the death, of his first wife...
And so, last night, clean-daft with dread,
She'd bundled up a pack and fled...
When all the sobbing tale was out,
She dried her eyes, and looked about,
As though she'd left all fear behind,
And out of sight were out of mind.Then, when the dawn was burning red,
"I'm hungry as a hawk!"she said:
And from the bundle took out bread.And, at the happy end of night,
We sat together by a burn:
And ate a thick slice, turn by turn;
And laughed and kissed between each bite.Then, up again, and on our way
We went; and tramped the livelong day
The moorland trackways, steep and rough,
Though there was little fear enough
That they would follow on our flight.And then again a shiny night
Among the honey-scented heather,
We wandered in the moonblaze bright,
Together through a land of light,
A lad and lass alone with life.And merrily we laughed together,
When, starting up from sleep, we heard
The cock-grouse talking to his wife...
And "Old Fat Pete" she called the bird.Six months and more have cantered by:
And, Winter past, we're out again--
We've left the fat and weatherwise
To keep their coops and reeking sties,
And eat their fill of oven-pies,
While we win free and out again
To take potluck beneath the sky
With sun and moon and wind and rain.Six happy months... and yet, at night,
I've often wakened in affright,
And looked upon her lying there,
Beside me sleeping quietly,
Adread that when she waked, I'd see
The hunted hare within her eyes.And, only last night, as I slept
Beneath the shelter of a stack...
My hands were hot upon a hare,
Half-strangled, struggling in the snare,
When, suddenly, her eyes shot back,
Big, fearful, staggering and black;
And ere I knew, my grip was slack,
And I was clutching empty air...
Bolt-upright from my sleep I leapt...
Her place was empty in the straw...
And then, with quaking heart, I saw
That she was standing in the night,
A leveret cuddled to her breast...
I spoke no word: but, as the light
Through banks of Eastern cloud was breaking,
She turned, and saw that I was waking:
And told me how she could not rest;
And, rising in the night, she'd found
This baby-hare crouched on the ground;
And she had nursed it quite a while:
But, now, she'd better let it go...
Its mother would be fretting so...
A mother's heart...
I saw her smile,
And look at me with tender eyes:
And as I looked into their light,
My foolish, fearful heart grew wise...
And now, I knew that never there
I'd see again the startled hare,
Or need to dread the dreams of night.LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.To the professed Abolitionists, that motley crew of men who should be
women and of women who should be men; who see in Fred Douglass a hero
and in John Brown a martyr, whose venom is proportioned to their
ignorance, as some animals are said to be fiercest in the dark; and who
are ready to perpetrate the blackest crimes in the name of liberty and
under the garb of virtue, we have _nothing_ to say.The Republican party itself, the best and the worst of it, we charge
with having outraged our feelings, violated our rights, and initiated a
policy which, if carried out, will be destructive of our liberties.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.It
is not an election but a usurpation, and if we acquiesce, we are not
citizens but subjects.The forms of constitutional liberty may have been
observed, but the spirit of tyrannic dictation has been the presiding
genius of the day.Suppose the people of the North were to repeal their
obnoxious laws, to confirm and abide by the decision of the Supreme
Court, to divide the territories in an equitable manner, and to
recognize the equality as well as the Union of the States, what and
where would the Republican party be?Dissipated into thin air, dissolved
like an empty pageant, not leaving a trace behind.With the Republican
party, therefore, as it exists at this hour we have no parley.If it
questions us, we have no reply, but the words of the gallant Georgian."Argument is exhausted, we stand to our arms."To the conservative men of the North, who sacrificed their time,
treasure, interest and popularity in our behalf, and who have proffered
their blood in our defence, we have no language which can truly express
the gratitude of our hearts.Stand
bravely a little longer in the imminent deadly breach, which is yawning
between the North and the South, and stay, if it yet be possible, the
bloody hand of fanaticism.Raise your eloquent voices once more for
equality and fraternity, for justice and union.If it prove in vain, as
alas!it will, keep firm at least to your principles and your faith;
work without ceasing as a leaven of good in your infatuated communities;
infuse into the contest before us some chivalric element, worthy of
yourselves and of us, which, if the worst comes, shall mitigate the
horrors of war, and hasten the returning blessings of peace.When we
think of you in the future, we will forget the violence of individuals
and the disloyalty of State governments; we will forget the calumnies of
Sumner and Phillips and Giddings, the blasphemies of Emerson and Cheever
and Beecher, and the vile stings and insults of the aiders and abettors
of thieves and assassins; we will willingly forget them all, and entwine
you tenderly in our memories and affections, with the immortal friends
and compatriots of our own revolutionary sires--with Otis and Warren,
and Hancock and Putnam, and Wayne and Hamilton and Franklin.And in the
fearful troubles which may come also upon your fragment of this
dismembered nation, may the sign of our covenant be found upon every one
of your door-posts, to ward off the destroying angel from your favored
and happy homes!In this great crisis which involves the welfare of the
present and the future, let us be united as one man.Let us survey the
whole question in all its bearings, immediate and prospective.Let us
act calmly, wisely, bravely.Let us take counsel of our duty and our
honor, and not of our danger and our fears.Let us invoke the guardian
spirit of ancestral virtue, and the blessing of Almighty God.Let us
remember that, although precipitancy is a fault, it is better, in a
question so vital as personal and national independence, to be an age
too soon than a moment too late.If we succeed in establishing, _as we
shall_, a vast, opulent, happy and glorious slave-holding Republic,
throughout tropical America--future generations will arise and call us
blessed!But if it be possible, in the mysterious providence of God,
that we should fail and perish in our sublime attempt, let it come!Our
souls may rebel against the inscrutable decree of such a destiny, but we
will not swerve a line from the luminous path of duty.With our hands
upon our hearts we will unitedly exclaim, let it come!The sons and
daughters of the South are ready for the sacrifice.We endorse the noble
sentiment of Robert Hall, that he has already lived too long who has
survived the liberties of his country!WILLIAM H. HOLCOMBE.Transcriber's Notes:
Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.The following misprints have been corrected:
"opionions" corrected to "opinions" (page 3)
"improves" corrected to "improve" (page 6)
Other than the corrections listed above, spelling has been retained from
the original.Mary travelled to the hallway.Sandra moved to the kitchen.In
war the most part of the punishment and harm falls upon them that least
deserve to be punished; that is, upon husbandmen, old men, honest wives,
young children, and virgins.But if there may any commodity at all be
gathered of this most mischievous thing, that altogether goeth to the
behoof of certain most vengeable thieves, hired soldiers, and strong
robbers, and perhaps to a few captains, by whose craft war was raised
for that intent, and with which the matter goeth never better than when
the commonweal is in most high jeopardy and peril to be lost.Mary journeyed to the garden.Whereas one
is for his offence grievously punished, it is the wealthy warning of all
other: but in war to the end to revenge the quarrel of one, or else
peradventure of a few, we cruelly afflict and grieve many thousands of
them that nothing deserved.It were better to leave the offence of a few
unpunished than while we seek occasion to punish one or two, to bring into
assured peril and danger, both our neighbours and innocent enemies |
hallway | Where is John? | It is better to let a wound alone, that cannot be cured without
grievous hurt and danger of all the whole body, than go about to heal it.Now if any man will cry out and say: It were against all right, that he
that offendeth should not be punished; hereunto I answer, that it is much
more against all right and reason, that so many thousands of innocents
should be brought into extreme calamity and mischief without deserving.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.Albeit nowadays we see, that almost all wars spring up I cannot tell of
what titles, and of leagues between princes, that while they go about to
subdue to their dominion some one town, they put in jeopardy all their
whole empire.And yet within a while after, they sell or give away the
same town again, that they got with shedding of so much blood.Peradventure some man will say: Wouldst not have princes fight for their
right?I know right well, it is not meet for such a man as I am, to
dispute overboldly of princes' matters, and though I might do it without
any danger, yet is it longer than is convenient for this place.But this
much will I say: If each whatsoever title be a cause convenient to go in
hand with war, there is no man that in so great alterations of men's
affairs, and in so great variety and changes, can want a title.What
nation is there that hath not sometime been put out of their own country,
and also have put other out?How oft have people gone from one country to
another?How oft have whole empires been translated from one to another
either by chance or by league.Let the citizens of Padua claim now again
in God's name the country of Troy for theirs, because Antenor was sometime
a Trojan.Let the Romans now hardily claim again Africa and Spain, because
those provinces were sometime under the Romans.We call that a dominion,
which is but an administration.The power and authority over men, which be
free by Nature, and over brute beasts, is not all one.What power and
sovereignty soever you have, you have it by the consent of the people.And
if I be not deceived, he that hath authority to give, hath authority to
take away again.Will ye see how small a matter it is that we make all
this tumult for?The strife is not, whether this city or that should be
obeisant to a good prince, and not in bondage of a tyrant; but whether
Ferdinand or Sigismund hath the better title to it, whether that city
ought to pay tribute to Philip or to King Louis.This is that noble right,
for the which all the world is thus vexed and troubled with wars and
manslaughter.Yet go to, suppose that this right or title be as strong and of as great
authority as may be; suppose also there be no difference between a private
field and a whole city; and admit there be no difference between the
beasts that you have bought with your money and men, which be not only
free, but also true Christians: yet is it a point for a wise man to cast
in his mind, whether the thing that you will war for, be of so great
value, that it will recompense the exceedingly great harms and loss of
your own people.If ye cannot do in every point as becometh a prince, yet
at the leastways do as the merchantman doeth: he setteth naught by that
loss, which he well perceiveth cannot be avoided without a greater loss,
and he reckoneth it a winning, that fortune hath been against him with his
so little loss.Or else at the leastwise follow him, of whom there is a
merry tale commonly told.There were two kinsmen at variance about dividing of certain goods, and
when they could by no means agree, they must go to law together, that in
conclusion the matter might be ended by sentence of the judges.They got
them attorneys, the pleas were drawn, men of law had the matter in hand,
they came before the judges, the complaint was entered, the cause was
pleaded, and so was the war begun between them.Anon one of them
remembering himself, called aside his adversary to him and said on this
wise: "First it were a great shame, that a little money should dissever us
twain, whom Nature hath knit so near together.Secondly, the end of our
strife is uncertain, no less than of war.It is in our hands to begin when
we will, but not to make an end.All our strife is but for an hundred
crowns, and we shall spend the double thereof upon notaries, upon
promoters, upon advocates, upon attorneys, upon judges, and upon judges'
friends, if we try the law to the uttermost.We must wait upon these men,
we must flatter and speak them fair, we must give them rewards.And yet I
speak not of the care and thought, nor of the great labour and travail,
that we must take to run about here and there to make friends; and which
of us two that winneth the victory, shall be sure of more incommodity than
profit.Wherefore if we be wise, let us rather see to our own profit, and
the money that shall be evil bestowed upon these bribers, let us divide it
between us twain.Mary travelled to the hallway.And forgive you the half of that ye think should be your
due, and I will forgive as much of mine.And so shall we keep and
preserve our friendship, which else is like to perish, and we shall also
eschew this great business, cost, and charge.If you be not content to
forgo anything of your part, I commit the whole matter into your own
hands; do with it as you will.For I had liefer my friend had this money,
than those insatiable thieves.Methinks I have gained enough, if I may
save my good name, keep my friend, and avoid this unquiet and chargeable
business."Thus partly the telling of the truth, and partly the merry
conceit of his kinsman, moved the other man to agree.So they ended the
matter between themselves, to the great displeasure of the judges and
servants, for they, like a sort of gaping ravens, were deluded and put
beside their prey.Let a prince therefore follow the wisdom of these two men, specially in a
matter of much more danger.Nor let him not regard what thing it is that
he would obtain, but what great loss of good things he shall have, in what
great jeopardies he shall be, and what miseries he must endure, to come
thereby.Now if a man will weigh, as it were in a pair of balances, the
commodities of war on the one side and the incommodities on the other
side, he shall find that unjust peace is far better than righteous war.Who but a madman will angle with a
golden fish-hook?If ye see that the charges and expenses shall amount
far above your gain, yea, though all things go according to your mind, is
it not better that ye forgo part of your right than to buy so little
commodity with so innumerable mischiefs?I had liefer that any other man
had the title, than I should win it with so great effusion of Christian
men's blood.He (whosoever he be) hath now been many years in possession;
he is accustomed to rule, his subjects know him, he behaveth him like a
prince; and one shall come forth, who, finding an old title in some
histories or in some blind evidence, will turn clean upside down the quiet
state and good order of that commonweal.What availeth it with so great
troubling to change any title, which in short space by one chance or other
must go to another man?Specially since we might see, that no things in
this world continue still in one state, but at the scornful pleasure of
fortune they roll to and fro, as the waves of the sea.Finally, if
Christian men cannot despise and set at naught these so light things, yet
whereto need they by and by to run to arms?Since there be so many
bishops, men of great gravity and learning; since there be so many
venerable abbots; since there be so many noble men of great age, whom long
use and experience of things hath made right wise: why are not these
trifling and childish quarrels of princes pacified and set in order by the
wisdom and discretion of these men?But they seem to make a very honest
reason of war, which pretend as they would defend the Church: as though
the people were not the Church, or as though the Church of Christ was
begun, augmented, and stablished with wars and slaughters, and not rather
in spilling of the blood of martyrs, sufferance, and despising of this
life, or as though the whole dignity of the Church rested in the riches of
the priests.Nor to me truly it seemeth not so allowable, that we should
so oft make war upon the Turks.Doubtless it were not well with the
Christian religion, if the only safeguard thereof should depend on such
succours.Nor it is not likely, that they should be good Christians, that
by these means are brought thereto at the first.For that thing that is
got by war, is again in another time lost by war.Will ye bring the Turks
to the faith of Christ?Let us not make a show of our gay riches, nor of
our great number of soldiers, nor of our great strength.Let them see in
us none of these solemn titles, but the assured tokens of Christian men: a
pure, innocent life; a fervent desire to do well, yea, to our very
enemies; the despising of money, the neglecting of glory, a poor simple
life.Let them hear the heavenly doctrine agreeable to such a manner of
life.These are the best armours to subdue the Turks to Christ.Now
oftentimes we, being ill, fight with the evil.Yea, and I shall say
another thing (which I would to God were more boldly spoken than truly),
if we set aside the title and sign of the Cross, we fight Turks against
Turks.If our religion were first stablished by the might and strength of
men of war, if it were confirmed by dint of sword, if it were augmented by
war, then let us maintain it by the same means and ways.But if all things
in our faith were brought to pass by other means, why do we, then (as we
mistrusted the help of Christ), seek such succour as the heathen people
use?But why should we not (say they) kill them that would kill us?So
think they it a great dishonour, if other should be more mischievous than
they.Why do ye not, then, rob those that have robbed you before?Why do
ye not scold and chide at them that rail at you?Why do ye not hate them
that hate you?Trow ye it is a good Christian man's deed to slay a Turk?For be the Turks never so wicked, yet they are men, for whose salvation
Christ suffered death.And killing Turks we offer to the devil most
pleasant sacrifice, and with that one deed we please our enemy, the devil,
twice: first because a man is slain, and again, because a Christian man
slew him.There be many, which desiring to seem good Christian men, study
to hurt and grieve the Turks all that ever they may; and where they be not
able to do anything, they curse and ban, and bid a mischief upon them.Now
by the same one point a man may perceive, that they be far from good
Christian men.Succour the Turks, and where they be wicked, make them good
if ye can; if ye cannot, wish and desire of God they may have grace to
turn to goodness.Sandra moved to the kitchen.And he that thus doeth, I will say doeth like a
Christian man.But of all these things I shall entreat more largely, when
I set forth my book entitled Antipolemus, which whilom when I was at Rome
I wrote to Julius, bishop of Rome, the second of that name, at the same
time, when he was counselled to make war on the Venetians.But there is one thing which is more to be lamented then reasoned: That if
a man would diligently discuss the matter, he shall find that all the wars
among us Christian men do spring either of foolishness, or else of malice.Some young men without experience, inflamed with the evil examples of
their forefathers, that they find by reading of histories, written of some
foolish authors (and besides this being moved with the exhortations of
flatterers, with the instigation of lawyers, and assenting thereto of the
divines, the bishops winking thereat, or peradventure enticing thereunto),
have rather of foolhardiness than of malice, gone in hand with war; and
with the great hurt and damage of all this world they learn, that war is a
thing that should be by all means and ways fled and eschewed.Some other
are moved by privy hatred, ambition causeth some, and some are stirred by
fierceness of mind to make war.For truly there is almost now no other
thing in our cities and commonweals than is contained in Homer's work
Iliad, The wrath of indiscreet princes and people.There be those who for no other cause stir up war but to the intent they
may by that means the more easily exercise tyranny on their subjects.For
in the time of peace, the authority of the council, the dignity of the
rulers, the vigour and strength of the laws, do somewhat hinder, that a
prince cannot do all that him listeth; but as soon as war is once begun,
now all the handling of matters resteth in the pleasure of a few persons.They that the prince favoureth are lifted up aloft, and they that be in
his displeasure, go down.They exact as much money as pleaseth them.Mary journeyed to the garden.Then they think themselves, that they be the greatest
princes of the world.In the meantime the captains sport and play
together, till they have gnawed the poor people to the hard bones.And
think ye that it will grieve them, that be of this mind, to enter lightly
into war, when any cause is offered?Besides all this, it is worth while
to see by what means we colour our fault.I pretend the defence of our
religion, but my mind is to get the great riches that the Turk hath.Under
colour to defend the Church's right, I purpose to revenge the hatred that
I have in my stomach.I incline to ambition, I follow my wrath; my cruel,
fierce and unbridled mind compelleth me; and yet will I find a cavillation
and say, the league is not kept, or friendship is broken, or something
(I wot not what myself) concerning the laws of matrimony is omitted.And
it is a wonder to speak, how they never obtain the very thing that they so
greatly desire.And while they foolishly labour to eschew this mischief or
that, they fall into another much worse, or else deeper into the same.John travelled to the office.And
surely if desire of glory causeth them thus to do, it is a thing much more
magnificent and glorious to save than to destroy; much more gay and goodly
to build a city than to overthrow and destroy a city.Furthermore admit that the victory in battle is got most prosperously, yet
how small a portion of the glory shall go unto the prince: the commons
will claim a great part of it, by the help of whose money the deed was
done; foreign soldiers, that are hired for money, will challenge much more
than the commons; the captains look to have very much of that glory; and
fortune has the most of all, which striking a great stroke in every
matter, in war may do most of all.If it come of a noble courage or stout
stomach, that you be moved to make war: see, I pray you, how far wide ye
be from your purpose.For while ye will not be seen to bow to one man, as
to a prince your neighbour, peradventure of your alliance, who may by
fortune have done you good: how much more abjectly must ye bow yourself,
what time ye seek aid and help of barbarous people; yea, and, what is more
unworthy, of such men as are defiled with all mischievous deeds, if we
must needs call such kind of monsters men?John went to the hallway.Meanwhile ye go about to allure
unto you with fair words and promises, ravishers of virgins and of
religious women, men-killers, stout robbers and rovers (for these be thy
special men of war).And while you labour to be somewhat cruel and
superior over your equal, you are constrained to submit yourselves to the
very dregs |
garden | Where is Mary? | And while ye go about to drive your
neighbour out of his land, ye must needs first bring into your own land
the most pestilent puddle of unthrifts that can be.You mistrust a prince
of your own alliance, and will you commit yourself wholly to an armed
multitude?How much surer were it to commit yourself to concord!If ye will make war because of lucre, take your counters and cast.And I
will say, it is better to have war than peace, if ye find not, that not
only less, but also uncertain winning is got with inestimable costs.Ye say ye make war for the safeguard of the commonweal, yea, but noway
sooner nor more unthriftily may the commonweal perish than by war.For
before ye enter into the field, ye have already hurt more your country
than ye can do good getting the victory.Ye waste the citizens' goods, ye
fill the houses with lamentation, ye fill all the country with thieves,
robbers, and ravishers.And whereas
before ye might have enjoyed all France, ye shut yourselves from many
regions thereof.If ye love your own subjects truly, why revolve you not
in mind these words: Why shall I put so many, in their lusty, flourishing
youth, in all mischiefs and perils?Why shall I depart so many honest
wives and their husbands, and make so many fatherless children?Why shall
I claim a title I know not, and a doubtful right, with spilling of my
subjects' blood?Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.We have seen in our time, that in war made under colour
of defence of the Church, the priests have been so often pillaged with
contributions, that no enemy might do more.So that while we go about
foolishly to escape falling in the ditch, while we cannot suffer a light
injury, we afflict ourselves with most grievous despites.While we be
ashamed of gentleness to bow to a prince, we be fain to please people most
base.While we indiscreetly covet liberty, we entangle ourselves in most
grievous bondage.While we hunt after a little lucre, we grieve ourselves
and ours with inestimable harness.It had been a point of a prudent
Christian man (if he be a true Christian man) by all manner of means to
have fled, to have shunned, and by prayer to have withstood so fiendish a
thing, and so far both from the life and doctrine of Christ.But if it can
by no means be eschewed, by reason of the ungraciousness of many men, when
ye have essayed every way, and that ye have for peace sake left no stone
unturned, then the next way is, that ye do your diligence that so ill a
thing may be gested and done by them that be evil, and that it be achieved
with as little effusion of man's blood as can be.Now if we endeavour to be the selfsame thing that we hear ourselves
called,--that is, good Christian men,--we shall little esteem any worldly
thing, nor yet ambitiously covet anything of this world.For if we set all
our mind, that we may lightly and purely part hence; if we incline wholly
to heavenly things; if we pitch all our felicity in Christ alone; if we
believe all that is truly good, truly gay and glorious, truly joyful, to
remain in Christ alone; if we thoroughly think that a godly man can of no
man be hurt; if we ponder how vain and vanishing are the scornful things
of this world; if we inwardly behold how hard a thing it is for a man to
be in a manner transformed into a god, and so here, with continual and
indefatigable meditation, to be purged from all infections of this world,
that within a while the husk of this body being cast off, it may pass
hence to the company of angels; finally, if we surely have these three
things, without which none is worthy of the name of a Christian
man,--Innocency, that we may be pure from all vices; Charity, that we may
do good, as near as we can, to every man; Patience, that we may suffer
them that do us ill, and, if we can, with good deeds overcome wrongs to us
done: I pray you, what war can there be among us for trifles?If it be
but a tale that is told of Christ, why do we not openly put him out of our
company?But if he be, as he is in very
deed, the true way, the very truth, and the very life, why doth all the
manner of our living differ so far asunder from the true example of him?If we acknowledge and take Christ for our author, which is very Charity,
and neither taught nor gave other thing but charity and peace, then go to,
let us not in titles and signs, but in our deeds and living, plainly
express him.Let us have in our hearts a fervent desire of peace, that
Christ may again know us for his.To this intent the princes, the
prelates, and the cities and commonalties should apply their counsels.There hath been hitherto enough spilt of Christian man's blood.Mary travelled to the hallway.We have
showed pleasure enough to the enemies of the Christian religion.And if
the common people, as they are wont, make any disturbance, let the princes
bridle and quail them, which princes ought to be the selfsame thing in the
commonweal that the eye is in the body, and the reason in the soul.Again,
if the princes make any trouble, it is the part of good prelates by their
wisdom and gravity to pacify and assuage such commotion.Or else, at the
least, we being satiate with continual wars, let the desire of peace a
little move us.The bishop exhorteth us (if ever any bishop did Leo the
Tenth doth, which occupieth the room of our peaceable Solomon, for all his
desire, all his intent and labour, is for this intent) that they whom
one common faith hath coupled together, should be joined in one common
concord.He laboureth that the Church of Christ should flourish, not in
riches or lordships, but in her own proper virtues.Surely this is a right
goodly act, and well beseeming a man descended of such a noble lineage as
the Medici: by whose civil prudence the noble city of Florence most
freshly flourished in long-continued peace; whose house of Medici hath
been a help unto all good letters.Leo himself, having alway a sober and a
gentle wit, giving himself from his tender youth to good letters of
humanity, was ever brought up, as it were, in the lap of the Muses, among
men most highly learned.He so faultless led his life, that even in the
city of Rome, where is most liberty of vice, was of him no evil rumour,
and so governing himself came to the dignity to be bishop there, which
dignity he never coveted, but was chosen thereto when he least thought
thereon, by the provision of God to help to redress things in great decay
by long wars.Let Julius the bishop have his glory of war, victories, and
of his great triumphs, the which how evil they beseem a Christian bishop,
it is not for such a one as I am to declare.I will this say, his glory,
whatsoever it be, was mixed with the great destruction and grievous sorrow
of many a creature.But by peace restored now to the world, Leo shall get
more true glory than Julius won by so many wars that he either boldly
begun, or prosperously fought and achieved.But they that had liefer hear of proverbs, than either of peace or of war,
will think that I have tarried longer about this digression than is meet
for the declaration of a proverb.My heart, like the evening sky, has its endless passion for colour, and
therefore I change my veils, which have now the green of the cool young
grass and now that of the winter rice.To-day my robe is tinted with the rain-rimmed blue of the sky.It brings to
my limbs the colour of the boundless, the colour of the oversea hills; and
it carries in its folds the delight of summer clouds flying in the wind.16
I thought I would write love's words in their own colour; but that lies
deep in the heart, and tears are pale.Would you know them, friend, if the words were colourless?I thought I would sing love's words to their own tune, but that sounds only
in my heart, and my eyes are silent.Would you know them, friend, if there were no tune?17
In the night the song came to me; but you were not there.It found the words for which I had been seeking all day.Yes, in the
stillness a moment after dark they throbbed into music, even as the stars
then began to pulse with light; but you were not there.My hope was to sing
it to you in the morning; but, try as I might, though the music came, the
words hung back, when you were beside me.18
The night deepens and the dying flame flickers in the lamp.I forgot to notice when the evening--like a village girl who has filled her
pitcher at the river a last time for that day--closed the door on her
cabin.I was speaking to you, my love, with mind barely conscious of my
voice--tell me, had it any meaning?Sandra moved to the kitchen.Did it bring you any message from
beyond life's borders?For now, since my voice has ceased, I feel the night throbbing with
thoughts that gaze in awe at the abyss of their dumbness.19
When we two first met my heart rang out in music, "She who is eternally
afar is beside you for ever."Mary journeyed to the garden.That music is silent, because I have grown to believe that my love is only
near, and have forgotten that she is also far, far away.This has been muffled by the
mist of our daily habits.On shy summer nights, when the breeze brings a vast murmur out of the
silence, I sit up in my bed and mourn the great loss of her who is beside
me.I ask myself, "When shall I have another chance to whisper to her words
with the rhythm of eternity in them?"Wake up, my song, from thy languor, rend this screen of the familiar, and
fly to my beloved there, in the endless surprise of our first meeting!20
Lovers come to you, my Queen, and proudly lay their riches at your feet:
but my tribute is made up of unfulfilled hopes.Shadows have stolen across the heart of my world and the best in me has
lost light.While the fortunate laugh at my penury, I ask you to lend my failings your
tears, and so make them precious.I strained to reach a note which was too high in my heart, and the string
broke.While masters laugh at the snapped cord, I ask you to take my lute in your
hands and fill its hollowness with your songs.21
The father came back from the funeral rites.His boy of seven stood at the window, with eyes wide open and a golden
amulet hanging from his neck, full of thoughts too difficult for his age.His father took him in his arms and the boy asked him, "Where is mother?""In heaven," answered his father, pointing to the sky.At night the father groaned in slumber, weary with grief.A lamp dimly burned near the bedroom door, and a lizard chased moths on the
wall.The boy woke up from sleep, felt with his hands the emptiness in the bed,
and stole out to the open terrace.The boy raised his eyes to the sky and long gazed in silence.John travelled to the office.His
bewildered mind sent abroad into the night the question, "Where is heaven?"No answer came: and the stars seemed like the burning tears of that
ignorant darkness.22
She went away when the night was about to wane.My mind tried to console me by saying, "All is vanity."I felt angry and said, "That unopened letter with her name on it, and this
palm-leaf fan bordered with red silk by her own hands, are they not real?"The day passed, and my friend came and said to me, "Whatever is good is
true, and can never perish."I asked impatiently; "was not this body good which is
now lost to the world?"As a fretful child hurting its own mother, I tried to wreck all the
shelters that ever I had, in and about me, and cried, "This world is
treacherous."Suddenly I felt a voice saying--"Ungrateful!"I looked out of the window, and a reproach seemed to come from the
star-sprinkled night,--"You pour out into the void of my absence your faith
in the truth that I came!"23
The river is grey and the air dazed with blown sand.On a morning of dark disquiet, when the birds are mute and their nests
shake in the gust, I sit alone and ask myself, "Where is she?"The days have flown wherein we sat too near each other; we laughed and
jested, and the awe of love's majesty found no words at our meetings.I made myself small, and she trifled away every moment with pelting talk.To-day I wish in vain that she were by me, in the gloom of the coming
storm, to sit in the soul's solitude.24
The name she called me by, like a flourishing jasmine, covered the whole
seventeen years of our love.John went to the hallway.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.With its sound mingled the quiver of the light
through the leaves, the scent of the grass in the rainy night, and the sad
silence of the last hour of many an idle day.Not the work of God alone was he who answered to that name; she created him
again for herself during those seventeen swift years.Other years were to follow, but their vagrant days, no longer gathered
within the fold of that name uttered in her voice, stray and are scattered.They ask me, "Who should fold us?"I find no answer and sit silent, and they cry to me while dispersing, "We
seek a shepherdess!"And like derelict evening clouds they drift in the
trackless dark, and are lost and forgotten.25
I feel that your brief days of love have not been left behind in those
scanty years of your life.I seek to know in what place, away from the slow-thieving dust, you keep
them now.I find in my solitude some song of your evening that died, yet
left a deathless echo; and the sighs of your unsatisfied hours I find
nestled in the warm quiet of the autumn noon.Your desires come from the hive of the past to haunt my heart, and I sit
still to listen to their wings.26
You have taken a bath in the dark sea.You are once again veiled in a
bride's robe, and through death's arch you come back to repeat our wedding
in the soul.Neither lute nor drum is struck, no crowd has gathered, not a wreath is
hung on the gate.Your unuttered words meet mine in a ritual unillumined by lamps.27
I was walking along a path overgrown with grass, when suddenly I heard from
some one behind, "See if you know me?"I turned round and looked at her and said, "I cannot remember your name."She said, "I am that first great Sorrow whom you met when you were young."Her eyes looked like a morning whose dew is still in the air.I stood silent for some time till I said, "Have you lost all the great
burden of your tears?"I felt that her tears had had time to learn
the language of smiles."Once you said," she whispered, "that you would cherish your grief for
ever."I blushed and said, "Yes, but years have passed and I forget."Then I took her hand in mine and said, "But you have changed.""What was sorrow once has now become peace," she said.28
Our life sails on the uncrossed sea whose waves chase each other in an
eternal hide-and-seek.It is the restless sea of change, feeding its foaming flocks to lose them
over and over again, beating its hands against the calm of the sky.Love, in the centre of this circling war-dance of light and dark, yours is
that green island, where the sun kisses the shy forest shade and silence is
wooed by birds' singing.29
AMA AND VINAYAKA
AMA AND VINAYAKA
_Night on the battlefield:_ AMA _meets her father_ VJohn went back to the office. |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | VINAYAKA
Shameless wanton, you call me "Father"!you who did not shrink from a
Mussulman husband!AMA
Though you have treacherously killed my husband, yet you are my father; and
I hold back a widow's tears, lest they bring God's curse on you.Since we
have met on this battlefield after years of separation, let me bow to your
feet and take my last leave!VINAYAKA
Where will you go, Ama?The tree on which you built your impious nest is
hewn down.VINAYAKA
Leave him!Cast never a fond look back on the result of a sin expiated with
blood!AMA
Death's open gates are wider than a father's love!VINAYAKA
Death indeed swallows sins as the sea swallows the mud of rivers.But you
are to die neither to-night nor here.Seek some solitary shrine of holy
Shiva far from shamed kindred and all neighbours; bathe three times a day
in sacred Ganges, and, while reciting God's name, listen to the last bell
of evening worship, that Death may look tenderly upon you, as a father on
his sleeping child whose eyes are still wet with tears.Let him gently
carry you into his own great silence, as the Ganges carries a fallen flower
on its stream, washing every stain away to render it, a fit offering, to
the sea.AMA
But my son----
VINAYAKA
Again I bid you not to speak of him.Lay yourself once more in a father's
arms, my child, like a babe fresh from the womb of Oblivion, your second
mother.AMA
To me the world has become a shadow.Your words I hear, but cannot take to
heart.Do not try to bind me with your
love, for its bands are red with my husband's blood.VINAYAKA
Alas!no flower ever returns to the parent branch it dropped from.How can
you call him _husband_ who forcibly snatched you from Jivaji to whom you
had been sacredly affianced?In the
wedding hall we sat anxiously expecting the bridegroom, for the auspicious
hour was dwindling away.Then in the distance appeared the glare of
torches, and bridal strains came floating up the air.We shouted for joy:
women blew their conch-shells.A procession of palanquins entered the
courtyard: but while we were asking, "Where is Jivaji?"armed men burst out
of the litters like a storm, and bore you off before we knew what had
happened.Shortly after, Jivaji came to tell us he had been waylaid and
captured by a Mussulman noble of the Vijapur court.That night Jivaji and I
touched the nuptial fire and swore bloody death to this villain.After
waiting long, we have been freed from our solemn pledge to-night; and the
spirit of Jivaji, who lost his life in this battle, lawfully claims you for
wife.AMA
Father, it may be that I have disgraced the rites of your house, but my
honour is unsullied; I loved him to whom I bore a son.I remember the night
when I received two secret messages, one from you, one from my mother;
yours said: "I send you the knife; kill him!"My mother's: "I send you the
poison; end your life!"Had unholy force dishonoured me, your double
bidding had been obeyed.But my body was yielded only after love had given
_me_--love all the greater, all the purer, in that it overcame the
hereditary recoil of our blood from the Mussulman._Enter_ RAMA, AMA'S _mother_
AMA
Mother mine, I had not hoped to see you again.RAMA
Touch me not with impure hands!AMA
I am as pure as yourself.RAMA
To whom have you surrendered your honour?A Mussulman the husband of a Brahmin woman?Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.AMA
I do not merit contempt: I am proud to say I never despised my husband
though a Mussulman.If Paradise will reward your devotion to your husband,
then the same Paradise waits for your daughter, who has been as true a
wife.RAMA
Are you indeed a true wife?Mary travelled to the hallway.RAMA
Do you know how to die without flinching?RAMA
Then let the funeral fire be lighted for you!See, there lies the body of
your husband.RAMA
Yes, Jivaji.He was your husband by plighted troth.Sandra moved to the kitchen.The baffled fire of the
nuptial God has raged into the hungry fire of death, and the interrupted
wedding shall be completed now.VINAYAKA
Do not listen, my child.Go back to your son, to your own nest darkened
with sorrow.Mary journeyed to the garden.My duty has been performed to its extreme cruel end, and
nothing now remains for you to do.--Wife, your grief is fruitless.Were the
branch dead which was violently snapped from our tree, I should give it to
the fire.But it has sent living roots into a new soil and is bearing
flowers and fruits.Allow her, without regret, to obey the laws of those
among whom she has loved.Come, wife, it is time we cut all worldly ties
and spent our remainder lives in the seclusion of some peaceful pilgrim
shrine.RAMA
I am ready: but first must tread into dust every sprout of sin and shame
that has sprung from the soil of our life.A daughter's infamy stains her
mother's honour.That black shame shall feed glowing fire to-night, and
raise a true wife's memorial over the ashes of my daughter.AMA
Mother, if by force you unite me in death with one who was not my husband,
then will you bring a curse upon yourself for desecrating the shrine of the
Eternal Lord of Death.RAMA
Soldiers, light the fire; surround the woman!VINAYAKA
Do not fear.Alas, my child, that you should ever have to call your father
to save you from your mother's hands!VINAYAKA
Come to me, my darling child!Mere vanity are these man-made laws,
splashing like spray against the rock of heaven's ordinance.Bring your son
to me, and we will live together, my daughter.A father's love, like God's
rain, does not judge but is poured forth from an abounding source.Turn back!--Soldiers, stand firm in your loyalty to
your master Jivaji!VINAYAKA
Free her, soldiers!SOLDIERS
She is the widow of our master.VINAYAKA
Her husband, though a Mussulman, was staunch in his own faith.RAMA
Soldiers, keep this old man under control!AMA
I defy you, mother!--You, soldiers, I defy!--for through death and love I
win to freedom.30
A painter was selling pictures at the fair; followed by servants, there
passed the son of a minister who in youth had cheated this painter's father
so that he had died of a broken heart.The boy lingered before the pictures and chose one for himself.The painter
flung a cloth over it and said he would not sell it.John travelled to the office.After this the boy pined heart-sick till his father came and offered a
large price.But the painter kept the picture unsold on his shop-wall and
grimly sat before it, saying to himself, "This is my revenge."The sole form this painter's worship took was to trace an image of his god
every morning.And now he felt these pictures grow daily more different from those he used
to paint.This troubled him, and he sought in vain for an explanation till one day he
started up from work in horror, the eyes of the god he had just drawn were
those of the minister, and so were the lips.He tore up the picture, crying, "My revenge has returned on my head!"31
The General came before the silent and angry King and saluting him said:
"The village is punished, the men are stricken to dust, and the women cower
in their unlit homes afraid to weep aloud."The High Priest stood up and blessed the King and cried: "God's mercy is
ever upon you."The Clown, when he heard this, burst out laughing and startled the court."The honour of the throne," said the minister, "is upheld by the King's
prowess and the blessing of Almighty God."Louder laughed the Clown, and the King growled,--"Unseemly mirth!""God has showered many blessings upon your head," said the Clown; "the one
he bestowed on me was the gift of laughter.""This gift will cost you your life," said the King, gripping his sword with
his right hand.Yet the Clown stood up and laughed till he laughed no more.A shadow of dread fell upon the Court, for they heard that laughter echoing
in the depth of God's silence.32
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
_Prince Duryodhana, the son of the blind Kaurava King Dhritarashtra, and of
Queen Gandhari, has played with his cousins the Pandava Kings for their
kingdom, and won it by fraud._
DHRITARASHTRA
You have compassed your end.DURYODHANA
Success is mine!DHRITARASHTRA
Are you happy?DURYODHANA
I am victorious.DHRITARASHTRA
I ask you again, what happiness have you in winning the undivided kingdom?DURYODHANA
Sire, a Kshatriya thirsts not after happiness but victory, that fiery wine
pressed from seething jealousy.John went to the hallway.Wretchedly happy we were, like those
inglorious stains that lie idly on the breast of the moon, when we lived in
peace under the friendly dominance of our cousins.Then these Pandavas
milked the world of its wealth, and allowed us a share, in brotherly
tolerance.Now that they own defeat and expect banishment, I am no longer
happy but exultant.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.DHRITARASHTRA
Wretch, you forget that both Pandavas and Kauravas have the same
forefathers.DURYODHANA
It was difficult to forget that, and therefore our inequalities rankled in
my heart.At midnight the moon is never jealous of the noonday sun.But the
struggle to share one horizon between both orbs cannot last forever.John went back to the office.Thank
heaven, that struggle is over, and we have at last won solitude in glory.DHRITARASHTRA
The mean jealousy!Sandra went back to the bedroom.DURYODHANA
Jealousy is never mean--it is in the essence of greatness.Grass can grow
in crowded amity, not giant trees.Stars live in clusters, but the sun and
moon are lonely in their splendour.The pale moon of the Pandavas sets
behind the forest shadows, leaving the new-risen sun of the Kauravas to
rejoice.DHRITARASHTRA
But right has been defeated.DURYODHANA
Right for rulers is not what is right in the eyes of the people.The people
thrive by comradeship: but for a king, equals are enemies.They are
obstacles ahead, they are terrors from behind.There is no place for
brothers or friends in a king's polity; its one solid foundation is
conquest.John went to the bedroom.DHRITARASHTRA
I refuse to call a conquest what was won by fraud in gambling.DURYODHANA
A man is not shamed by refusing to challenge a tiger on equal terms with
teeth and nails.Our weapons are those proper for success, not for suicide.Father, I am proud of the result and disdain regret for the means.DHRITARASHTRA
But justice----
DURYODHANA
Fools alone dream of justice--success is not yet theirs: but those born to
rule rely on power, merciless and unhampered with scruples.DHRITARASHTRA
Your success will bring down on you a loud and angry flood of detraction.DURYODHANA
The people will take amazingly little time to learn that Duryodhana is king
and has power to crush calumny under foot.DHRITARASHTRA
Calumny dies of weariness dancing on tongue-tips.Do not drive it into the
heart to gather strength.DURYODHANA
Unuttered defamation does not touch a king's dignity.I care not if love is
refused us, but insolence shall not be borne.Love depends upon the will of
the giver, and the poorest of the poor can indulge in such generosity.Let
them squander it on their pet cats, tame dogs, and our good cousins the
Pandavas.Fear is the tribute I claim for my royal
throne.Father, only too leniently you lent your ear to those who slandered
your sons: but if you intend still to allow those pious friends of yours to
revel in shrill denunciation at the expense of your children, let us
exchange our kingdom for the exile of our cousins, and go to the
wilderness, where happily friends are never cheap!DHRITARASHTRA
Could the pious warnings of my friends lessen my love for my sons, then we
might be saved.But I have dipped my hands in the mire of your infamy and
lost my sense of goodness.For your sakes I have heedlessly set fire to the
ancient forest of our royal lineage--so dire is my love.Clasped breast to
breast, we, like a double meteor, are blindly plunging into ruin.Therefore
doubt not my love; relax not your embrace till the brink of annihilation be
reached.Beat your drums of victory, lift your banner of triumph.In this
mad riot of exultant evil, brothers and friends will disperse till nothing
remain save the doomed father, the doomed son and God's curse._Enter an Attendant_
Sire, Queen Gandhari asks for audience.DHRITARASHTRA
I await her.DURYODHANA
Let me take my leave.[_Exit._
DHRITARASHTRA
Fly!For you cannot bear the fire of your mother's presence._Enter_ QUEEN GANDHARI, _the mother of_ DURYODHANA
GANDHARI
At your feet I crave a boon.DHRITARASHTRA
Speak, your wish is fulfilled.GANDHARI
The time has come to renounce him.DHRITARASHTRA
Whom, my queen?GANDHARI
Duryodhana!DHRITARASHTRA
Our own son, Duryodhana?DHRITARASHTRA
This is a terrible boon for you, his mother, to crave!GANDHARI
The fathers of the Kauravas, who are in Paradise, join me in beseeching
you.DHRITARASHTRA
The divine Judge will punish him who has broken His laws.GANDHARI
Am I not his mother?Have I not carried him under my throbbing heart?Yes,
I ask you to renounce Duryodhana the unrighteous.DHRITARASHTRA
What will remain to us after that?GANDHARI
God's blessing.DHRITARASHTRA
And what will that bring us?GANDHARI
New afflictions.Pleasure in our son's presence, pride in a new kingdom,
and shame at knowing both purchased by wrong done or connived at, like
thorns dragged two ways, would lacerate our bosoms.The Pandavas are too
proud ever to accept back from us the lands which they have relinquished;
therefore it is only meet that we draw some great sorrow down on our heads
so as to deprive that unmerited reward of its sting.DHRITARASHTRA
Queen, you inflict fresh pain on a heart already rent.GANDHARI
Sire, the punishment imposed on our son will be more ours than his.A judge
callous to the pain that he inflicts loses the right to judge.And if you
spare your son to save yourself pain, then all the culprits ever punished
by your hands |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | DHRITARASHTRA
No more of this, Queen, I pray you.Our son is abandoned of God: that is
why I cannot give him up.To save him is no longer in my power, and
therefore my consolation is to share his guilt and tread the path of
destruction, his solitary companion.What is done is done; let follow what
must follow![_Exit._
GANDHARI
Be calm, my heart, and patiently await God's judgment.Oblivious night
wears on, the morning of reckoning nears, I hear the thundering roar of its
chariot.Woman, bow your head down to the dust!and as a sacrifice fling
your heart under those wheels!Darkness will shroud the sky, earth will
tremble, wailing will rend the air and then comes the silent and cruel
end,--that terrible peace, that great forgetting, and awful extinction of
hatred--the supreme deliverance rising from the fire of death.33
Fiercely they rend in pieces the carpet woven during ages of prayer for the
welcome of the world's best hope.The great preparations of love lie a heap of shreds, and there is nothing
on the ruined altar to remind the mad crowd that their god was to have
come.In a fury of passion they seem to have burnt their future to cinders,
and with it the season of their bloom.The air is harsh with the cry, "Victory to the Brute!"The children look
haggard and aged; they whisper to one another that time revolves but never
advances, that we are goaded to run but have nothing to reach, that
creation is like a blind man's groping.I said to myself, "Cease thy singing.Song is for one who is to come, the
struggle without an end is for things that are."The road, that ever lies along like some one with ear to the ground
listening for footsteps, to-day gleans no hint of coming guest, nothing of
the house at its far end.My lute said, "Trample me in the dust."And I cried, "The world's hope is not dead!"The sky stooped over the horizon to whisper to the earth, and a hush of
expectation filled the air.I saw the palm leaves clapping their hands to
the beat of inaudible music, and the moon exchanged glances with the
glistening silence of the lake.The road said to me, "Fear nothing!"and my lute said, "Lend me thy songs!"34
TRANSLATIONS
BAUL SONGS[1]
[Footnote 1: The Bauls are a sect of religious mendicants in Bengal,
unlettered and unconventional, whose songs are loved and sung by the
people.The literal meaning of the word "Baul" is "the Mad."]1
This longing to meet in the play of love, my Lover, is not only mine but
yours.Your lips can smile, your flute make music, only through delight in my
love; therefore you are importunate even as I.2
I sit here on the road; do not ask me to walk further.If your love can be complete without mine let me turn back from seeking
you.I refuse to beg a sight of you if you do not feel my need.I am blind with market dust and mid-day glare, and so wait, in hopes that
your heart, my heart's lover, will send you to find me.3
I am poured forth in living notes of joy and sorrow by your breath.Mornings and evenings in summer and in rains, I am fashioned to music.Should I be wholly spent in some flight of song, I shall not grieve, the
tune is so dear to me.4
My heart is a flute he has played on.If ever it fall into other hands let
him fling it away.My lover's flute is dear to him, therefore if to-day alien breath have
entered it and sounded strange notes, let him break it to pieces and strew
the dust with them.5
In love the aim is neither pain nor pleasure but love only.While free love binds, division destroys it, for love is what unites.Love is lit from love as fire from fire, but whence came the first flame?In your being it leaps under the rod of pain.Then, when the hidden fire flames forth, the in and the out are one and all
barriers fall in ashes.Let the pain glow fiercely, burst from the heart and beat back darkness,
need you be afraid?The poet says, "Who can buy love without paying its price?When you fail to
give yourself you make the whole world miserly."6
Eyes see only dust and earth, but feel with the heart, and know pure joy.The delights blossom on all sides in every form, but where is your heart's
thread to make a wreath of them?My master's flute sounds through all things, drawing me out of my lodgings
wherever they may be, and while I listen I know that every step I take is
in my master's house.For he is the sea, he is the river that leads to the sea, and he is the
landing-place.He comes at times when I am unprepared, yet how can I refuse him?Mary went to the hallway.I watch all night with lighted lamp; he stays away; when the light goes out
and the room is bare he comes claiming his seat, and can I keep him
waiting?I laugh and make merry with friends, then suddenly I start up, for lo!he
passes me by in sorrow, and I know my mirth was vain.I have often seen a smile in his eyes when my heart ached, then I knew my
sorrow was not real.Yet I never complain when I do not understand him.8
I am the boat, you are the sea, and also the boatman.Daniel went to the bathroom.Though you never make the shore, though you let me sink, why should I be
foolish and afraid?Is reaching the shore a greater prize than losing myself with you?If you are only the haven, as they say, then what is the sea?Let it surge and toss me on its waves, I shall be content.I live in you whatever and however you appear.Save me or kill me as you
wish, only never leave me in other hands.9
Make way, O bud, make way, burst open thy heart and make way.The opening spirit has overtaken thee, canst thou remain a bud any longer?III
1
Come, Spring, reckless lover of the earth, make the forest's heart pant for
utterance!Come in gusts of disquiet where flowers break open and jostle the new
leaves!Burst, like a rebellion of light, through the night's vigil, through the
lake's dark dumbness, through the dungeon under the dust, proclaiming
freedom to the shackled seeds!Like the laughter of lightning, like the shout of a storm, break into the
midst of the noisy town; free stifled word and unconscious effort,
reinforce our flagging fight, and conquer death!2
I have looked on this picture in many a month of March when the mustard is
in bloom--this lazy line of the water and the grey of the sand beyond, the
rough path along the river-bank carrying the comradeship of the field into
the heart of the village.I have tried to capture in rhyme the idle whistle of the wind, the beat of
the oar-strokes from a passing boat.I have wondered in my mind how simply it stands before me, this great
world: with what fond and familiar ease it fills my heart, this encounter
with the Eternal Stranger.3
The ferry-boat plies between the two villages facing each other across the
narrow stream.The water is neither wide nor deep--a mere break in the path that enhances
the small adventures of daily life, like a break in the words of a song
across which the tune gleefully streams.While the towers of wealth rise high and crash to ruin, these villages talk
to each other across the garrulous stream, and the ferry-boat plies between
them, age after age, from seed-time to harvest.4
In the evening after they have brought their cattle home, they sit on the
grass before their huts to know that you are among them unseen, to repeat
in their songs the name which they have fondly given you.While kings' crowns shine and disappear like falling stars, around village
huts your name rises through the still night from the simple hearts of your
lovers whose names are unrecorded.5
In Baby's world, the trees shake their leaves at him, murmuring verses in
an ancient tongue that dates from before the age of meaning, and the moon
feigns to be of his own age--the solitary baby of night.In the world of the old, flowers dutifully blush at the make-believe of
faery legends, and broken dolls confess that they are made of clay.6
_My world_, when I was a child, you were a little girl-neighbour, a loving
timid stranger.Then you grew bold and talked to me across the fence, offering me toys and
flowers and shells.Next you coaxed me away from my work, you tempted me into the land of the
dusk or the weedy corner of some garden in mid-day loneliness.At length you told me stories about bygone times, with which the present
ever longs to meet so as to be rescued from its prison in the moment.7
How often, great Earth, have I felt my being yearn to flow over you,
sharing in the happiness of each green blade that raises its signal banner
in answer to the beckoning blue of the sky!I feel as if I had belonged to you ages before I was born.That is why, in
the days when the autumn light shimmers on the mellowing ears of rice, I
seem to remember a past when my mind was everywhere, and even to hear
voices as of playfellows echoing from the remote and deeply veiled past.When, in the evening, the cattle return to their folds, raising dust from
the meadow paths, as the moon rises higher than the smoke ascending from
the village huts, I feel sad as for some great separation that happened in
the first morning of existence.8
My mind still buzzed with the cares of a busy day; I sat on without noting
how twilight was deepening into dark.Suddenly light stirred across the
gloom and touched me as with a finger.I lifted my head and met the gaze of the full moon widened in wonder like a
child's.It held my eyes for long, and I felt as though a love-letter had
been secretly dropped in at my window.And ever since my heart is breaking
to write for answer something fragrant as Night's unseen flowers--great as
her declaration spelt out in nameless stars.9
The clouds thicken till the morning light seems like a bedraggled fringe to
the rainy night.A little girl stands at her window, still as a rainbow at the gate of a
broken-down storm.She is my neighbour, and has come upon the earth like some god's rebellious
laughter.Her mother in anger calls her incorrigible; her father smiles and
calls her mad.She is like a runaway waterfall leaping over boulders, like the topmost
bamboo twig rustling in the restless wind.She stands at her window looking out into the sky.Her sister comes to say, "Mother calls you."Her little brother with his toy boat comes and tries to pull her off to
play; she snatches her hand from his.The boy persists and she gives him a
slap on the back.The first great voice was the voice of wind and water in the beginning of
earth's creation.That ancient cry of nature--her dumb call to unborn life--has reached this
child's heart and leads it out alone beyond the fence of our times: so
there she stands, possessed by eternity!10
The kingfisher sits still on the prow of an empty boat, while in the
shallow margin of the stream a buffalo lies tranquilly blissful, its eyes
half closed to savour the luxury of cool mud.Undismayed by the barking of the village cur, the cow browses on the bank,
followed by a hopping group of _saliks_ hunting moths.I sit in the tamarind grove, where the cries of dumb life congregate--the
cattle's lowing, the sparrows' chatter, the shrill scream of a kite
overhead, the crickets' chirp, and the splash of a fish in the water.I peep into the primeval nursery of life, where the mother Earth thrills at
the first living clutch near her breast.11
At the sleepy village the noon was still like a sunny midnight when my
holidays came to their end.My little girl of four had followed me all the morning from room to room,
watching my preparations in grave silence, till, wearied, she sat by the
doorpost strangely quiet, murmuring to herself, "Father must not go!"This was the meal hour, when sleep daily overcame her, but her mother had
forgotten her and the child was too unhappy to complain.At last, when I stretched out my arms to her to say farewell, she never
moved, but sadly looking at me said, "Father, you must not go!"And it amused me to tears to think how this little child dared to fight the
giant world of necessity with no other resource than those few words,
"Father, you must not go!"12
Take your holiday, my boy; there are the blue sky and the bare field, the
barn and the ruined temple under the ancient tamarind.My holiday must be taken through yours, finding light in the dance of your
eyes, music in your noisy shouts.To you autumn brings the true holiday freedom: to me it brings the
impossibility of work; for lo!Yes, my holiday is an endless freedom for love to disturb me.13
In the evening my little daughter heard a call from her companions below
the window.She timidly went down the dark stairs holding a lamp in her hand, shielding
it behind her veil.I was sitting on my terrace in the star-lit night of March, when at a
sudden cry I ran to see.Her lamp had gone out in the dark spiral staircase.I asked, "Child, why
did you cry?"From below she answered in distress, "Father, I have lost myself!"When I came back to the terrace under the star-lit night of March, I looked
at the sky, and it seemed that a child was walking there treasuring many
lamps behind her veils.If their light went out, she would suddenly stop and a cry would sound from
sky to sky, "Father, I have lost myself!"14
The evening stood bewildered among street lamps, its gold tarnished by the
city dust.A woman, gaudily decked and painted, leant over the rail of her balcony, a
living fire waiting for its moths.Suddenly an eddy was formed in the road round a street-boy crushed under
the wheels of a carriage, and the woman on the balcony fell to the floor
screaming in agony, stricken with the grief of the great white-robed Mother
who sits in the world's inner shrine.15
I remember the scene on the barren heath--a girl sat alone on the grass
before the gipsy camp, braiding her hair in the afternoon shade.Her little dog jumped and barked at her busy hands, as though her
employment had no importance.In vain did she rebuke it, calling it "a pest," saying she was tired of its
perpetual silliness.She struck it on the nose with her reproving forefinger, which only seemed
to delight it the more.She looked menacingly grave for a few moments, to warn it of impending
doom; and then, letting her hair fall, quickly snatched it up in her arms,
laughed, and pressed it to her heart.16
He is tall and lean, withered to the bone with long repeated fever, like a
dead tree unable to draw a single drop of sap from anywhere.But to no other dictum did it commit
itself until ten years more had passed when, following the so-called
census of hallucinations, it gave voice to its belief that between
deaths and apparitions of the dying person a connection existed that was
not due to chance.And since then the society has contented itself with
steadily accumulating evidence designed to throw light on the causal
connection between deaths and ghosts, and to illumine the central
problem of demonstrating scientifically the existence of an unseen world
and the immortality of the soul.Individuals, of course, have been free to express their views, and from
the pens of several have come striking and suggestive analyses of the
evidence assembled in the course of the society's twenty-five years.In
this respect, beyond any question, primacy must be given the writings of
Myers.Even before the organization of the society, his personal
researches had led |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | In the light of the
phenomena of the hypnotic trance, clairvoyance, hallucinations, and even
of natural sleep, it seemed to him that, instead of being a stable,
indivisible unity, human personality was essentially unstable and
divisible.And as the years passed and he was enabled to coordinate the results of
the investigations carried on by the different committees, he gradually
became convinced that over and beyond the self of which man is normally
conscious there existed in every man a secondary self endowed with
faculties transcending those of the normal wake-a-day self.To this he
gave the name of the "subliminal self," and, in the words of Professor
James, "endowed psychology with a new problem,--the exploration of the
subliminal region being destined to figure thereafter in that branch of
learning as Myers's problem."Not content with this, he gave himself, with all the earnestness that
had originally drawn him into activity with Sidgwick, to the
formulation of a cosmic philosophy based on the hypothesis of the
subliminal self and its operations in that unseen world of whose
existence he no longer doubted.Here he laid himself open to the charge
of extravagance and transcendentalism, and undoubtedly exceeded the
logical limit.But for all of that his labors--cut short by death six
years ago, and only a few months after the death of his beloved master,
Sidgwick--have been little short of epoch marking, and amply suffice to
vindicate the existence of the once despised, and still by no means
venerated, Society for Psychical Research.Sir William Crookes, Sir Oliver Lodge, and Mr.Frank Podmore are other
members of the society who have granted the outside world informative
glimpses of its workings and discoveries.Sir William Crookes, of
course, is best known as a great chemist, discoverer of the element
thallium, and inventor of numerous scientific instruments; while Sir
Oliver Lodge's most striking work has been in electricity, and more
particularly in the direction of improving wireless telegraphy.But both
have long been actively interested in psychical research, and perhaps
most of all in those phases of it bearing on the telepathic hypothesis,
their great aim being to discover just what the technique of telepathic
communication from mind to mind may be.Podmore, on the other hand, like Richard Hodgson, has chiefly
concerned himself with psychical research from the detective, or
critical, standpoint.He began his labors late in the '70's, associating
himself with the Cambridge group, and has consistently maintained the
attitude of a skeptical, though open minded, investigator.To-day, to a
certain extent, he may be said to occupy the place so long filled by
Henry Sidgwick as a sane, restraining influence on the less judicial
members of the society, who would unhesitatingly brush aside all
objections and embrace the spiritistic hypothesis with all its
supernatural implications.[T]
Of course, psychical research has by no means been confined to the
English organization.All over the world investigators are now probing
into the mysteries of the seemingly supernormal.But, as a general
thing, their methods scarcely reach the strict standards set by the
organized inquirers of England, and as a natural consequence they are
more easily deceived by tricksters.This is particularly true of the European ghost hunters, whose laxity of
procedure, not to say gullibility, was clearly shown by the ease with
which Hodgson exposed the pretensions of Eusapia Paladino after
Continental savants had pronounced her feats genuine.And it is even
more strikingly exhibited by the pathetic fidelity with which they still
trust in her, notwithstanding the Hodgson exposure, and the fact that
they themselves have on more than one occasion caught her committing
fraud.In the United States, however, psychical research worthy of the
name took root early, owing to the establishment of an American branch
of the English society under the capable direction of Dr.A
year or so ago, after his death, this branch was abandoned.But in its
place, and organized along similar lines, there has arisen the American
Institute for Scientific Research, the creation of Prof.Until a few years ago occupant of the chair of logic at Columbia
University, Professor Hyslop is unquestionably one of the most
conspicuous figures in psychical research in this or any other country.Like Professor Sidgwick, he first became interested in the subject
through religious doubt, and forthwith attacked its problems with the
zeal of a man whose principal characteristics are intense enthusiasm,
resourcefulness of wit, and intellectual fearlessness.Mary went to the hallway.As everybody
knows, his experiences with Mrs.Piper led him to unite with Hodgson and
Myers in regarding the spiritistic hypothesis as the only one capable of
explaining all the phenomena encountered.But he is none the less able
and eager to expose fraud wherever found, and if only from the police
view-point his society will undoubtedly do good work.Associated with
him are many of the American investigators formerly identified with the
English society; some of whom, notably Prof.William James of Harvard,
the dean of psychical research in the United States, also keep up their
connection with the parent organization.Summing up the results of the really scientific ghost hunting of the
last twenty-five years, it may be safely said that if the hunters have
not accomplished their main object of definitely proving the existence
of a spiritual world, their labors have nevertheless been of high value
in several important directions.They have exposed the fraudulent
pretensions of innumerable charlatans, and have thus acted as a
protection for the credulous.Daniel went to the bathroom.They have shown that, making all possible
allowance for error of whatever kind, there still remains in the
phenomena of apparitions, clairvoyance, etc., a residuum not explainable
on the hypothesis of fraud or chance coincidence.They have aided in
giving validity to the idea of the influence of suggestion as a factor
both in the cause and the cure of disease.They have given a needed
stimulus to the study of abnormal mental conditions.And, finally, by
the discovery of the impressive facts that led Myers to formulate his
hypothesis of the subliminal self, they have opened the door to
far-reaching reforms in the whole sociological domain,--in education, in
the treatment of vice and crime, in all else that makes for the
uplifting of the human race.FOOTNOTES:
[R] Gladstone's words were--"Psychical research is the most important
work which is being done in the world--by far the most important."[S] For details of the Hodgson "manifestations" the reader may consult
Professor Hyslop's recently published book "Psychical Research and the
Resurrection"--particularly Chaps.Podmore is announced for immediate publication,
with the characteristic title of "The Naturalization of the
Supernatural."It is said to contain a detailed analysis of the work of
various well-known mediums._Up-To-Date Books on Great Subjects_
SCIENCE AND IMMORTALITY
By SIR OLIVER LODGE, F.R.S.In this able and intensely modern work, the distinguished author sums up
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THE LIVING WORD
By ELWOOD WORCESTER, D.D., Ph.D.Worcester in his Preface, "men have
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NEWS.***
THE RIDDLE OF PERSONALITY
By H. ADDINGTON BRUCE
AUTHOR OF "HISTORIC GHOSTS AND GHOST HUNTERS"
***
CONTENTS
CHAPTERS
I. Early Phases of the Problem
II."Pioneers of France in the New World"
IV.American Explorers of the Subconscious
V. The Evidence for Survival
VI.The Nemesis of Spiritism
APPENDICES
I. D. D. Home and Eusapia Paladino
II.The Census of Hallucinations
III.Hypnotism and the Drink Habit
IV.Hypnoidization
V. Spiritism vs Telepathy
VI.Hints for further reading
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classed as fact regarding the latent faculties of man, revealed
by study, accident, personal observation and experiment."--_Boston
Evening Transcript._
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber's Note:
Puctuation errors (e.g.commas used instead of periods, incorrect
quotation marks) have been corrected without note.Unusual spellings
(e.g.accordeon, breesquely, roystering) have been retained.The following corrections were made:
*p.145: litttle to little (clergymen of the little Connecticut village)
*p.Mary went to the bedroom.157: oustide to outside (how he was supported outside)
*p.It does not
necessarily assume that any one ever existed at all like the Moses
described in the Old Testament.Some regard Moses as the name of a
mythical hero--a national ideal into whose personification were run all
the mythological material which the Hebrew writers deemed appropriate.This need not be the same thing as to deny absolutely the personality of
Moses; for another great conqueror of men, Alexander the Great, most
assuredly lived, and one clear proof of it, if we had no other, is that
his deeds so impressed men that the Arabic historians ascribe to him
just as many mythical stories as they know.You have only to read A.
JEREMIAS'S _Old Testament in the Light of the Ancient East_ to see how
almost every incident in the life of Moses may be paralleled by some
astral _motif_ in the mythical story of other ancient heroes or
demigods.But the effect of modern criticism, astral theory, comparative
mythology, &c., on the history of Moses leave him much like a lump of
sugar in a cup of tea.We know it was there because the tea is sweet,
but details as to size or shape are now very unreliable.Nor does
Assyriology help us much, for it never mentions or refers to Moses any
more than it does to Abraham, or to Israel even until the days of
Shalmaneser, 859-825 B.C.In speaking of the Laws of Moses then, the use of the word Moses is not
meant to imply any opinion or to prejudice any question as to the
personality or history of the lawgiver or the date of the law.It is
used solely as a convenient periphrasis for the current Hebrew lawgiver,
just as Hammurabi may be taken as a periphrasis for the Babylonian
legislator.That the Babylonian king originated all or even any of the
laws enacted in his Code is not asserted.But the historical case of
Hammurabi does remove all _a priori_ improbability that a Hebrew
legislator could draw up a code of laws at a much later date.Further,
it should make us beware of arguing anything from the absence of mention
in such documents as have come down to us, for, until the excavation of
his monuments, no one among modern scholars had guessed his name or
surmised his existence.This analogy, while it forbids us to deny the existence of Moses, does
not show that any or all of the laws ascribed to Moses were in any sense
due to him.But that a leader in the position to which tradition
assigned Moses could perfectly well promulgate a code of laws as full
and complete as the whole Mosaic law, even for a people in the primitive
state of society in which Israel is often supposed to have been at the
Exodus, is obvious.He had only to avail himself of the knowledge of
cuneiform, available at that time both in Canaan and in Egypt, and
import copies of the Hammurabi Code from Babylonia if they were not at
hand where he then was.He could exercise his judgement as to what would
be suitable for his people, add what he chose, and reject what he
disliked.Mary went to the kitchen.That he did this or anything like it is not asserted, but it
would be so natural for any one in his position then that we have no
excuse for surprise if we should find indications of his having done
exactly that.Still, nothing depends in our comparison of the Laws of Moses with the
Code of Hammurabi on our knowledge of the personality or circumstances
of Moses.Much would depend on how much of the Laws of Moses we should
consider to be his.In a similar way, the use of such terms as the Book
of the Covenant, Leviticus, or Deuteronomy, The Priestly Code, and the
like, neither implies nor denies the appropriateness of the terms nor
any adhesion to any theory of their source or date.They must be
regarded as merely names for more or less definite pieces of
legislation.That the balance of argument is in favour of assigning to
them the extent usually assigned to them by Old Testament critics may be
granted for purposes of comparison.It is an opinion which may not be
shared by all.But it is not by any means essential to our comparison
that any one of the views now held about any of them should be final.Thus it is enough to grant that the Book of the Covenant is the sole
relic of the earliest Hebrew legislation and that the rest may be
regarded as later development.In that case, however, it is incumbent on
those who hold the theory of this development as an evolution on native
soil to show intelligibly what influenced the particular form which that
development took.Our comparison may suggest that if this supposed later
law be really not of the Exodus period also, and not a product of the
same mind which modified Babylonian law into the Book of the Covenant,
yet its likeness to Babylonian law excludes the idea of a free
uninfluenced development.We may hold further that early or late
Babylonian influence is still there.And we must account for its
persistent influence.On the supposition of its being later than the
Book of the Covenant we may be inclined to hold that it was adopted, not
directly from Babylonia, but from the relics of pre-Israelite Babylonian
influence on Canaanite law.It may be asked at once--what do we know of Canaanite law?Confessedly
very little; but so far little attempt has been made to inquire into the
subject.Scholars have been too ready to endorse the judgement of the
old Jewish writers who denounced all Canaanite usages.As yet no
documents of Canaanite production have been found, unless we include
those of near neighbours like the Phoenicians, Moabites, and Northern
Syrians.We may deduce something from |
office | Where is Daniel? | Mary went to the hallway.A certain amount of information may be collected from
the Tell-el-Amarna tablets, which supply evidence for times before the
Israelites entered Canaan.Much of the law or custom witnessed to by
later times may really be very old.Some scholars of late have argued
with great force that the First Dynasty of Babylon were not only
Amorites but came into Babylonia from Canaan.There were Amorites left
in Canaan when the Israelites settled there.If these were of the same
stock, much that in the Code of Hammurabi marks change from the old
settled Babylonian Semitic law may be due to a Canaanite source.The
subject of the Amorite characteristics, apart from their peculiar proper
names, has as yet received next to no attention.The researches of
Macalister on Palestinian soil will be awaited with great interest, as
he appears to have recognized such distinct characters about his Amorite
finds as to enable him to identify them as such without hesitation.He
will, it is to be hoped, soon tell us something of their civilization.Gradually, no doubt, we shall be able to tell what was the exact
character of each of the peoples in Canaan; and in the end the Code of
Hammurabi may prove to be the best witness we have to the Canaanite law.The Laws of Moses were once, and in some quarters still are, supposed to
be all contemporary with that great national hero and lawgiver, and to
form a complete body of law imparted to men by Divine inspiration.The
Jewish commentators, however, of old treated this view with considerable
freedom.Modern scholars, who have devoted two centuries to a critical
study of the Pentateuch, have lately gravitated towards a fairly
definite theory implying the existence of several codes, so to speak,
and those of very different dates, all much later than the time of
Moses.As experience shows there is very little permanence about the
critical views, we had best confine ourselves to the latest
presentation.We need not trouble to inquire into the merits of the
earlier critical theories, and may leave their refutation to the last
writer on the subject.We may take two good examples for our purpose.S. A. COOK in his excellent work _The Laws of Moses and the Code of
Hammurabi_ assumed the critical view of the Pentateuch as then
presented, and made the most successful defence of the originality of
the Mosaic Law yet attempted.It will be noted that one of the so-called
'destructive' critics made a most vigorous defence of the uninfluenced
character of the Mosaic fragments adjudged by that school to be early.Naturally so; for such critics it is vital to maintain the exclusion of
external influence.Daniel went to the bathroom.There is no criterion of date for them if the
orderly continuous evolution along well-known lines can be supposed to
be overwhelmed by a catastrophic influence from without.The history of
the development being unknown or rejected in favour of a theoretical
reconstruction upon lines evolved out of the supposed results of
comparative law, religion, or the like, it was delightful and easy to
build up a purely imaginary self-consistent view of the order in which
ideas developed or evolved.The consistence of the view impressed its
authors as proof of reality.There was no history to test the
reconstruction by except such as could be brushed aside as unreliable
because inconsistent with the view.But some late things, dated as late
upon this theory, turned out to be a thousand years older than the early
ones, and so the almost forgotten maxim 'what is primitive need not be
old' had to be revived.For the evidence of the Hammurabi Code had to be
rebutted anyhow.It is most remarkable that the champions of the traditional view never
seized upon the Code as a weapon to beat the critics with, while the
Rationalists made a good show of learning and even indulged in argument
on the matter.But after the dust of controversy cleared off it was
perceived that the Code was a new fact to be reckoned with, neither
attacked nor minimized nor exploited, but studied and respected.As it
had surprised and even disconcerted the lawyers, so it had gradually
compelled divines to reconsider.A work which freely accepts the critical division of the Hebrew laws is
PROFESSOR C. F. KENT'S book--_Israel's Laws and Legal Precedents_ in the
_Old Testament Student Series_.If any modification of critical views
may have been thought necessary as a result of the new material provided
by the Code of Hammurabi, it is here tacitly but fully allowed for.Further study may be expended on the comparison and somewhat modified
views may have to be taken, but the nature of the questions involved is
clearly and concisely shown in this work.Were it possible to institute the comparison between the Code of
Hammurabi and the whole Hebrew legislation treated as one indivisible
body of laws, it would be much less difficult than when a set of
regulations are picked out as early and treated as the only rules which
deserve to be regarded as in the remotest sense Mosaic, while all else
is treated as later and scarcely to be regarded as law at all, but
merely pious wishes or aspirations.Mary went to the bedroom.By such a careful selection there is
not only very little to compare, but the very things ruled out as late
or unhistorical aspiration on account of their relatively high tone are
just those most like the Babylonian.On such principles with criteria so
carefully selected to rule out all disagreeing evidence a verdict is
easy to attain.It is the fact that these criteria were invented before
the Code of Hammurabi was dreamt of, but it does afford a very strong
test of them and should lead to some revision.The critical theory is
now so firmly rooted in the minds of all scholars who are not allowed in
youth to imagine any alternative that we too must accept it or be lost
in a perfect morass of unintelligibility.Only we ought to remember that
in so doing we make the comparison as difficult and complicated as
possible.Accepting the present division of the Hebrew laws it is possible to
divide the periods of Babylonian influence on Israel correspondingly.The conclusion to be drawn is that Babylonian influence was strong in
the case of the earliest Israelite law perhaps through common Semitic
custom, recalling that Abraham traditionally came from Ur of the
Chaldees through Haran, a Babylonian Province, to settle there under
strong Babylonian influence where Babylonian language and writing were
still used down to the time of the Exodus.The impression of Babylonian
is said to be less prominent in later codes until after the Assyrians,
whose civilization was specifically of Babylonian origin and type, had
held Palestine vassal for two centuries.The Exile was to Babylon
itself, and Babylonian influence is naturally strongest after the Return
from the Exile, and even more powerful on the Jewish doctors of later
days, many of whom continued to live in Babylonia.Mary went to the kitchen.Seeing, however, that there is not yet full and final acceptance of
critical views as to the exact classification of the Hebrew laws into
separate codes, and that my audience is probably not completely familiar
with either the separate codes in themselves or their dates, anything
like a complete comparison of the Laws of Moses with the Code of
Hammurabi is impossible without first at least sketching the character
of each separate code.For comparative purposes we may begin with the
earliest and see how it compares with Babylonian law, for the rest what
has already been compared need not be repeated, but as it is necessary
to limit our time I must leave all critical reasons for assigning a
passage to a particular stratum to be consulted in PROFESSOR KENT'S
volume and the extended literature which he names.The usually accepted critical views of the sources of the Pentateuch
regard the Book of the Covenant as the oldest code of Hebrew law now
preserved to us.What law the people obeyed before we are not told, but
it is obvious that they were not without law.Some scholars, attaching
great weight to the traditions of the patriarchs and the implications of
their story as to the growth of the people of Israel, assume that before
the adoption of the Book of the Covenant they were nomad pastoral folk,
and obeyed much the same customs as the Bedawin Arabs of the present
day.For such a standpoint the late PROFESSOR W. ROBERTSON SMITH'S works
on Semitic civilization, religion, and law are simply indispensable.Here, if anywhere, we can find a clear idea of common Semitic custom, so
often appealed to to account for the similarities between Jewish law and
the Hammurabi Code.But other scholars look on these narratives of the
patriarchal life with deep suspicion as being a late attempt to sketch,
in the light of a writer's knowledge of what the nomads of his day were
like, an instructive and edifying ancestral background for a set of very
dissimilar tribes or clans, whom some political necessity led to
amalgamate into the Hebrew people.A great deal in our research
naturally depends upon our attitude to the questions, 'Was Israel ever
in Egypt?'or 'Was only one party of them ever there?'Or again, 'Was
the Book of the Covenant promulgated at the unification of the component
clans, or did it grow up long after?'All such and many similar
questions we must lay aside, as we start with the Book of the Covenant
as accepted Israelite law.We cannot suppose the Book of the Covenant preserved in its original
state.Even if we suppose it was promulgated solely to decide those
cases on which conflicting usage was causing disturbance, say between
nomad Israelites settling down and the long settled Canaanite town
dwellers; no one can be prepared to claim that it is complete.What we have now preserved may have been cut
down to present limits for various reasons.It may be that later
legislation superseded some of its regulations which later writers would
thus think not worth recording.If the Code had been embodied in a
document, that source may have become fragmentary in some way by the
time the compiler of Exodus rescued it from oblivion.A careful perusal
of the laws of Moses as arranged in their strata, by PROFESSOR KENT for
example, will show that Hebrew writers had no hesitation in repeating
earlier legislation.Hence we cannot argue that no more was preserved
solely because it was embodied in later legislation.Nor can we feel sure that no additions have been made to it.Some
clauses seem to be very incongruous in their present context.This
phenomenon, however, is not entirely absent from the Code of Hammurabi,
which certainly has not been interpolated.Daniel moved to the garden.But we must start on the Book
of the Covenant, as critics have rescued it from its surroundings and
set it down for us.In the Book of the Covenant many
have discerned a systematic arrangement of the laws in pentads or
decads.The Ten Commandments at once occur to one's mind as a parallel.What is the significance of this partiality for five and ten?We are
expressly told that the Ten Commandments were on two tables.We should
not be surprised had there been seven.Some will think the human
equipment of five fingers led to the adoption of five as a convenient
method of remembrance.In some such way five or ten may have conveyed
the idea of numerical completeness.Unfortunately the division of the
laws made by PROFESSOR V. SCHEIL in his _editio princeps_ of the Code is
both arbitrary and inaccurate.No one has yet ventured to revise the
numbering of the sections into which he divided the text of the Code;
though several scholars have pointed out the inconsistencies.The
lecturer, however, was struck by the fact that a more natural division
at once shows an arrangement in _pentads_; and lately PROFESSOR D. G.
LYON has worked out this idea, as can be most conveniently followed in
the rendering of the Code given by PROFESSOR R. W. ROGERS in his
_Cuneiform Parallels to the Old Testament_.Such an attempt will be
resented by some as a purely subjective attempt to work up a likeness to
the Mosaic laws and disputed accordingly.But the lecturer was led to it
in the beginning solely by the fact that SCHEIL's division did not agree
with that made by the Babylonian scribes in the fragments of their
copies which have survived.These divisions had no justification on the
stela found at Susa, which divides only lines and even occasionally cuts
a word in two.It shows no indication where a particular law begins or
ends.Hence the Babylonian scribes, as all modern scholars, have had to
divide as their common sense dictated.But the text on the stela was
certainly copied from a clay tablet which may well have shown
division-lines between the laws.At any rate, the divisions adopted by
the Babylonian scribes, even if not original, have great weight as
embodying an independent tradition among scholars who surely knew the
meaning and connexion of the successive regulations in a very
authoritative way.That their ruling does not agree with PROFESSOR
SCHEIL's where we can compare them shows that his division is not
essential and may be neglected.Unfortunately our fragments of later
copies do not help us often, and are too few to give us a canon upon
which we can rely when we need it most, and we can rarely be sure that
the division we propose was that of the original.Nevertheless there is
great verisimilitude about PROFESSOR LYON's proposals, and it is a very
striking likeness between the Book of the Covenant and the Code of
Hammurabi that both adopted a division of laws into groups of five.We
cannot press the argument too far, but the Roman Law at any rate shows
that this arrangement is not a logical necessity nor a psychological
demand of early legislation.The critical account usually given of the Book of the Covenant is that
it embodies the consuetudinary law of the early monarchy.It is regarded
as embracing the formulated decisions which had gradually accumulated
among the people up to that age.It is admitted that it, or at any rate
parts of it, may well be older than the narrative (E.)Its place in the scale of civilization is estimated by the
fact that it imposes many restrictions on the arbitrary action of the
individual, while it retains the _lex talionis_.Further, prominence is
sometimes given to the fact that God is regarded as the immediate source
of punishment.It is styled theocratic law, but breaks away from the
purest type of such laws.The Code of Hammurabi goes further in the
direction of purely civil enactment.The picture which W. ROBERTSON SMITH draws of the state of society
contemplated by the Book of the Covenant is founded on the assumption
that there was no more of it.The basis of life is agriculture, cattle
and agricultural produce constitute the chief part of wealth, and the
laws of property deal almost exclusively with them.Only we cannot say
that this was all.Daniel went to the office.True, there is no longer preserved any regulation of
the relations between principal and agent, if such ever existed.There
is no widely extended tariff of wages for artificers and workpeople.Too much cannot be made of the fact that the Code of Hammurabi proves
the existence of such specialized classes in Babylonia.For it does so
without ever mentioning them in just those laws which can best be
compared with the Book of the Covenant.If we were acquainted only with
that part of the Code of Hammurabi which does correspond to the Book of
the Covenant we might similarly construct from it a picture of the state
of society in Babylonia just as simple as the Book of the Covenant
warrants us in recognizing in Israel.The fact is that the Book of the Covenant does not present a complete
picture of the state of society in Israel in the early days of the
monarchy.That may not have been so advanced as in the days of
Hammurabi.But the kings of Israel at any rate had need of skilled
workmen.We read, indeed, that Solomon had to send to Hiram of Tyre for
certain workmen, but this is not enough to prove the entire absence from
his dominions of other classes of artisans.The absence of blacksmiths
in Saul's time is ascribed to an exceptional cause.In fact, the only
way in which the entire absence in Israel of all but agriculturalists
and shepherds could possibly be accounted for is by supposing that the
Israelites had killed out all the Canaanites.We
may point out other ways in which it would be dangerous to deduce from
the absence of mention in the Book of the Covenant the non-existence of
any particular institution whatever.It is of more importance to notice that the principles of criminal and
civil justice are those still current among the Arabs of the desert,
namely, retaliation and money compensation.It is precisely the same
with the Code of Hammurabi.If these features in the Book of the
|
kitchen | Where is John? | The fact probably
is that in both cases the dominant folk, Amorites or Hebrews, really
were conservative of customs once in place in the desert if not too
unsuitable for a settled life to retain.It is a truer way to present the facts to say that both the Book of the
Covenant and the Code of Hammurabi do not so much enact the _lex
talionis_ as interfere to limit its action in certain directions.For
example, it is scarcely correct to say in either case that murder was
dealt with by the law of revenge or left to the avenger of blood to
punish.In the Code murder in general is not mentioned; we cannot
suppose it condoned.But as in the Book of the Covenant it is
distinguished from manslaughter, and this is expressly exempted from the
death penalty.Mary went to the hallway.The innocent man-slayer might take refuge at the altar,
as was still the case with those who feared for their lives down to the
time of Solomon.It is clear that a murderer might do the same, for he
was to be taken thence.Some sort of trial must have taken place before
he was delivered up to the avenger of blood.We are nowhere told what
was the procedure in Babylonia, but we may assume it was the same, for
the innocent man-slayer was liberated on oath of want of malice.The
oath was taken at the altar or before the emblem of the god.It is
singular enough that no penalty for murder is stated, but there is
nothing whatever to indicate that it met with different treatment in
Israel and Babylonia.In both legislations man-stealing is reckoned with murder and punished
by death.So is witchcraft, according to the evident implications of the
Code and the express declaration of the Book of the Covenant.That
offences against parental authority were treated differently is to some
extent true.They are summarily dealt with in the Book of the Covenant
with a death penalty.The Code spares the son for a first offence in
such crimes as would naturally disinherit him, and enacts mutilation for
violence to a parent.One may question whether death or loss of the
hands was the worse penalty in Babylonia, and may remember that some
critics hesitate to ascribe the law enacting the death penalty to the
Book of the Covenant.The fierce resentment of the sons of the desert
against any form of mutilation would account for the substitution of the
death penalty.Other cases of injury in the Book of the Covenant are
treated as proper occasions for self-help or for private suits to be
adjusted at the sanctuary.That is exactly the view taken by Hammurabi,
only explicit provision is made for suits which cannot be so adjusted by
judges.Daniel went to the bathroom.Mary went to the bedroom.Contemporary legal practice bears witness to frequent
settlements 'out of court'.The case of the goring ox is treated by both legislations.Both make no
amends to the victim of the attack made by an animal suddenly become
savage.Here the Hebrew Code orders the death of the ox, a piece of
useless barbaric revenge that has only recently died out amongst us.The
poor beast got no trial and could not plead, but was held responsible.This may be very human, but it is to the credit of Hammurabi that he is
at least silent on the point.On the other hand, if the ox was known by
his owner to be vicious and death resulted, the Code inflicted stated
fines on the owner according to the estimated value of the life
destroyed.The Book of the Covenant does the same, fixing a ransom for
the death of a slave to be paid to the owner, but death of the ox's
owner if the man killed be a freeman.The
difference between the two fines for the death of a slave is noteworthy
as probably marking average value in each case.This illustrates the
reason why other fixed money payments do not correspond.Otherwise the treatments could scarcely be more closely alike.In the case of specific and particular bodily injuries both laws exact a
retaliation.The Book of the Covenant is here the more explicit: 'life
for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, burning for burning, wound for
wound, stripe for stripe' is more detailed at any rate than the Code,
which only enumerated 'eye for eye, limb for limb, tooth for tooth'.The
difference, such as it is, can hardly be pressed as really giving a
different complexion to the legislation.Mary went to the kitchen.On the whole, despite its extra
detail, the Hebrew law is less clear, and the arrangement certainly
looks like a hasty compilation.For as it stands these words occur
attached to the case of a woman with child hurt by blows.24-5 introduces them with the words 'and if any mischief
follow'.It may be, as some suggest, that they have slipped in here from
some other context, or be merely an expansion of the ordinary 'eye for
eye' to give a fuller formulation of the _lex talionis_.But it is
difficult to see how the loss of a limb, or an eye, or a burning could
be the mischief done by a blow to a pregnant woman.Miscarriage or
death, or both, are the mischiefs likely to happen.The Code of
Hammurabi deals with the case more reasonably.In fact, as it stands,
the Exodus passage, xxi.18-25, looks very like a loose summary of
Hammurabi (Sec.Sec.196-200) without its logical connexion.At any rate, it is
hardly credible that this collection of words was ever put forward at
any time in the world's history to enunciate a new law for a community
of any type that ever existed.The most intelligible way of regarding
this clause is as an attempt fully to enunciate the law of retaliation,
and that its presence in its present place is due to the desire to
explain some phrase which less effectively quoted that law; but in the
quotation of the fuller statement the fact was overlooked that some of
its clauses were unsuited to the cases under consideration.It is no
excuse to say that it looked back over all the preceding cases of
assault, for 'burning' nowhere applies.The only clause which really
applies is the first, 'life for life'.Doubtless some critical rearrangement may be made to justify the use of
the clauses somewhere, but as it stands it looks like a stupid
interpolation or an undiscerning quotation of the law of retaliation
bringing in the sense 'if any mischief follow then it shall come under
the law of retaliation'.That would yield some sense if interpreted with
common sense in particular cases.Daniel moved to the garden.The Code of Hammurabi is much more
distinct.If miscarriage followed, a fine was set down.If the woman
died also, the assailants daughter was put to death when the dead woman
was of patrician family, otherwise a fine was set down.The Book of the
Covenant evidently held to the strict retaliation throughout, but gave
no hint as to how it was to be carried out.The Code slips into the same
vagueness if the assailant had no daughter to pay the penalty of her
father's fault.In the case of the injured woman in Exodus xxi.22, the punishment, if
no mischief follow, was left to be assessed by her husband, obviously
for motives of delicacy; but the decision of the amount to be paid lay
finally with the judges.In Hammurabi's Code it was fixed by statute and
graded according to the status of the woman (Sec.Sec.What, we may
ask, is the essential difference?Can any one suppose that in Israel the
husband could demand and secure what compensation he chose?Surely the
Hebrew law is a concise way of saying the same thing as Hammurabi's Code
does.The scale of payment could hardly be expected to be the same in
both lands owing to the difference in money values.A discretionary
power in the judges, or a liberty of composition between the parties, is
implied in the Code which everywhere states maximum penalties.Both legislations further take into
account the possible death of the woman herself.Else, what is the
meaning of the phrase 'and if mischief follow'?The Hebrew law, however,
in that case legislates most awkwardly for what could hardly happen in
its endeavour exhaustively to express the law of retaliation which was
to rule the case.While we are comparing the laws as to assaults and their penalties, we
may pause to note one conspicuous difference between the legislations.Daniel went to the office.The Babylonian lawgiver made a considerable allowance for class
distinctions.Some at once feel
that this fact places his law on a lower level than the law of God.Such
is a grotesque misapprehension.In Babylonia there was what we have not
yet attained nor can do until the State bears all law expenses and gives
a poor man justice free of cost.There was one and the same law for both
rich and poor.But the aristocrat was treated differently from the
commoner.In the eyes of some this is a far worse crime than favouring
the rich against the poor, which is the vice of all democracy.But
Hammurabi was in this much finer than we might expect, for he treated
the aristocrat more severely in every respect than the man of humble
birth.I do not attempt to defend that method, but it does need a little
explanation.The facts are these, the aristocrat in Babylonia took a very high view
of his personal dignity as one of the conquering race.On his continued
support and loyalty the safety of the throne, and consequently the
welfare of all Babylonia, depended.The commercial-minded Babylonians,
rich or poor, like any other commercial group in the history of the
world, could never defend for long even their own money-bags, and for
all their industry, brains, and wealth could only pay for protection so
long as the pay they were willing to offer exceeded the spoil their
mercenaries could wring from them.The aristocrat was actually of a
lower civilization, as conquerors were always apt to be, but he held the
land by force of arms.Hammurabi was as dependent on his noble Amorites
as William the Conqueror was on his Normans.He held them to his
allegiance in practically the same feudal manner as did William and his
successors hold the Barons.Now the aristocratic _amelu_ or patrician of Babylonia was very
sensitive to a personal injury.He would accept no compensation for a
blow as might a commercial plebeian.The exact retaliation 'eye for eye,
tooth for tooth, limb for limb' was his sole satisfaction.The
_mushkenu_ or commoner had to be content with a money payment.We say that the proud patrician was
conservative of a more primitive type of law, which we find to be that
of a nomad Semitic folk, the Bedawin Arabs, still.So far as the Hebrew
clung to the same law we discern aristocratic views with a lower type of
civilization.But there is no trace of such class distinctions in the Book of the
Covenant.It is not, therefore, a higher type of law.It would be lower
if it were purely aristocratic in the sense of love of retaliation.Why,
we may ask, were there no social grades in Israel?Possibly because in
proportion to the conquered the conquerors were relatively more numerous
than in Babylonia.Or possibly the conquered were more thoroughly
subdued.Possibly also because the references to class distinctions have
since been expurgated from our copies of the legislation.Now let us take the view that the higher law which accepts compensation
for injury in place of strict retaliation emerged later in Israel.Are
we to regard this as a natural evolution?We are not
convinced, surely, that it is a higher law or more inspired.It was
probably, as in Babylonia, already the older law of the land before the
Israelite invasion, the more civilized law of the more civilized
inhabitants of Canaan.Later, according to the critical arrangement of
the law codes as preserved to us in the Pentateuch, this more civilized
custom is growing, and it has to be forbidden in the interests of
conservatism (Leviticus xxiv.At any rate, there, after repeating
the law of retaliation, differences of treatment are forbidden.Why
should this be done, unless they had been growing?Later still, in
Deuteronomy xix.21, deviations from strict retaliation are again
forbidden with the words 'thine eye shall not pity'.Once more, we may
ask, if compensation had not been a growing custom among the Israelites,
why should this effort be made to strengthen the observance of a lower
law?Was it solely because of their reverence for Moses and his law, or
was it not because it was all along the Canaanite law and so repugnant
to the Jewish lawyers?If so, were not the Canaanites in the same
position to the Israelites as the Babylonian _mushkenu_ to their Amorite
conquerors in the old days of Hammurabi?The cases in the Book of the Covenant where an injury to a slave is
treated are not to be compared to those in the Code of Hammurabi.If a
slave is freed (Exodus xxi.26) for a bad assault on him, it is an
assault by his master, for which Hammurabi has no notice.Hammurabi's
cases of assault on a slave are by one who is not his master.There is
nothing here to show that the law was not exactly the same for both
legislations for the same cases.As far as our evidence goes one law
treats one case and omits the other, the other law treats the last case
and omits the first.As a matter of fact the Book of the Covenant is here not consistent with
itself.A man might beat his servant to death, provided he did not 'die
under his hand', and go unpunished, but he might not knock out his eye
without having to free him.Obviously, then, if he did knock out his
eye, his wisest plan was to so injure him further that he should die.One can hardly help suspecting that these
two clauses belong to different periods.What the Babylonian master
could do to his slave without incurring punishment we do not now know.John went to the kitchen.If a slave ran away and was brought back his master could put him in
fetters.If the slave repudiated his master's authority he was punished
by mutilation.But Hammurabi does not otherwise interfere between master
and slave.Probably he, too, counted on the master's regard for his own
property.The case of a slave who married a free wife comes up both in the Code (Sec.Hammurabi makes the woman and her children
exempt from the master's power.So does Moses, if the man had married
before he became a slave.Sandra travelled to the garden.Of course, if his master gave him a wife, the
master retained power over her and the children.We cannot, however,
suppose that if the enslaved Hebrew married a free woman while in
servitude that the master claimed to treat her as a slave.Probably,
however, the master had power to forbid such a marriage.Thus there
really was no case likely to arise in Israel to compare with that
legislated for in Babylonia, which law regulated all cases except this
in Canaan also.Thus none
of the sixteen hours of the working day would be wasted.Crawford couldn't afford to grumble.Instead he buckled down to what he
describes as the hardest eighteen months' work of his life.In 1880, at the age of twenty-six, with no valuable possessions except
his experience, he returned to Rome, and thence, early in 1881, he set
out for America.The old steamship in which he took passage broke down
in mid-ocean, and Mr.Crawford's great physical strength and nervous
energy were in constant demand.As the only cabin passenger on board,
he had the honor of alternating on deck with the captain and the mates.At Bermuda, where the ship put in for repairs, he narrowly escaped
drowning.Finally, at the end of two months, the ship reached New
York.In this country he made his home at times with his uncle, Samuel
Ward, the Horace of "Dr.Claudius," and at times with his aunt, Mrs.He had not been long in the country before he entered
Harvard College, where he took a special course in Sanscrit under Prof.He was ready to do anything
to earn a living.He tried unsuccessfully to place some articles on
philology.He reviewed books, principally for the _New York Times_.He
lectured on "The Origin of Sacrifice."He won a small sum of money with
an article on the silver question.One day early in May, 1882, his kind
uncle, Samuel Ward, asked him to dinner at the New York Club, which was
then situated in Madison Square.Crawford should
come in to tell his own interesting story:
|
hallway | Where is Sandra? | Ward), with a great deal of detail, my
recollections of an interesting man whom I met in Simla.When I had
finished, he said to me: 'That is a good two-part magazine story,
and you must write it out immediately.'He took me around to his
apartments, and that night I began to write the story of 'Mr.Part of the first chapter was written afterward, but the rest of that
chapter and several succeeding chapters are the story I told to Uncle
Sam.I kept at it from day to day, getting more interested in the work
as I proceeded, and from time to time I would read a chapter to Uncle
Sam.When I got through the original story I was so amused with the
writing of it that it occurred to me that I might as well make Mr.Isaacs fall in love with an English girl, and then I kept on writing to
see what would happen.By and by I remembered a mysterious Buddhist
whom I had met once in India, and so I introduced him, still further to
complicate matters.I went to Newport to visit my aunt, Mrs.Julia Ward
Howe, while I was in the midst of the story, and continued it there.It was on June 13, 1882, while in her home, that I finished the last
chapter of 'Mr.Isaacs,' and, Uncle Sam appearing in Newport at that
time, I read him the part of the story which he had not heard.'You
will give it to me,' he said, 'and I shall try to find a publisher.'He
had for many years frequented the bookstore of Macmillan, and was well
acquainted with the elder George Brett.Mary went to the hallway.Brett, who forwarded it to the English house, and in a short time it
was accepted.Daniel went to the bathroom."Having tasted blood, I began, very soon after finishing 'Mr.Isaacs,'
to write another story for my own amusement, 'Dr.Late in
November I was advised by the Messrs.Macmillan that in order to secure
an English copyright, as well as an American copyright, I must be on
English soil on the day of publication.John, New
Brunswick, where I had a very pleasant time, and continued to write the
story of 'Dr.Claudius,' which I finished in December.Isaacs'
was published on December 6, and I, of course, knew nothing about its
reception.However, toward the end of the month I started on my return
journey to the United States, and when I arrived in Boston on the
day before Christmas, and stepped out of the train, I was surprised
beyond measure to find the railway news stand almost covered with great
posters announcing 'Mr.The next morning, at my hotel, I found
a note awaiting me from Thomas Bailey Aldrich, then editor of _The
Atlantic Monthly_, asking me for an interview, at which he proposed
that I write a serial for his magazine.I felt confident then, and do
now, that 'Dr.Mary went to the bedroom.Claudius' would not be a good serial story.Aldrich should have a serial, and began soon after to
write 'A Roman Singer,' which was completed in February, 1883."Crawford's own story of his start as a novelist, told to
us nine years ago in a Boston hotel.Isaacs was a
diamond dealer in Simla named Jacobs.We have heard it related that the
chief figure in "A Roman Singer" was partly sketched from a musician
now resident in Boston, whom the novelist had known intimately in Rome.Claudius" was, of course, fresh in the
author's mind.Crawford said last year: "What a novelist needs in order to succeed
is energy above all else.No man
with money will work hard enough when he is young to succeed.He needs
to begin early, work hard, and sit long in one place.If he has money
he won't sit long in one place."Crawford had no money when he
started, but he had abundant energy, and he could sit for a day in one
place.In "The Three Fates" the close reader will
discern a glimpse of the foundation of Mr.Mary went to the kitchen.In May, 1883, the rising author went back to Italy, where he wrote "To
Leeward" and "Saracinesca."The next year he spent in Constantinople,
and there he was married to Miss Elizabeth Berdan, the daughter of
General Berdan.In 1885 he settled permanently at Sorrento."Villa
Crawford," his home, stands on a high bluff, overlooking the Bay of
Naples.There, in a room padded to keep out sound, the author of "Mr.Isaacs" has done most of his literary work for the last fifteen years.Crawford has frequently been called "a born novelist," and we
have yet to find a critic who, judging him by all that he has done,
is inclined to deny him the right to that high title.His dialogue is
vivid, his problems, as a rule, logically worked out, his dramatic
situations strong and timely.Not all his works, however, are of
even power or attractiveness; and no one recognizes this fact more
clearly than the novelist himself.He has said that the book which he
enjoyed writing most is "Mr.Isaacs"; the book which has for him the
most reality is "Pietro Ghisleri," and the book of the most polish is
"Zoroaster."In years gone by "Zoroaster" was studied in the English
departments of many colleges.Crawford, last year, "that the novelist is the
result of a demand.Daniel moved to the garden.Consequently, I believe that it is the province
of the novel to amuse, to cultivate, mainly to please.I do not
believe that the novel should instruct.Therefore, I do not believe in problem novels, or what they call
realism.Yet, in his thirty-six
works, he has said, to use his own words, some "pretty tall things."Crawford attributes much of his skill in writing English to the
letters which his mother used to write to him when he was away at
school.Terry, her home in Rome, the Palazzo
Odescalchi, became the meeting-place of many brilliant men and women.Artists, poets and literarians crowded her house every Wednesday
afternoon, and this choice admiration of her ended only with her
death.Of French, German, and, of course Italian, her brilliant son is
as sure a master as he is of English; he writes Turkish and Russian
readily, and he converses fluently in most of the Eastern tongues.Daniel went to the office.Indeed he holds a shipmaster's certificate
entitling him to navigate sailing vessels on the high seas.Five years
ago he proved his seamanship by navigating his yacht, an old New York
pilot boat, across the seas to Sorrento.All in all, a delightful and accomplished author and
gentleman-at-large.[Illustration: Photo by Hollinger, N. Y.
JAMES LANE ALLEN.]JAMES LANE ALLEN
A few novelists know the world which renews its youth every spring and
that dies every autumn, as intimately as Thoreau knew it.One of these
novelists is Thomas Hardy, whose description of Egdon Heath in "The
Return of the Native" has long been in use as a model in the English
Department at Harvard.One of these also is James Lane Allen, the
Kentucky schoolmaster.The chapter entitled "Hemp" in "The Reign of Law," contains abundant
evidence of this loving power.Here is a random choice:
"One day something is gone from earth and sky: Autumn has come, season
of scales and balances, when the earth, brought to judgment for its
fruits, says, 'I have done what I could--now let me rest!'"Fall!--and everywhere the sights and sounds of falling.In the woods,
through the cool silvery air, the leaves, so indispensable once, so
useless now.Bright day after bright day, dripping night after dripping
night, the never-ending filtering or gusty fall of leaves.The fall
of walnuts, dropping from bare boughs with muffled boom into the deep
grass.The fall of the hickory-nut, rattling noisily down through the
scaly limbs and scattering its hulls among the stones of the brook
below.The fall of buckeyes, rolling like balls of mahogany into the
little dust paths made by sheep, in the hot months, when they had
sought those roofs of leaves.The fall of acorns, leaping out of their
matted green cups as they strike the rooty earth.The fall of red
haw, persimmon, and pawpaw, and the odorous wild plum in its valley
thickets.The fall of all seeds whatsoever of the forest, now made ripe
in their high places and sent back to the ground, there to be folded in
against the time when they shall rise again as the living generations;
the homing, downward flight of the seeds in the many- woods all
over the quiet land."Mabie, writing once in _The Outlook_, dwelt on what has been called
the "landscape beauty" of Mr."No American novelist," he
said "has so imbedded his stories in Nature as has James Lane Allen;
and among English novels one recalls only Mr.John went to the kitchen.Hardy's three classics
of pastoral England, and among French novelists George Sand and Pierre
Loti.Nature furnishes the background of many charming American
stories, and finds delicate or effective remembrance in the hands of
writers like Miss Jewett and Miss Murfree; but in Mr.Allen's romances
Nature is not behind the action; she is involved in it.Her presence
is everywhere; her influence streams through the story; the deep and
prodigal beauty which she wears in rural Kentucky shines on every page;
the tremendous forces which sweep through her disclose their potency in
human passion and impulse...."
And when James MacArthur was editing _The Bookman_ he said: "Poetry,
'the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge,' according to
Wordsworth, 'the impassioned expression which is in the countenance
of all science,'--that poetry irrespective of rhyme and metrical
arrangement which is as immortal as the heart of man, is distinctive
in Mr.Like Minerva issuing
full-formed from the head of Jove, Mr.Allen issues from his long
years of silence and seclusion a perfect master of his art--unfailing
in its inspiration, unfaltering in its classic accent."MacArthur, who, speaking of "The Choir Invisible," said that "it would
be difficult to recall any other novel since 'The Scarlet Letter' that
has touched the same note of greatness, or given to one section of
our national life, as Hawthorne's classic did to another, a voice far
beyond singing."Allen came forth from "his long years
of silence and seclusion a perfect master of his art" is largely true.Although born about half a century ago, it was not until 1884 that he
settled down to writing.Not many of our distinguished writers passed
thirty before tasting the bitter-sweet fruit of authorship.Allen was born on a farm in Fayette County, Kentucky, a few miles
from Lexington; and on the farm he spent his early childhood.His
mother's maiden name was Helen Foster.Sandra travelled to the garden.Her parents, who were of the
Scotch-Irish stock which settled in Pennsylvania before the Revolution,
had found a permanent home in Mississippi.On his father's side he is
a descendant of the Virginians who formed the Kentucky pioneers.The
son was graduated from Kentucky University--which has been pictured
in the history of his latest hero, David,--in 1872.For several years
afterward he taught in district schools, at first near his home, and
later in Missouri.Still later he became a private tutor; then he took
a professorship in his alma mater; and at length he brought his career
as a teacher to a close while at Bethany College, West Virginia.That
very year, 1884, he moved to New York, put away his text-books, and
plunged into the sea of literature.One who knew him in those days has
described him as "a blond young giant with a magnificent head and a
strong, kindly face."From the day of his decision to be a writer until the present time Mr.Fifteen years ago the
chief literary and critical magazines published many of his essays, and
from time to time his short stories appeared in _Harper's Magazine_ and
_The Century Magazine_.These short stories were afterward collected
and published under the title of "Flute and Violin."Mary journeyed to the hallway.Then appeared at
irregular intervals "The Blue Grass Region of Kentucky," "A Kentucky
Cardinal" and its sequel, "Aftermath," "A Summer in Arcady," "The Choir
Invisible," and, latest of all, "The Reign of Law."The author's high reputation was firmly established by "A Kentucky
Cardinal" and "Aftermath.""In these two books," said one critic,
looking backward, "Nature was interwoven benignantly with the human
nature resting on her bosom, leading her lover, Adam Moss, with
gentle influences to the human lover, and, when bereft of human love,
receiving him back into her healing arms."The books made as deep an
impression upon Englishmen as upon Americans; indeed, as late as the
spring of 1900 the _London Academy_ devoted a page to a flattering and
most sympathetic review of them.The gentle, playful humor, the healthy
joyousness, the rare tenderness displayed by Mr.Allen in these two
books, are irresistible.Months, and even years, after laying the books
down, the reader must remember the many delightful sketches of which
they are made."And while I am watching the birds, they are watching me.Not a
little <DW2> among them, having proposed and been accepted, but perches
on a limb, and has the air of putting his hands mannishly under his
coat-tails and crying out to me, 'Hello!'You attend to your business, and I'll attend to mine,' I answer, 'You
have one May; I have twenty-five!'He caught
sight of a pair of clear brown eyes peeping at him out of a near tuft
of leaves, and sprang thither with open arms and the sound of a kiss."And here is one of his
choice, frank, bucolic sentiments:
"The longer I live here the better satisfied I am in having pitched
my earthly camp-fire, gypsylike, on the edge of a town, keeping it on
one side, and the green fields, lanes and woods on the other.Each,
in turn, is to me as a magnet to the needle.At times the needle of my
nature points towards the country.I wander over field and forest, and through me runs a glad current of
feeling that is like a clear brook across the meadows of May.At others
the needle veers round, and I go to town--to the massed haunts of the
highest animal and cannibal.I can
feel the prose rising in me as I step along, like hair on the back of
a dog, long before any other dogs are in sight.And, indeed, the case
is much that of a country dog come to town, so that growls are in order
at every corner.The only being in the universe at which I have ever
snarled, or with which I have rolled over in the mud and fought like a
common cur, is Man.""Summer in Arcady" shocked many who had fallen in love with the
pastoral simplicity and spiritual delicacy of the two preceding books;
but it was generally admitted that the book showed an advance in the
author's powers, particularly in his power of vivid dialogue.Allen had written that "The simple, rural, key-note
of life is still the sweetest," and a change to another key-note,
tremulous with pathos and tragedy, surprised the reading public; but
the opinion that it was likely to prove a stepping-stone to higher
things found general favor.Nor was this opinion unsound, for "The
Choir Invisible" lifted its author for the time above the heads of all
his contemporaries.Both here and in England the book fairly leaped to success; both here
and in England it was praised almost unqualifiedly.An American critic,
writing of it, said: "Mr.Allen stands to-day in the front rank of
American novelists.'The Choir Invisible' will solidify a reputation
already established and bring into clear light his rare gifts as an
artist.For this latest story is as genuine a work of art as has come
from an American hand."An English critic noted that it was "highly
praised, and with reason.""It is written," he said, "with singular
delicacy,Sandra went back to the hallway. |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | The book succeeded so immensely that an attempt was made to dramatize
it, but the attempt failed.The atmosphere of the book proved to be too
ethereal, too spiritual, for dramatization.That "The Choir Invisible" solidified Mr.Allen's reputation was
demonstrated by the eagerness of the demand for "The Reign of Law."Allen's greatest work: it reveals even a
deeper knowledge of nature than he ever revealed before, and it deals
more intimately with things which have revolved around his own career.Fame has little to do with the sale of books.If "The Kentucky
Cardinal," "The Choir Invisible," and "The Reign of Law" had not been
sold by the thousands, Mr.Allen's fame would still be of more than
transient quality.There is nothing ephemeral about these stories:
they are, strictly speaking, a part of our classical literature.The
vividness of the pictures will always be fresh and interesting.Allen's remark in "The Reign of Law" that
Kentucky University is a ruin and will always remain a ruin, the
reading public has generally decided, we have found, that the
university, the author's alma mater, does not exist.It does exist,
but, apparently, not in the condition in which the author would have
it.Before "The Reign of Law" had been long on the market, he and the
president of Kentucky University fell into a controversy which makes
an interesting chapter in the academic side of the history of the Blue
Grass State.Allen works slowly and carefully, as may be inferred from the
number and the character of his books.He is not in the least given to the exploitation of his habits and his
manners, even so far as they may be connected with his literary work.Little has ever been heard of him by the thousands who hurry to read
his books, and who read them only to praise him.Some time ago his
publishers issued a brochure dealing with his career, and the vital
facts contained in it, if put together, would not cover more than
twenty or thirty ordinary lines.It should be said before ending, however, that the author of "The Reign
of Law" is looked up to almost filially by the younger writers of the
middle West.They are never weary of applauding him and of indicating,
publicly as well as privately, his extraordinary reputation.Traces of
his style, notably as it appears in his Corot-like pictures of nature,
may be found in their writings.Indeed, it is quite likely that nothing
would please one of these fine young men more than to have it said of
his work that it resembles the masterly work of James Lane Allen.Mary went back to the hallway.[Illustration: Photo by Davis & Sanford.THOMAS NELSON PAGE
Thomas Nelson Page first came into national prominence seventeen years
ago through the publication by _The Century Magazine_ of the short
story called "Marse Chan."A few years ago, in conversation with Mr.Frank G. Carpenter, the
author related the incidents which led to the writing of "Marse Chan."At the bottom was a letter which a friend had shown him.Page, "was from an illiterate girl in Georgia to her soldier
sweetheart.The letter was poorly written and poorly spelled, but full
of pathos.The girl had, it seems, trifled with the man, but after
he had left for the war she had realized her great love for him and
written to him.She wrote: 'I know I have treated you mean.I ain't
never done right with you all the time.When you asked me to marry you,
I laughed, and said I wouldn't have you, and it makes me cry to think
you are gone away to the war.Now, I want you to know that I love you,
and I want you to git a furlow and come home and I'll marry you.'With
a few words of affection the letter closed, but a postscript was added:
'Don't come home without a furlow, for unless you come home honorable
I won't marry you.'This letter was received by the soldier only a
few days before the battle of Seven Pines, and after he was shot it
was found in his breast pocket, just over his heart.The pathos of it
struck me so forcibly that out of it came the story of 'Marse Chan.'"Thomas Nelson Page was thirty-one when "Marse Chan" appeared, and
at that time his shingle was new outside his office in Richmond.Page was born in Hanover County, Virginia, on April 23, 1853, and is
consequently now in his forty-ninth year.A description of the house
in which he was born--Oakland, it was called--may be found in "Two
Little Confederates."On both sides he is a lineal descendant of Gen.Thomas Nelson, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.It has been said that there is scarcely an old family in all Virginia
to which the author is not related in some degree.One of his cousins
is the Princess Troubetskoy, Amelie Rives before her marriage, whose
first husband was John Armstrong Chanler.At the time of the birth of
Thomas the Pages were comparatively wealthy, but later, during the war,
they lost most of their wealth.Thomas's first reading lessons, in
the Waverley novels, were given him by an aunt, who also taught him
to read the Episcopal prayer-book.His education was interrupted by
the outbreak of the war, for his father accepted a commission in the
Confederate army.Occasionally the boy visited his father in camp, when
the troops were on the road from Oakland to Richmond.Happily, he was old enough to appreciate the gossip of
the war which passed around the <DW64> cabins.Like all the slaveholders, the Pages were much reduced in riches when
the war ended, but, nevertheless, at the age of sixteen, Thomas was
sent to Washington and Lee University.Of his college days he once said:
"My standing was not high.I don't know that I had much ambition to be
one of the first honor men.At any rate, I got no medals of any kind.I
suppose I was a fair average student, but I hear that I devoted myself
more to outside reading than to my studies.I was a member of the
literary society, and for a time was the editor of the college paper.Contrary to the usual custom, I wrote short articles instead of long
essays, and from this got the nick-name of 'The Short-Article Editor.'I wrote, I suppose, much for the pleasure of seeing myself in print.I was very bashful in those days, and I know that I trembled when I
first got up to speak in the literary society.I had a chum at college
who is now one of the most famous lawyers of the country.He was also bashful, and during our college days he joined
with me in a method of improving our oratorical powers.We would get
together in a room, and, having closed the doors, would debate with
each other, upon some question.One would stand on one side of the
table and one on the other and we would declaim away, each having a
fifteen minutes' speech and a like time for answers.This practice
helped me materially in my work as a lawyer."After his graduation from Washington and Lee University, Mr.Page
secured employment as a teacher in a private school in Kentucky, not
far from Louisville.There he taught for a year, and he says that he
enjoyed it very much.The influential
paper in the part of the country where he was teaching, was, of course,
_The Louisville Courier-Journal_.The young teacher was intensely
interested in Ik Marvel's books, and he wrote some essays in imitation
of Marvel and sent them to the _Courier-Journal_.From what he has said since, their rejection was not a source of much
discouragement to him.At the end of a year the rebuffed essayist returned to his home in
Virginia, and, soon after, deciding to study law, he entered the law
school of the University of Virginia.Greatly to his credit, he got
his degree in a year.Meantime, however, he kept up his interest in
literature.While at the University of Virginia he contributed to the
college paper.It was also his habit, while at home, to write stories
on slates for the entertainment of his friends, and erase the stories
after he had read them.At school, too, he began to write stories in
the <DW64> dialect, and he continued this practice in his law office
in Richmond.At his office he wrote the first of his works accepted
by the magazines, a poem called "Unc' Gabe's White Folks," which was
published in _Scribner's_ in 1876.He was very proud of that unpretentious check.Later he wrote
a historical article relating to the centennial celebration in old
Yorktown, and then he sent out his first story, "Marse Chan."It was
paid for promptly, but, like many another story sent to the magazines,
particularly stories from unknown authors, it remained unpublished for
several years.Finally, overcome by impatience, the author wrote to
ascertain what had become of it, and shortly afterward he received a
proof of it.With its publication in 1884 came instant popularity.But at no time previous to his moving to Washington was literature
first in Page's mind.In the beginning, at Richmond, he wrote only at
night, when his day's work was done; and for a time he actually ceased
writing fiction entirely lest it might interfere with the practice of
his profession.For, as a matter of fact, he has been a very successful
lawyer.Six months after he had settled down in Richmond he was
able to support himself with his earnings at the bar, and during the
eighteen years which followed, that is, up to the time of his settling
down in Washington, his income was chiefly from law.So, it was some time before "Marse Chan" was succeeded by "Meh Lady,"
"Unc' Edinburg's Drowndin'," "Polly" and "Ole 'Stracted."It was said
in those days that the stories were like variations on a single theme;
but we are inclined to agree with the critic who said: "For this we
feel no disposition to quarrel with Mr.Page, being eager to hear the
tale as often as he may find ways to tell it, and grateful to him for
such beautiful and faithful pictures of a society now become portion
and parcel of the irrevocable past."Page and his equally
delightful contemporary, Mr.Joel Chandler Harris, the reading public
is indebted for no small number of the most charming features of
American literature.It may please those who enjoy particulars to know that the popular
writer regards "Unc' Edinburgh Drowndin'," which was first to follow
"Marse Chan," as his best picture of Virginia life.Page, in
1886, married Miss Anne Seddon Bruce, the daughter of Charles Bruce
of Charlotte County, Virginia, largely for whose entertainment he had
written his early stories; and before the death of Mrs.Page had written "Meh Lady" and had published "In Ole Virginia," a
collection of his works, all in dialect.In those days, by the way, his work was often compared by the critics
with the work of Mr.Perhaps the fairest comparison was made by
Mr.Coleman, who admired the two authors quite equally.Page," said the critic, "enjoys the reputation of having written
the most exquisite story of the war that has yet appeared ("Marse
Chan").In comparison with the works of Joel Chandler Harris, though
both authors deal with the <DW64>, the one in no wise interferes with
the proper appreciation of the other.Harris has
given us the truer insight into the character of the type to which he
belongs, while the venerable family servant is somewhat idealized by
Mr.Page, and, moreover, is made to tell a story possessing a value and
interest of its own not entirely dependent upon the personality of the
narrator and his race peculiarities.Page
has the advantage, though this may be due, in part, to the difference
between the Virginia <DW64> and his brother of Georgia."The Virginian has portrayed the sweeter side of the old slavery days,
in direct contrast to Mrs.In the
master he has delineated forbearance, confidence, protection; in the
slave, respect, devotion and fidelity.Without a scruple he has felt
constrained to make one of his characters say of the days before the
war: "Dem wuz good ole times, marster--de bes' Sam ever see!<DW65>s did n' hed nothin' 't all to do--jes' hed to 'ten' to de
feedin' an' cleanin' de hosses, an' doin' what de marster tell 'em to
do; an' when dey wuz sick, dey had things sent 'em out de house, an' de
same doctor came to see 'em whar 'ten' to de white folks when dey wuz
po'ly.Dyah war n' no trouble nor nuthin.""I write the first draft as rapidly as I can and then go
over it very carefully in the revision.I try to simplify my writings
as much as possible.The more simple it is, I think, the better it is.I find, however, that the revision often takes away the spirit from the
first draft.I lay away the manuscript, and looking at it several weeks
later, I can see that the first draft is truer to nature than the more
stilted revision.I think I do more careful work now than I have done
in the past.My ideal is far above anything I have ever done, and I
sometimes despair of approaching it.There is one thing I do, however,
which I think is a good plan for any writer.That is, I always give
the best I have in me to the story which I am writing.I do not save
anything which I think might perhaps be of use to me in the future.The
cream, if you could use that expression, always goes to the present."In 1891 the author of "Marse Chan" left Richmond and went to New York
to succeed Charles Dudley Warner in the conduct of "The Drawer" in
_Harper's Monthly_, Mr.Howells, who at that time
left _Harper's_ for the _Cosmopolitan_, in the conduct of "The Study."Henry Field of Chicago, a granddaughter of Governor
Barbour of Virginia, and since then, for the most part, he has lived
and worked in Washington.By far his most ambitious work is "Red Rock,"
a novel which has done much to affect favorably the old attitude of the
North toward the South.Not many of our writers rest their fame on fewer works.[Illustration: RICHARD HARDING DAVIS.]RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
A great many persons, indeed, a great many critics, have called
Richard Harding Davis superficial.They obviously had one thing
in mind and said another.Perhaps they may have meant to say that
sometimes Mr.We lean toward Professor
Harry Thurston Peck's opinion.Davis, in fact," he says,
"because of the predominance in him of the journalistic motive, is a
photographer rather than an artist; but he is a very skillful and adept
photographer."No person of superficial temperament could have described with so much
humor Van Bibber's attempt to practice economy, or could have given us
the affecting conclusion of "Princess Aline," or could have written
many paragraphs of "The Exiles."No sympathetic human being who has
ever read "The Exiles" will forget the picture of the outlawed boodle
alderman in Tangier, saying to a visitor about to return to New York
with a clean conscience and a strong hunger to see the familiar sights:
"'I'll tell you what you _can_ do for me, Holcombe.Some night I wish
you would go down to Fourteenth Street, some night this spring, when
the boys are sitting out on the steps in front of the Hall, and just
take a drink for me at Ed.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.That's
what I'd like to do.I don't know nothing better than Fourteenth Street
of a summer evening, with all the people crowding into Pastor's, on one
side of the Hall, and the Third Avenue L-cars running by on the other.That's a gay sight, ain't it now?With all the girls coming in and out
of Theiss's, and the sidewalks crowded.One of them warm nights when
they have to have the windows open, and you can hear the music in at
Pastor's, and the audience clapping their hands.Well,' he laughed and shook his head, 'I'll be back there some day,
won't I,' he said, wistfully, 'and hear it for myself?'"It would be hard to find in fiction a more affecting picture done with
fewer strokes and with closer fidelity to human nature |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | It is a picture
which must strike the attentive reader, and particularly the attentive
New York reader, full on the heart strings.Davis has the habit of looking at the odd things in life.Without
this habit no man can be a first-class reporter; and our author has
proved himself a first-class reporter in many parts of the world and
for many papers.Mary went back to the hallway.Sangree, some months ago: "I
never walk one city block that I do not see twenty things to interest
me.I tire my friends sometimes by pointing them out.But this ability to see things is my greatest
joy in life, incidentally my living.I cultivated it when I began
reporting, and to this day if I see a man turn in a car to look out the
window I unconsciously turn with him.He may have observed something
that escaped me--something that contains an element of human interest,
and I hold no effort wasted that may add to this general cargo of
life's impressions."No able reporter could have worked long under Charles A. Dana and
escaped the objective habit.Sangree tells
of his friend's experience on _The Evening Sun_ illustrates the point."At eight o' clock one spring morning," says Mr.Sangree, "the blotter
at police headquarters recorded a trifling fire on the East Side.News
being dull, Davis was sent to cover it.He found a rickety tenement
house in which fire had little more than singed the top floor.The
crowd had left, a few ashes were smouldering, and the insurance
adjusters were examining the place."'Nothing here,' said the policeman on watch.'Only five hundred
dollars damage and a bum lodger asphyxiated."The reporters peeped, saw the blackened face and rigid form, a man
unnamed and forgotten--and wrote a paragraph._The Evening Sun_
reporter, in mousing about saw an alarm clock by the dead man's side
with the hand pointing to seven o' clock."'Let me see,' yawned the bluecoat; 'Seven o' clock it was.I remember
because that alarm was going off just as I got inside.'"'That's my story,' said Davis, and he began his account, touching and
vivid, simply with: 'The man died at six-thirty."What impressed me," said the author, discussing the story
subsequently, "was that impotent alarm clock jangling away when the
owner was dead.A man's existence had been cut off because that
fifty-cent clock could not give its alarm a few minutes earlier."This illustrates what was meant when we said that Mr.Davis takes an
objective view of life.His experience as a reporter was invaluable
to him; and he took Dr.Hale's advice, and ended the experience at the
right time.Doubtless many good writers have been spoiled by indulging
too long in the fascinations of newspaper work.A large part of his training as a reporter the creator of Van Bibber
obtained in his native city, during his service on the _Philadelphia
Press_, for which paper he went to work when he was a little more than
twenty.The letter from which he made
this copy, and which he returned to Mrs.Hunter, was, in his belief, the
handwriting of Mr.Marryatt_.—Now, my Lord, I propose reading this copy of the letter
in question.The following letter was then read in evidence:—
_October_ 6, 1816.Hunter,
“My heart is already too much affected.Your letter only adds
affliction to my bonds.I would have called on you
this morning, but I was too low in mind to speak to any friend but
Jesus!Pardon me; but I make no
remarks on what you have been told.I must bear it, though I am able
to contradict _three things_ I would rather not.I am only grieved
that dear Mrs.P. whom I really loved, that she should try to injure
me in the estimation of those who are real friends to my dear
children.But I
am too much depressed to enlarge.I shall never forget their
kindness.God will reward them, as he has many who have dealt well
to me.But he will resent cruelty in those who have and are still
trying to degrade me.Hunter, I am grieved at heart I cannot relieve your mind.I am truly
sorry to lose you as a hearer, because your soul has been blest; and
you know both the plague of the heart and the value of Jesus.May he
be increasingly present to you in his person, love, and grace!The Lord Jesus will reward you for
your love to me, and your kindness to mine.God is not unrighteous
to forget your work of faith and labour of love.With many tears I
write this.May we meet in glory, when no enemy shall distress my
mind, nor sin nor death shall part us more!I need not remind my
dear friend that I am a _Child_ of _Peculiar Providence_; and that
_heart_ of eternal love, and that _arm_ of invincible power has
protected me—has called me to himself; and for every act of straying,
will correct me with _his own hand_, but will resent _every other
hand_, sooner or later.“_Adieu_, _dear friend_, _accept the starting tear_,
_And the best wishes of a heart sincere_.“Your’s, truly,
“Till we shall meet above.”
_Mr.Marryatt_.—My Lord, that is the case on the part of the prosecution.GURNEY, on the part of the Defendant, most eloquently addressed the
Jury, endeavouring, by observations, to throw some doubt on the testimony
of the prosecutor, because he had searched the house after the attack:
this, the learned Counsel urged, evinced an uncertainty in the boy’s
mind, as to the person who had been in his room.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.That his conduct was
unaccountable, in not going into Church’s room and questioning him, when
he had West to assist him.The learned Counsel also commented on the
delay which had taken place before any complaint had been made to a
magistrate, and contended, that this circumstance threw discredit on the
prosecutor’s case, and concluded by observing, that if his client was
guilty, his crime was greatly aggravated, because he, as a Minister of
the Gospel, was bound to set an example of morality, and intreated the
Jury, that as the offence was of so shocking and heinous a nature as to
render it improbable that a man in Mr.Church’s station could have
committed it, that, before they consigned him to eternal infamy, they
would be fully satisfied that the testimony against him was
unquestionable and conclusive.Sandra travelled to the kitchen._The first witness called for the Defendant was_
Mr._Examined by the Common Serjeant_.—His name is John Thomas; lives in
Prospect-place, West’s Square, St.George’s Fields; is an appraiser and
undertaker; has known Mr.Church a long time; is one of his hearers; is
acquainted with Mr.Patrick, but not till the report was made respecting
Mr.Church; cannot say he knew him as one of the congregation attending,
Mr.Church’s house, the
9th of October, a few days after the report; did not go into the house
with him, staid outside; had learnt from Mr.Church’s upon the subject of this business; he called upon witness,
at his house, to go with him, and told witness he was going to Mr.Church’s upon the business of this inquiry; indeed, it was witness’s
request that he should; Mrs.Thomas went to speak to his wife, and it was
at Mrs.Patrick’s that he went; he seemed to be
a long while in Church’s house, not much less than an hour; it was near
an hour; when he came out witness put some questions to him, respecting
what had passed between him and Mr.Church did not say anything; that he
seemed very much confounded on account of the cause, he supposed, but he
said nothing about it, that it would be injurious to the cause of God; he
did not say the _cause of God_, witness only supposed he meant the cause
of God; did not use the words “cause of God;” he said Mr.Church seemed
very much confounded or confused.The rest is all imagination of
witness’s; both imagined alike; don’t know that these were exactly the
words; cannot call to his (witness) mind what he (Patrick) did say, but
it was conjectured the cause of God, and which they heard afterwards was
abused abroad; does not recollect all that passed; Mr.Patrick related to witness; he
said Mr.Church seemed very much confused; witness asked Mr.Patrick
“what do you mean; why; if you know anything against the man, did you not
charge him with it;” he said he did not know; he was not the person; he
(Patrick) said, “I don’t know: I am not so proper a person as you,” or
words to the same effect.Witness said to him, “What did he (meaning
Church) say respecting the report respecting this transaction?” Witness
said to Mr.Patrick, says he, “what did he say respecting the
acknowledging the report”—that is, what did Mr.Patrick
about acknowledging the report that had gone abroad respecting him.He
said, “It was false.” Patrick said that the report was false.When Patrick made witness the answer,
he understood that answer to be, that Patrick himself said the report was
false.He said, says
he, what answer did Mr.Church give respecting its having been reported
that he was in liquor—that he made an excuse that he was in liquor?He said there had been a great deal of
exaggeration.Did not after this put any question to Mr.Church was implicated in the
transaction or not.Witness put these words to him—“Why,” says he, “you
did nothing!Church acknowledge nothing to you?” “No, Sir,”
says he, “he did not.” Then he said Mr.John went back to the hallway.Church had not mentioned a word
about it.Did not make any observation to him, or he to witness.Don’t
recollect any thing in particular witness said, says he, “As you can
bring nothing against him, let us pray for him, and if he had the least
idea of such a thing; and as you say you cannot bring any thing home to
him, and can’t prove any thing, that is all we can do.Let us pray that
he may not be guilty of such sin.”
_Lord Ellenborough_.—Did you say, pray for him, if he was under any such
temptation?—Yes; pray for him, if he was under any such temptation.Patrick did not after that deliver any opinion to witness whether he
thought Church was implicated in the transaction or not.Did not at any
other time see him, and hear him say any thing about this transaction.Nothing more passed at this meeting than what witness has told.Witness
afterwards recollected, and asked pardon: he met Patrick in June last,
coming over Waterloo-bridge.Did not at first know him; and he spoke to
witness, and he said, “My name is Patrick.” Witness said, “Mr.Patrick,
why what are you doing with Mr.Church?” “Why,” says witness, “I hear
you have brought something else against him: what is that?”
_Lord Ellenborough_.—There is no contradiction of Mr.He was not asked to this (continuation of the answer).“Why,” says he,
“Sir, I should not have done it, but, that Mr.Church has spoken more
disrespectful things respecting Mrs.Patrick.” He said he should not
have done it, but that Mr.Church had said many disrespectful things of
Mrs.Marryatt_.—Believes it was the Sabbath after the
27th of September that he first heard of this.It was within two or
three days after.Heard of the report two or three days after the thing
happened.He did so, at witness’s desire.Patrick brought
the boy to him, and offered to have him brought face to face with Mr.Patrick called at witness’s house in the course of the
morning, and he sent him, he said the boy was outside.Patrick did
not particularly wish witness to see the boy; believes he brought the boy
to go to Mr.Church’s; witness was to go with him, and, therefore, the
boy followed.He walked on the other
side of the way, opposite to where witness was.He waited whilst witness
waited, they both waited outside ready to go into Mr.Church’s when they
were wanted.Patrick was to go in and hear what Mr.Church had to
say; and then they were to go in too.He took the boy with him, in order
that he might be taken in and see Mr.Church, was only one of his hearers, and thought it would be too
great a liberty for him to go to him.Patrick wanted witness to go
in alone to Mr.Don’t recollect any thing that he did.Don’t know any other reason he had than that for bringing the boy.Don’t
know that he said that that was his reason.Witness told Patrick he had no particular interest in the
business; had no intimacy with Mr.Church, except hearing him: thought he
had no business to be interested in the knowledge of the fact, being only
a hearer.Thought, therefore, what his visit would be obtrusive;
certainly had no interest in it.Saw no necessity for going in and
taking the boy, as he, Church, did not acknowledge himself guilty of any
thing bad.Did not examine the boy, it being a delicate subject.Church had confessed any thing, witness should have it thought it his
duty to take the boy and have them face to face.Church not having
confessed any thing, he would not examine the boy; that was his reason
for not examining the boy.If he had confessed any thing witness would
have taken the boy to have them face to face; his object was to take the
boy and have them face to face, if Mr.Church did not acknowledge
any thing of it he did not think it necessary to have them face to face.Church was implicated in the
transaction; but in answer to a particular part of the transaction, he
said that Mr.Did not see the letter
sent to Mrs.Hunter; about the three points of the boy’s statement which
Mr.Was the Clerk attending the
magistrate when the charge was made before him; must refer to the
book—Witness produced a book to tell who was the magistrate; it was the
minute book in which the entered the proceedings of the day.Serjeant Sellon appeared to have been the Magistrate on the 19th
November, as it appears by the book.Being a charge misdemeanor no
account was committed to writing of what the witnesses said; it was
merely a note or entry of the names, as follows; “Warrant for a
misdeameanor, parties appeared by the Officer, and ordered to find bail.”
_Cross-examined by Mr.Serjeant Sellon was the magistrate
by whom the warrant was granted.The oath was administered before the
warrant was granted; there had been an _ex-parte_ examination to grant
the warrant on the oath of the party;—that is in another book left
behind; does not know any thing of it.There is a deposition on oath
prior to the granting of the warrant._Re-examined by |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | Is not aware of depositions taken in writing
in any book which he had not here; was not told to bring it.There was
nothing taken down in writing before the warrant was granted.After the
warrant was executed, and at the time of the examination, when the
Defendant was there, witness took no minutes further than the names of
the parties, and what he now produced.Gurney_.—Was present at the examination of Mr.Church
before the magistrate; is a hatter, near the Elephant and Castle, in St.Mary went back to the hallway.George’s Fields; did not take the testimony of witnesses down in writing.Foreman, the boy, in the account he gave before the magistrate, said he
went out to the potter and told the potter that there were thieves in the
house, and that the potter and he said the came to search the house.Sellon, whether or not he searched the room
where Mr.He said, no, he did not search that room.Sellon said, “Why not search the room?” The answer he gave was, that the
potter wished to break the door open.Sellon said, “Did you try the
door, to see whether it was open, before the potter talked of breaking it
open?” He said, no; he did not wish to disturb his mistress.Gurney_.—My lord, this is the case of the Defendant.Marryatt_ then replied to the Defendant’s case._Lord Ellenborough_ proceeded to sum up the evidence on which he
commented most ably.With respect to the up the evidence, on which he
commented most ably.With respect to the young man searching the house,
his Lordship said it shewed a precaution which was highly creditable to
the boy, who had also given a good reason for not going into the
Defendant’s room, namely, that it must have disturbed and alarmed his
mistress at that unseasonable hour of the night, and that as to the
alleged delay, this seemed to have arisen from the interference of the
Defendant’s friends; but, although a considerable time elapsed before the
prosecutor went to a magistrate, it was clear that he made instant
complaint to West, and to his master.His Lordship then adverted to the
admission of the Defendant as to being in the boy’s room without
assigning any reason or motive, and his Lordship asked, what earthly
purpose could the Defendant have for visiting this youth in his bed-room
in the dead of the night?and, if no honest reason appeared, it was for
the jury to say whether the lad’s account was not irresistably confirmed
by this admission.His Lordship read the letter, before alluded to,
throughout, and most emphatically expressed his indignation at sacred
names, which ought never to be mentioned but with reverence, being used
with disgusting familiarity in such a shocking transaction.The Jury almost instantly returned a verdict of GUILTY, which gave
universal satisfaction to a crowded Court.The nearer to CHURCH the further from GOD!!Jortin, in his _Adversaria_, very justly remarks, that “a sudden rise
from a low station, as it sometimes shews to advantage the virtuous and
amiable qualities, which could not exert themselves before, so it more
frequently calls forth and exposes to view, those spots of the soul which
lay lurking in secret, cramped by penury, and veiled with dissimulation.”
JOHN CHURCH, better known as the Obelisk Parson, it appears, was
abandoned by his parents, when he was scarcely six weeks old, and left
exposed in a basket, with little covering to protect him from the
inclemency of the weather, on the steps of St.In this pitiable state he was found by the overseers of the parish, and
sent to the Foundling Hospital; and it was from this circumstance he
derived the name of CHURCH.Here he remained until he was nine years
old, when a complaint to the Governor’s having been made against him by
the nurses that he was addicted to improper and disgusting practices, it
was thought prudent to apprentice him out at that early age, in order to
prevent the morals of the boys being corrupted from so dangerous an
example.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.He must have quitted the hospital at an earlier age than usual,
from his evident illiteracy, and the badness of his writing.In general
the boys from this institution are distinguished as good scholars.Church was accordingly placed out as an apprentice to a carver and
gilder, in the neighbourhood of Blackfriar’s Road; but before his time of
servitude had expired, he married, and abruptly quitted his master.For
a short period he followed his business, and worked for a composition
ornament maker, in Tottenham-Court-road; but being of an artful
disposition, of lazy habits, and with much hypocritical cant, he at
length succeeded in imposing upon several religious persons his great
anxiety and desire to become a minister of the Gospel.It appears, he
commenced his _pretended_ religious career, by taking upon himself the
office of a teacher of a sunday school, at that time established in
Tottenham Court-road.Thinking that preaching was a more lucrative
employment than that in which he was engaged, this hypocritical wretch,
together with two other young men, who were also candidates for the gown,
hired a garret in Compton-street, Soho, in order to acquire the method of
addressing a congregation with confidence.He made a rapid progress in
dissimulation, and even at this early period of his religious studies, he
laughed in his sleeve at the credulity and ignorance of those persons who
were induced to listen to his _pious_ harangues.An old chair was the
substitute for the pulpit.He now began, as he termed it, “to gammon the
old women.” Good luck procured him the notice of old Mother Barr, of
Orange-street, who being interested in his behalf, allowed him the use of
a room of her’s, in which he treated her and a few choice labourers in
the field of piety, with his rapturous discourses.From this he used to
hold forth more publicly.He became acquainted with one GARNET, of
notorious memory, who procured him the situation of a preacher at
Banbury.It was at this place that he first became obnoxious.But
before we proceed further, it may be necessary to inquire by what
authority such a man as CHURCH presumed to take upon himself the
functions of a minister of the gospel.A man so profligate—so
notoriously criminal—come forth to instruct others in religion.It
seems, the practice among Dissenters is, that when any man feels a strong
desire to become a preacher, he communicates the same to several
ministers, who make a strict inquiry into his qualifications as to piety,
learning, morals, &c. and if they find these established on satisfactory
evidence, they then confer on the candidate a sort of ordination, without
which he can have no authority to officiate as a minister of the Gospel.It is evident he must have played the hypocrite in a masterly style, as
he did receive an _ordination_ at Banbury, in Oxfordshire.But his
_real_ character soon made its appearance, from his having made several
violent attempts upon some young men while at the above place, he was
driven out from thence, by the trustees of the chapel in which he
preached, and the magistrates, and ordered never to shew his face there
again.He hastily decamped, leaving behind him his wife and children,
and the police-officers having been sent in pursuit of him, their
searches proved fruitless, and it was a long time before he was heard of.He then threw off all controul, and acted _in defiance of all the
ordinances of the Dissenting Church_!preaching doctrines tending to
encourage licentiousness, and foster the worst of passions.At
Colchester he turned the whole congregation against their minister.The
mode of healing the consciences of profligate men was practised by the
Romish Church before the Reformation, and when it flourished in its
rankest state of corruption—when indulgences for sins to be committed,
and pardons for sins past, were openly sold for money.The manner in
which the Obelisk Preacher conducts the affairs of his chapel bears some
resemblance to this practice.He has filled his pockets, it appears,
from the money which he has raised by inflaming the passions, and
exciting hopes and fears; this _pretender_ of piety has even administered
the sacrament to persons who were nearly intoxicated with gin!It is
said that Church belongs to that sect called ANTINOMIANS, which is thus
described by the Rev.John Evans, in his “Sketch of the Denominations of
the Christian World:”—“The Antinomian derives his name from ANTI and
NOMOS; simplifying, against, and a LAW, his favourite tenet being, that
the law is not a rule of life to believers.It is not easy to ascertain
what he means by this position, but be seems to carry the doctrine of
imputed righteousness of Christ and salvation faith, without works, to
such lengths, as to injure, if not wholly destroy, the obligation to
moral obedience.Antinomianism may be traced to the period of the
Reformation, and its promulgator was John Agricola, originally a disciple
of Luther.The <DW7>s, in their disputes with the Protestants of that
day, carried the merit of good works to an extravagant length; and this
induced some of their opponents to run into the opposite extreme.”—“This
sect (says the Encyclopædia) sprung up in England during the protectorate
of Oliver Cromwell, and extended the system of libertinism much further
than Agricola, the disciple of Luther.Some of their teachers expressly
maintained, that as the elect cannot fall from grace nor forfeit the
divine favour, the wicked actions they commit are not really sinful, nor
are they to be considered as instances of their violation of the Divine
Law; consequently, they have no occasion to confess their sins, or to
break them off by repentance.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.According to them, it is one of the
essential and distinctive characters of the elect that they cannot do any
thing displeasing to God, or prohibited by law.” It may easily be
inferred from such doctrine as the above, the dreadful crime men may be
induced to commit, without the horrors of conscience or fear of
punishment.From his retreat in the country, it seems, he was called to
use his influence in town, by a man of his own disgraceful kind,
designated _Kitty Cambric_; and well known at the Swan, in Vere-street.It is notorious from the public exposure of the wretches, who were
detected in this street, and brought to punishment, that many of them
assumed the name of women, and were absolutely married together, and it
appears Church was actually the parson who performed the blasphemous mock
ceremony of joining them in the ties of “_holy matrimony_,” he being
nominated their _chaplain_.He now settled himself at Chapel-court, in
the Borough, when his old friend _Garrett_ publicly charged him with a
wicked and diabolical offence, as the law says, “not to be named amongst
Christians,” and he was obliged to run away from the accusation.By some
fortuitous event he, at length, got possession of the Obelisk Chapel,
where he began again to deliver his abominable doctrines; and several
young men were obliged to leave him, in consequence of his having used
them in a manner too indecent to be mentioned or hinted at.The first
document we have is letter dated March 7, 1810, from a person, at
Banbury, named Hall, of which the following is a copy:—
“Honoured Sir—in reply to your letter concerning Mr.C. I can only
inform you, there was a report against him of a very scandalous
nature; but how far his culpability extends, it is quite out of my
power to determine.He was absent from hence when the rumour first
spread.The managers of our chapel took great pains to inquire into
the origin of such reports, and the result was, they sent Mr.C.
positive orders never, on any account, to return to Banbury again;
which advice he has hitherto wisely observed.Now, sir, after giving
you the above information, I beg leave to conclude the subject by
referring you to your own comment hereon._Banbury_, _March_ 7, 1817.”
Then follows a letter from William Clark, of Ipswich, a young man between
19 and 20 years of age, which contains an account of attempts to horrid
to be published.The written confession (frightful indeed it is) of this
poor simple young man, whose mind was bewildered by the canting
exhortations of Church; and the whole of his statements corroborated by
the oral testimony of Mr.Wire, who resides at Colchester, and knows
Clark very well.The circumstances related by Clark would have furnished
ample grounds for a criminal prosecution had he made his complaint
_immediately_ after the _assault_ was committed:—but, suffering under the
influence of ignorance and fear, he kept it a secret too long, and
afterwards accepted of a pound note from Church.A case was laid before
two eminent barristers, to have their opinion whether such a prosecution
could be carried on with any prospect of conviction.Their opinion, in
writing, is, that after the long concealment of a charge, a jury would
pay no attention to his evidence, unless he was confirmed in his story by
other evidence._Extract from the confession of William Clark_, _of Ipswich_.“Having been called by Providence to Colchester, I went to hear John
Church preach in a barn, was invited to Mr.Abbot’s; was prevailed
upon to sleep with John Church; I did sleep with him three nights;
after being enticed to many _imprudencies_, I was under the necessity
to resist _certain attempts_, which, if I had complied with, I am
fearful must have ruined _both soul and body_: the crime is _too
horrid_ to relate.Richard Patmore, J. Ellisdon, C. Wire, H. T. Wire.John went back to the hallway.This took place in March last, 1812.”
The peace of this poor lad’s mind is completely destroyed, so fatally has
the event preyed upon him;—so far as to fill the bosom of his aged father
with such a spirit of indignation and revenge, that he actually came up
to London with a full determination to be the death of him who had thus
ruined the peace of his beloved son, while the mother’s mind was not less
distracted than that of the father’s.In consequence of this, the father
entered John Church’s meeting-house, with two loaded pistols, one in each
pocket; but, under the excess of agitation, he fainted away, and was
carried out of the place.The following will cast some light on the preceding:—
“_Colchester_, _September_ 16, 1812.“SIR,
“Last evening I had an interview with Clark’s father, who wishes him
to comply with your wishes.I mentioned to him respecting Church’s
conduct, and I find the last night to be the worst.Daniel went back to the office.Likewise that he
would have committed the act had not Clark prevented him.The
particulars I told you when in London, but find them worse than what
I described to you.They are not able to be at any expense; but if
the gentlemen wish to prosecute, and to pay Clark’s expenses up to
London, &c. he will have no objection to come when you please to
send.I need only say I wish you to inform the gentlemen, and give
me a line.Mary moved to the kitchen.I am, dear Sir, your’s, &c.
|
office | Where is Daniel? | In the month of April, 1813, a Mr.Webster, who was employed in the house
of Messrs.eminent Hop Merchants, in the Borough, having,
this being the time the first public exposure of Church’s character took
place, asserted his readiness to prove Church’s infamy, was immediately
seized upon by a fellow of the name of Holmes, and another creature of
the name of Shaw, a sort of attorney in St.George’s Fields, who had been
employed by Church, and dragged to a lock-up-house in the Borough, on a
charge of riot, of which the following account appeared in the Morning
Chronicle._Riots at the Obelisk_.—Tuesday, a Mr.Webster, who is employed in the
house of Messrs.eminent Hop-Merchants, in the Borough, was
charged at Union-Hall, by a person of the name of Shaw, with committing a
riot and a breach of the peace, on Sunday morning, at the Obelisk, in St.George’s Fields, near the entrance of a chapel belonging to a preacher
named John Church.Birnie, who had, on
a former day, heard another case similar to this, was absent, they wished
the case might be deferred until next day, and desired Mr.The prosecutor observed, that it would be dangerous
to allow Mr.Webster to be at large, and desired that he might be kept in
custody or held to bail.The magistrate asked if there was any person
present ready to be bail for his appearance.Robert Bell, the Editor
of the _Weekly Despatch_, who accompanied Mr.Webster as his friend, a
housekeeper, in Lambeth, said he was ready to bail him.The prosecutor
then said, he had also a very serious complaint to make against Mr.Bell,
for the article which he published in his last Sunday’s newspaper,
respecting Mr.Church, and he had one of the papers in his hand.Mary went back to the hallway.Bell told the Magistrates that he was ready to meet any complaint of this
kind, that he conceived it to be his duty, as one of the guardians of
public liberty, and public morals, to send forth the statement in
question; that he could prove the truth of every thing he had written and
published.Webster if he would
promise, on his honour, to attend next day, which Mr.Webster assured him
he would do, and retired.Webster
had been kept in a state of imprisonment during the greater part of
Sunday, and all Sunday night.Webster having appeared again before the magistrates,
disclosed, in the course of the examination, the fact of Church having,
some years since, made an attempt of an abominable nature, on the person
of his younger brother, the magistrate, struck with horror, immediately
stopt all proceedings against Mr.Webster, and desired his brother to be
brought forward.The office was cleared of all persons, except the
parties immediately concerned; the brother’s deposition was taken, and a
warrant was issued for Church to appear there the next day.On Wednesday, J. Church appeared, in consequence of the warrant issued
the day before for his apprehension on a charge of abominable practices,
attended by a number of his deluded followers.W. Webster having
deposed as to his attempts on him, Church was ordered to find bail for
his appearance at the next Middlesex Sessions, and Mr.The magistrate observed that from the length of time which
had elapsed since the offence had been committed, he thought a jury would
not feel justified in finding him guilty.Johnston, a young
gentleman of the law, who attended for Mr.Webster, replied, that it was
not the time for them to discuss what was likely to be the verdict of a
jury;—that he had recommended Mr.Webster to prefer an indictment against
Church, and Mr.Webster had come to that resolution; and whatever might
be the result of the trial, the evidence relating to the conduct of
Church would be of that disgusting nature as to stamp his name with
eternal infamy and disgrace.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.Church’s attorney observed that it was a
conspiracy amongst another sect to ruin Mr.Johnson denied and said that it was merely a desire to bring him to
merited punishment.Church acted like
a man of prudence, and consulted his own interest, he would desist from
preaching until the indictment had been tried, as it would be the means
of preventing a breach of the peace, but this he declined; and Shaw; his
attorney, said they should follow their own advice.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.Johnston
informed Church’s attorney that it was Mr.Webster’s intention to indict,
or bring an action against him for an assault and false imprisonment.On that very evening (incredible as it may appear) this very man held to
bail for trial on the most horrid charges, given on oath, had the
impudence to go into his chapel and preach to a crowded audience.On the 6th of June, 1813, the Grand Jury for the county of Middlesex
found a bill of indictment against John Church, for his attempt, some
years ago, on a lad, named Webster.On the 12th of July following, he
was tried and _acquitted_.—If any surprise is manifested at this
acquittal, let it be recollected, that this prosecution was ordered by
the magistrates, and did not _originate_ with the prosecutor, William
Webster, on whom the abominable attempt was alleged to have been made
(now fourteen years ago).The very mention of the attempt was a mere
incidental circumstance arising out of another proceeding then before the
Magistrates.Let the reader also take notice of the following
sentence:—“The magistrate observed, that from the length of time which
had elapsed since the offence had been committed, he thought a Jury would
not feel justified in finding him guilty.” This William Webster,
therefore, must be considered, in all respects, as an unwilling
prosecutor.He was supported only by one counsel, then of young
standing, (Mr.Adolphus,) who had to struggle against two of the most
able advocate (Messrs.Gurney and Alley) in the criminal courts.It
appears also that Webster gave his evidence with embarrassment and
trepidation, and that he suffered himself to fall into some
inconsistencies.With this _solitary_ and confused evidence, and after a
lapse—after a _silence_ of ELEVEN YEARS, was it possible to suppose that
a Jury would have found any man guilty?But the verdict did not, in the
slightest degree, affect any of the numerous accusations, of a more
recent date, which have been made against John Church.From the reports
that had gone abroad, that he was addicted to certain abominable
propensities, gentlemen in the neighbourhood of the Surrey Theatre,
dreading the disgrace of pollution which Christianity might suffer from
the immoral character of any of its teachers, investigated these rumours,
and the following fact came to light.—James Cook was released from his
two year’s imprisonment, on the 21st of September, 1813, the landlord of
the infamous house in Vere-street.They accidentally met and recognized
each other, and a correspondence took place between these _old_
acquaintances, on the 13th of October following.A _fac simile_ of the
letter has been published, in Church’s own hand-writing, offering Cook
assistance to set up another house, as may be perceived:—
“Dear Sir,
“Lest I should not have time to call or converse with you, as I shall
not be alone to Day, I thought it But right to Drop you a Line.I
wish you all the success you can desire in getting a house _fit for
the business_ in the public line; and, as you had a great many
acquaintances, they ought not to fail you; if every one acted right,
according to there ability, I am sure you would soon accomplish it.As I am By no means Rich, but rather embarrassed, I hope you will
accept my mite towards it, 1l.and you shall have another as
convenient, wishing you all prosperity,
“I Remain Your’s sincerely,
J. CHURCH.”
For Mr.Halladay’s, Richmond: buildings, Dean-street.There is another letter bearing the two-penny post mark of the 20th of
October.—It is as follows:—
“Dear Sir,
“I received your note this morning in Bed, as I have contracted such
a Dreadful cold Being wet on Tuesday I am very much grieved i have
not been able to comply with the request concerning Mr.Colonel Sommerton, though notably eccentric, could be depended upon for
outright dealing in general; still Phyllis had a pretty substantial belief
that in politics success lay largely on the side of the trickster.For many
years the Colonel had been in the Legislature.No man had been able to beat
him for the nomination.She had often heard him tell how he laid out his
antagonists by taking excellent and popular short turns on them, and it was
plain to her mind now that he was weaving a snare for Tom Bannister.John went back to the hallway.She thought of Tom's running for office against her father as something
prodigiously strange.Certainly it was a bold and daring piece of youthful
audacity for him to be guilty of.He, a young sprig of the law, with his
brown mustache not yet grown, setting himself up to beat Colonel Mobley
Sommerton!Phyllis blushed whenever she thought of it; but the Colonel had
never once mentioned Tom's candidacy to her.The convention was approaching, and day by day signs of popular interest in
it increased as the time shortened.Colonel Sommerton was preparing a
speech for the occasion.The manuscript of it lay on the desk in his
library.About this time--it was near September 1st and the watermelons and
cantaloupes were in their glory--the Colonel was called away to a distant
town for a few days.In his absence Tom Bannister chanced to visit
Sommerton Place.Of course Phyllis was not expecting him; indeed, she told
him that he ought not to have come; but Tom thought differently in a very
persuasive way.The melons were good, the library delightfully cool, and
conversation caught the fragrance of innocent albeit stolen pleasure.Tom Bannister was unquestionably a handsome young fellow, carrying a
hearty, whole-souled expression in his open, almost rosy face.His large
brown eyes, curly brown hair, silken young mustache, and firmly set mouth
and chin well matched his stalwart, symmetrical form.He was not only
handsome, he was brilliant in a way, and his memory was something
prodigious."I am going to beat your father for the nomination," he remarked, midmost
the discussion of their melons, speaking in a tone of the most absolute
confidence.Daniel went back to the office."Tom," she exclaimed, "you mustn't do it!"She looked at him as if she felt a sudden fright.His eyes fell before her
intense, searching gaze."It would be dreadful," she presently managed to say."It will ruin me forever if I let him beat me.I shall have to go away from
here.""I don't see what makes men think so much of office," she complained,
evasively."I've heard papa say that there was absolutely no profit in
going to the Legislature."Then, becoming insistent, she exclaimed,
"Withdraw, Tom; please do, for my sake!"She made a rudimentary movement as if to throw her arms around him, but it
came to nothing.Her voice, however, carried a mighty appeal to Tom's
heart.He looked at her, and thought how commonplace other young women were
when compared with her."You will withdraw, won't you, Tom?"For a moment his political ambition and his standing with men appeared to
dissolve into a mere mist, a finely comminuted sentiment of love; but he
kept a good hold upon himself."I cannot do it, Phyllis," he said, in a firm voice, which disclosed by
some indescribable inflection how much it pained him to refuse."My whole
future depends upon success in this race.I am sorry it is your father I
must beat, but, Phyllis, I must be nominated.I can't afford to sit down in
your father's shadow.As sure as you live, I am going to beat him."In her heart she was proud of him, and proud of this resolution that not
even she could break.From that moment she was between the millstones.She
loved her father, it seemed to her, more than ever, and she could not bear
the thought of his defeat.Indeed, with that generosity characteristic of
the sex which can be truly humorous only when absolutely unconscious of it,
she wanted both Tom and the Colonel nominated, and both elected.She was
the partisan on Tom's side, the adherent on her father's.Colonel Sommerton returned on the day before the convention, and found his
friends enthusiastic, all his "fences" in good condition, and his
nomination evidently certain.Mary moved to the kitchen.It followed that he was in high good-humor.He hugged Phyllis, and in a casual way brought up the thought of how
pleasantly they could spend the winter in Atlanta when the Legislature met.Bannister--is going to beat you, and get the
nomination," she archly remarked."If he does, I'll deed you Sommerton Place!"As he spoke he glared at her
as a lion might glare at thought of being defeated by a cub.she inquired, with sudden eagerness of tone."If he---"
"Phyllis!"he interrupted, savagely, "no joking on that subject.I
won't---"
"No; I'm serious," she sweetly said."If he can't beat you, I don't want
him."He put his hand on her shoulder, and bent down
so that his eyes were on a level with hers."Yes," she replied; "and I'll hold you to it."Daniel went back to the bathroom."A man must go ahead of my papa," she said, putting her arms about the old
gentleman's neck, "or I'll stay by papa."Even the knee-sag of his trousers
suggested more than ordinary vigor of feeling."Well, it's good-bye, Tom," he said, pushing her away from him, and letting
go a profound bass laugh."He may not be so easy to settle."He gave her a savage but friendly cuff as they parted.That evening old Barnaby brought his banjo around to the veranda.Colonel
Sommerton was down in town mixing with the "boys," and doing up his final
political chores so that there might be no slip on the morrow.Daniel travelled to the office.It was near
eleven o'clock when he came up the hill and stopped at the gate to hear the
song that Barnaby was singing.He supposed that the old <DW64> was all
alone.Certainly the captivating voice, with its unkempt melody, and its
throbbing, skipping, harum-scarum banjo accompaniment, was all that broke
the silence of the place.His song was:
"DE SASSAFRAS BLOOM
"Dey's sugah in de win' when de sassafras bloom,
When de little co'n fluttah in de row,
When de robin in de tree, like er young gal in de loom,
Sing sweet, sing sof', sing low."Oh, de sassafras blossom hab de keen smell o' de root,
An' it hab rich er tender yaller green!De co'n hit kinder twinkle when hit firs' begin ter shoot,
While de bum'le-bee hit bum'le in between."Oh, de sassafras tassel, an' de young shoot o' de |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | "Hit's kind o' sort o' glor'us when yo' feels so quare an' cur'us,
An' yo' don' know what it is yo' wants ter do;
But I takes de chances on it 'at hit jes can't be injur'us
When de whole endurin' natur tells yo' to!"Den wake up, niggah, see de sassafras in bloom!Lis'n how de sleepy wedder blow!An' de robin in de haw--bush an' de young gal in de loom
Is er-singin' so sof' an' low.""Thank you, Barn; here's your dollar," said the voice of Tom Bannister when
the song was ended.And while Colonel Sommerton stood amazed, the young man came clown the
veranda steps with Phyllis on his arm.I'll win you to-morrow or my name is not Tom Bannister.I'll win you, and Sommerton Place too."And when they parted he came right
down the walk between the trees, to run almost against Colonel Sommerton."Why, good-evening, Colonel," he said, with a cordial, liberal spirit in
his voice."I have been waiting in hopes of seeing you.""You'll get enough of me to-morrow to last you a lifetime, sah," promptly
responded the old man, marching straight on into the house.Nothing could
express more concentrated and yet comprehensive contempt than Colonel
Sommerton's manner."The impudent young scamp," he growled.Mary went back to the hallway.Phyllis sprang from ambush behind a vine, and covered her father's face
with warm kisses, then broke away before he could say a word, and ran up to
her room.In the distant kitchen Barnaby was singing:
"Kick so high I broke my neck,
An' fling my right foot off'm my leg
Went to work mos' awful quick,
An' mended 'em wid er wooden peg."Next morning at nine o'clock sharp the convention was called to order,
General John Duff Tolliver in the chair.Speeches were expected, and it had
been arranged that Tom Bannister should first appear, Colonel Sommerton
would follow, and then the ballot would be taken.This order of business showed the fine tactics of the Colonel, who well
understood how much advantage lay in the vivid impression of a closing
speech.As the two candidates made their way from opposite directions through the
throng to the platform, which was under a tree in a beautiful suburban
grove, both were greeted with effusive warmth by admiring constituents.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.Many women were present, and Tom Bannister felt the blood surge mightily
through his veins at sight of Phyllis standing tall and beautiful before
him with her hand extended."If you lose, die game, Tom," she murmured, as he pressed her fingers and
passed on.The young man's appearance on the stand called forth a tremendous roar of
applause.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.Colonel Sommerton felt a queer shock of
surprise thrill along his nerves.He sat a trifle straighter on his bench,
and began gathering the points of his well-conned speech.He saw old
Barnaby moving around the rim of the crowd, apparently looking for a seat.Meantime, Tom was proceeding in a clear, soft, far-reaching voice.The
Colonel started and looked askance.At first his brain
was confused, but presently he understood.John went back to the hallway.Word for word, sentence for
sentence, paragraph for paragraph, Tom was delivering the Colonel's own
sonorous speech!Of course the application was reversed here and there, so
that the wit, the humor, and the personal thrusts all went home.It was a
wonderful piece of _ad captandum_ oratory.The crowd went wild from start
to finish.Colonel Mobley Sommerton sat dazed and stupefied, mopping his forehead and
trying to collect his faculties.He felt beaten, annihilated, while Tom
soared superbly on the wings of Sommertonian oratory so mysteriously at his
command.From a most eligible point of view Phyllis was gazing at Tom and receiving
the full brilliant current of his speech, and she appeared to catch a fine
stimulus from the flow of its opening sentences.As it proceeded her face
alternately flushed and paled, and her heart pounded heavily.All around
rose the tumult of unbridled applause.Men flung up their hats and yelled
themselves hoarse.A speech of that sort from a young fellow like Tom
Bannister was something to create irrepressible enthusiasm.It ended in
such a din that when General John Duff Tolliver arose to introduce Colonel
Sommerton he had to wait some time to be heard.The situation was one that absolutely appalled, though it did not quite
paralyze, the older candidate, who, even after he had gained his feet and
stalked to the front of the rude rostrum, was as empty of thought as he was
full of despair.This sudden and unexpected appropriation of his great
speech had sapped and stupefied his intellect.He slowly swept the crowd
with his dazed eyes, and by some accident the only countenance clearly
visible to him was that of old Barnaby, who now sat far back on a stump,
looking for all the world like a mightily mystified baboon.The <DW64>
winked and grimaced, and scratched his flat nose in sheer vacant stupidity.Colonel Sommerton saw this, and it added an enfeebling increment to his
mental torpor."Fellow-citizens," he presently roared, in his melodious bass voice, "I am
proud of this honor."He was not sure of another word as he stood, with
bagging trousers and sweat-beaded face, but he made a superhuman effort to
call up his comatose wits."I should be ungrateful were I not proud of this
great demonstration."Just then his gaze fell upon the face of his
daughter.Their eyes met with a mutual flash of restrospection.The Colonel was not aware of it, but the
deliberateness and vocal volume of his opening phrases made them very
impressive."I assure you," he went on, fumbling for something to say,
"that my heart is brimming with gratitude so that my lips find it hard to
utter the words that crowd into my mind."At this point some kindly friend
in the audience gingerly set going a ripple of applause, which, though
evidently forced, was like wine to the old man's intellect; it flung a glow
through his imagination."The speech you have heard the youthful lamb of law declaim is a very good
one, a very eloquent one indeed.Daniel went back to the office.If it were his own, I should not hesitate
to say right here that I ought to stand aside and let him be nominated;
but, fellow-citizens, that speech belongs to another and far more
distinguished and eligible man than Tom Bannister."Here he paused again,
and stood silent for a moment.Then, lifting his voice to a clarion pitch,
he added:
"Fellow-citizens, I wrote that speech, intending to deliver it here to-day.I was called to Canton on business early in the week, and during my absence
Tom Bannister went to my house and got my manuscript and learned it by
heart.Mary moved to the kitchen.To prove to you what I say is true, I will now read."At this point the Colonel, after deliberately wiping his glasses, drew from
his capacious coat-pocket the manuscript of his address, and proceeded to
read it word for word, just as Bannister had declaimed it.The audience
listened in silence, quite unable to comprehend the situation.Evidently sentiment was dormant, or it was still with Tom.Colonel Sommerton, feeling the desperation of the moment, reached forth at
random, and seeing Barnaby's old black face, it amused him, and he chanced
to grab a thought as if out of the expression he saw there."Fellow-citizens," he added, "there is one thing I desired to say upon this
important occasion.Whatever you do, be sure not to nominate to-day a man
who would, if elected, ally himself with the <DW65>s.I don't pretend to
hint that my young opponent, Tom Bannister, would favor <DW65> rule, but I
do say--do you hear me, fellow-citizens?--I do say that every <DW65> in
this county is a Bannister man!Last
Saturday night the <DW65>s had a meeting in an old stable on my premises.Wishing to know what they were up to, I stole slyly to where I could
overhear their proceedings.My old <DW65>, Barnaby--yonder he sits, and he
can't deny it--was presiding, and the question before the meeting was,
'Which of the two candidates, Tom Bannister and Colonel Sommerton, shall we
<DW65>s support?On this question there was some debate and difference of
opinion, until old Bob Warmus arose and said, 'Mistah Pres'dent, dey's no
use er talkin'; I likes Colonel Sommerton mighty well; he's a berry good
man; dey's not a bit er niggah in 'im.On t' odder han', Mistah Pres'dent,
Mistah Tom Bannistah is er white man too, jes de same; but I kin say fo'
Mistah Bannistah 'at he's mo' like er niggah an' any white man 'at I ebber
seed afore!"'Here the Colonel paused to wait for the shouting and the hat-throwing to
subside.Meantime the face of old Barnaby was drawn into one indescribable
pucker of amazement.He could not believe his eyes or his ears.Daniel went back to the bathroom.Surely that
was not Colonel Sommerton standing up there telling such an enormous
falsehood on him!He shook his woolly head dolefully, and gnawed a little
splinter that he had plucked from the stump."Of course, fellow-citizens," the Colonel went on, "that settled the
matter, and the <DW65>s endorsed Tom Bannister unanimously by a rising
vote!"The yell that went up when the speaker, bowing profoundly, took his seat,
made it seem certain that Bannister would be beaten; but when the ballot
was taken it was found that he had been chosen by one vote majority.Colonel Mobley Sommerton's face turned as white as his hair.The iron of
defeat went home to his proud heart with terrible effect, and as he tried
to rise, the features of the hundreds of countenances below him swam and
blended confusedly in his vision.The sedentary bubbles on the knees of his
trousers fluttered with sympathetic violence.Tom Bannister was on his feet in a moment--it was an appealing look from
Phyllis that inspired him--and once more his genial voice rang out clear
and strong."Fellow-citizens," he said, "I have a motion to make.He waved
his right hand to command silence, then proceeded: "Mr.President, I
withdraw my name from this convention, and move that the nomination of
Colonel Mobley Sommerton be made unanimous by acclamation.I have no right
to this nomination, and nothing, save a matter greater than life or death
to me, could have induced me to steal it as I this day have done.Daniel travelled to the office.Colonel
Sommerton knows why I did it.He gave his word of honor that he would cease
all objections to giving his daughter to me in marriage, and that
furthermore he would deed Sommerton Place to us as a wedding present, if I
beat him for the nomination.President and fellow-citizens, do you
blame me for memorizing his speech?That magnificent speech meant to me the
most beautiful wife in America, and the handsomest estate in this noble
county."If Tom Bannister had been boisterously applauded before this, it was as
nothing beside the noise which followed when Colonel Mobley Sommerton was
declared the unanimous nominee of the convention.Meantime, Phyllis had
hurried to the carriage and been driven home: she dared not stay and let
the crowd gaze at her after that bold confession of Tom's.Daniel went to the hallway.The cheering for the nominee was yet at its flood when Bannister leaped at
Colonel Sommerton and grasped his hand.The old gentleman was flushed and
smiling, as became a politician so wonderfully favored.It was a moment
never to be forgotten by either of the men."I cordially congratulate you, Colonel Sommerton, on your nomination," said
Tom, with great feeling, "and you may count on my hearty support.""If I don't have to support you, and pay your office rent in the bargain,
all the rest of my life, I miss my guess, you young scamp!"growled the
Colonel, in a major key.Tom moved away to let the Colonel's friends crowd up and shake hands with
him; but the delighted youth could not withhold a Parthian shaft.As he
retreated he said, "Oh, Colonel, don't bother about my support; Sommerton
Plantation will be ample for that!""Hit do beat all thunder how dese white men syfoogles eroun' in politics,"
old Barnaby thought to himself.Then he rattled the coins in his two
pockets.The contributions of Colonel Sommerton chinked on the left, those
of Tom Bannister and Phyllis rang on the right."Blame this here ole
chile's eyes," he went on, "but 'twar a close shabe!Seem lak I's kinder
holdin' de balernce ob power.I use my inflooence fer bofe ob 'em--yah,
yah, yah-r-r!an' hit did look lak I's gwine ter balernce fings up tell I
'lee' 'em bofe ter oncet right dar!Bofe of 'em got de nomination--yah,
yah, yah-r-r!Daniel went to the bathroom.But I say 'rah fo' little Miss Phyllis!She de one 'at know
how to pull de right string--yah, yah, yah-r-r!"The wedding at Sommerton Place came on the Wednesday following the fall
election.Besides the great number of guests and the striking beauty of the
bride there was nothing notable in it, unless the song prepared by Barnaby
for the occasion, and sung by him thereupon to a captivating banjo
accompaniment, may be so distinguished.A stanza, the final one of that
masterpiece, has been preserved.It may serve as an informal ending, a
charcoal tail-piece, to our light but truthful little story."Stan' by yo' frien's and nebber mek trouble,
An' so, ef yo's got any sense,
Yo'll know hit's a good t'ing ter be sorter double,
An' walk on bofe sides ob de fence!""It isn't so very big," objected Jewel."Just think," gayly, "father and mother are sailing away just the way we
are."Evringham, trying to read the report of the stock
market, and becoming more impatient each instant with the sportive
breeze."Julia," he said at last, "I am going into the cabin to read the paper.Will you go in, or do you wish to stay here?""Yes," doubtfully, "I suppose so, if you won't climb on the rail, or--or
anything."Jewel laughed in gleeful appreciation of the joke.Her grandfather met
her blue eyes unsmilingly and vanished."I wish grandpa didn't look so sorry," she thought regretfully."He is
a very important man, grandpa is, and perhaps he has a lot of error to
meet and doesn't know how to meet it."Watching the dancing waves and constantly calling Anna Belle's attention
to some point of interest on the water front or a passing craft,
she nevertheless pursued a train of thought concerning her important
relative, with the result that when the gong sounded for landing, and
Mr.Evringham's impassive countenance reappeared, she met him with
concern."Doesn't it make you sorry to read the morning paper, grandpa?"There was somewhat
less of the irritation of a newsless man in the morning in the speaker's
tone."Mother calls the paper the Daily Saddener," pursued Jewel, again
slipping her hand into her |
office | Where is Mary? | "I've been thinking that perhaps you're in a
hurry to get to business, grandpa."The child did not quote his words about the ingoing ferry boat lest he
should feel regret at having spoken them."Well, there's no use in my being in a hurry this morning," he returned."I was going to ask, couldn't you show me how to go to Bel-Air, so you
wouldn't have to take so much time?"Evringham's cold eyes and he looked down
on his companion doubtfully."We have to go out on the train," he said."Yes," returned the child, "but you could put me on it, and every time
it stops I would ask somebody if that was Bel-Air."The prospect this offered was very pleasing to the broker.asked Jewel, looking up at him with a certain reproachful
surprise."Well, I believe it would do well enough, since you don't mind.Zeke is
going to meet this train.I'll tell the conductor to see that you get
off at Bel-Air, and when you do, ask for Mr.You'll see Zeke, a light-haired man driving a brown horse in a brougham.He'll take you home to his mother, Mrs.Evringham's long legs and her short skipping ones lost no time in
boarding the train, which they found made up.The relieved man saw the
conductor, paid the child's fare, and settled her on the plush seat.She sat there, contentedly swinging her feet."Now I can just catch a boat if I leave you immediately," said Mr."You've only a little more than five
minutes to wait before the train starts.""Then hurry, grandpa, I'm all right."Your fare is paid, and the conductor understands.Hastily he strode down the aisle and left the train.Having to pass the
window beside which Jewel sat, he glanced up with a half uneasy memory
of how far short of the floor her feet had swung.On her lips was the sweet gay smile and--yes,
there was no mistake--Anna Belle's countenance was beaming through the
glass, and she was wafting kisses to Mr.Evringham from a stiff and
chubby hand.The stockbroker grew warm, cleared his throat, lifted his
hat, and hurried his pace.CHAPTER VI
JEWEL'S ARRIVAL
When her grandfather had disappeared, Jewel placed Anna Belle on
the seat beside her, where she toed in, in a state of the utmost
complacence."I have my work to do, Anna Belle," she said, "and this will be a good
time, so don't disturb me till the train starts."She put her hand over
her eyes, and sat motionless as the people met and jostled in the aisle.Minutes passed, and then some one brushed the child's arm in taking
the seat beside her."Oh, please don't sit on Anna Belle!"she cried
suddenly, and looked up into a pair of clear eyes that were regarding
her with curiosity.They belonged to a man with a brown mustache and dark, short, pointed
beard, who carried a small square black case and had altogether a very
clean, fresh, agreeable appearance."Do I look like a person who would sit on Anna Belle?"The doll was enthroned upon his knee as he set down his case, and the
train started."If she annoys you I'll take her," said Jewel, with a little air of
motherliness not lost upon her companion."Thank you," he replied, "but I'm used to children.She looks like a
fine, healthy little girl," keeping his eyes fixed on the doll's rosy
cheeks."Not had measles, or chicken pox, or mumps, or any of those things yet?"She caught her
doll into her arms and met her companion's surprised gaze."I haven't any of them," he returned, amused."I'm not afraid," answered the child promptly."There is nothing to be
afraid of.""I was only going to say," said the young man, "that if she was ailing I
could prescribe for her.Jewel's startled look fell to the black case.So you see you have a doctor handy if anything ails
the baby.""Do you believe in materia
medica?"The young doctor threw back his head and laughed heartily."Well, yes,"
he answered at last.To his surprise his neighbor returned to the attitude in which he had
found her, with one hand over her eyes.He ceased laughing and looked at her in some discomfiture.There was no quiver of the rosy lips.To his relief, in a minute she dropped her hand and began to hum and
arrange her doll's hat.The conductor approached, and as the doctor presented his ticket, he
said, "This little girl's fare is paid, I believe.""I'm to get off at Bel-Air," said Jewel."If he does, I shan't," said the doctor, "for I'm going to get off there
myself."Then she
lifted Anna Belle and whispered something into her ear."I was just reminding Anna belle how we are always taken care of,"
returned Jewel.The young man regarded her with increasing interest and curiosity."Don't you wonder how I knew that your fare was paid?"He said his
granddaughter was on this train and asked me to look out for a little
girl with a doll.""Oh," returned the child, pleased, "then you know grandpa.""I've known him ever since I was no bigger than you are.But even then,"
added the doctor mentally, "I hadn't supposed him capable of sending
this baby out from the city alone.""So you see," he went on, "all
I had to do was to look for Anna Belle.""And you nearly sat on her," declared the child."I deny it," returned the doctor gravely.For one second I was afraid you were crying."What would I be crying for, coming to have a lovely visit at
grandpa's!""I suppose you are in a hurry to see your aunt and cousin?""Yes, but I don't know them.You see," explanatorily, "they aren't my
real relations.""No, aunt Madge is my uncle's wife and cousin Eloise is her little girl,
but not uncle Lawrence's."She is a very charming little girl, is your cousin Eloise.Aren't you going to tell me your name?"Ballard, so now we are properly introduced."He smiled
upon her with merry eyes, and she responded politely:--
"I'm very glad you found us."Arrived at Bel-Air, the doctor picked up his case and Jewel followed him
from the train.The little girl's quick eyes discerned a light-haired driver and a brown
horse coming around a curve of the pretty landscape gardening which
beautified the station.Ballard recognized the
equipage with relief.That is all right," he said, and 'Zekiel, with
one side glance at the little stranger, drew up by the platform.He lifted Jewel to her
place beside the driver, whose smooth, stolid face did not change
expression.he asked, without turning his head in its
stiff collar."A man gave grandpa this for it at the
boat place.""I'll see to having it sent up then."Jewel looked after his retreating figure with some regret.Her present
companion seemed carved out of wood.His plum- livery fitted
without a wrinkle.His smooth, solemn face appeared incapable of speech.The swift horse trotted through the village street at a great pace, and
the visitor enjoyed the novel experience so intensely that she could not
forbear stealing a look up at the driver's face."Is it error for the horse to go so fast?""Well, I guess it's
considered one o' the biggest virtues a horse can have.""Then why did you ask me if I was afraid?You're the third person who's
asked me that this morning," returned Jewel, with wondering inflections
in her soft voice."Well, not so's you'd notice it as a rule," returned Zeke."I'm glad if
she ain't one o' the scared kind," he pursued, as if to himself."Oh, this is splendid," declared Jewel, relieved by her companion's
smile; "I don't know as Anna Belle ever had such a good ride.They aren't nearly so
far out in Chicago; but oh," as the horse turned, "there's a big storm
coming!"I don't see any cloud," said Zeke, staring about."Why, right there in front of us," excitedly, pointing at the long
opaque mass against the sky.Pretty sickly mountain we'd think it was up Berkshire way.""Oh, it's a mountain, Anna Belle," joyfully, "we're really seeing a
mountain!"Daniel went to the office."No you ain't," remarked Zeke emphatically.Guess Chicago's some flat, ain't it?"So now we're going to see grandpa's park, and
the ravine, and the brook, and--and everything!"Zeke stole a furtive look at the owner of the joyous voice.The
voluminous ribbon bows behind her ears were mostly in evidence, as she
bent her face over her doll in congratulation."Yes, he was busy, and in a hurry to get to his office."I surmised something of the kind."Yes,--and I do hope my trunk will come."Jewel looked wistfully at the driver.Mary went back to the office.In spite of his stiff and elegant
appearance he had been surprisingly affable."I have a checked silk
dress," she added modestly.ejaculated Zeke, wholly won by the smile bent upon
him."Well, now, if that trunk don't show up by noon, I'll have to do
something about it."They now sped through the gates of the park and by the porter's lodge,
and began the ascent of a winding road.Handsome residences were set
among the fine trees, and at sight of each one Jewel looked expectant
and eager."I expect mother'll be kind of looking out for us," continued Zeke."Oh yes, of course I know about Mrs.Forbes," returned Jewel hastily and
politely."He told me your name too," she added suggestively.And you just remember," emphatically, "that I come when
I'm called."Yes," replied the child, laughing a little."Yes, but if you called me by it perhaps I shouldn't come, for I'm used
to the name of Jewel.""Pretty name, all right," returned Zeke sententiously."Now you can see
your grandpa's house.Jewel jumped up and down a little in the seat and held Anna Belle to get
a good view.The brown horse trotted with a will, and in a minute more
they had passed up the driveway and paused beneath the _porte-cochere_.Forbes threw open the door and stood unsmiling.The housekeeper stepped forward and helped down the little girl, who had
risen and was looking brightly expectant."How do you do, Julia," she said."Did you come out alone on the cars?""Oh, that was the way of it.Zeke, hitch up the brougham."Could have hitched up the
brougham just as well in the first place.""Don't ask _me_," returned his mother acidly.I hope you haven't left it in the train?"She knew I'd have my trunk
to-night.""Then come in and I'll show you where your room is."The child looked eagerly and admiringly from side to side as she
followed Mrs.Forbes up two flights of broad shallow stairs and into an
apartment which to her eyes seemed luxurious."Why yes, I believe it was," returned Mrs.Forbes, to whom that
circumstance had not before occurred."How kind of grandpa to let me have it!""He wasn't in it much, your father wasn't.Away at school or some other
place mostly."I
have a"--she was intending to communicate to Mrs.Forbes the exciting
detail of her wardrobe when the housekeeper interrupted her."My son's name is Ezekiel," she said impressively.She still stood in the
middle of the large white room, Anna Belle in her arms, and with the
surprised look in her serious face drew upon herself an unflattering
mental comment."Can I see aunt Madge and cousin Eloise?"asked the child, beginning to
feel some awe of the large woman regarding her."They're getting ready to go out to lunch.You can sit here, or walk around until lunch time.You'll know when
that is ready, because the gong will sound in the hall.Now when you go
downstairs be careful not to touch the tall clock on the landing.That
is a very valuable chiming clock, and you mustn't open its doors, for
fear you would break something.Then if you go into the parlor you must
never play on the piano unless you ask somebody, for fear Mr.Evringham
might be trying to take a nap just at that time; then you mustn't go
into the barn without permission, for it's dangerous where the horses
are, and you might get kicked.If you're tired from your journey you can
lie down now till lunch time; but whenever you do lie down, be sure to
turn off this white spread, for fear you might soil it.Now I'm very
busy, and I shan't see you again till lunch."Forbes departed and Jewel stood for half a minute motionless,
feeling rather dazed by a novel sensation of resentment."She's the most
afraid woman I ever saw, and she looks so _sorry_!She isn't our
relation, so no matter, dearie, what she says.This is father's room,
and we can think how he used to run around here when he was a little
boy."Tiptoeing to the door, Jewel closed it and began to inspect her new
apartment.The sweet smelling soap on the marble stand, the silver mountings of the
faucets, the large fine towels, the empty closet and drawers, all looked
inviting.Throughout her examination the little girl kept pausing to
listen.Surely aunt Madge and cousin Eloise would look in before they went out
to their engagement.Mother had so often said how nice it was that they
were there.Surely they didn't know that she had arrived.That was it,
of course; and Mrs.Forbes was so sorry and anxious she would probably
forget to tell them.Some altercation was just then going on in the apartments of those
ladies."We ought to speak to her before we go," said Mrs."Father would probably resent it if we didn't.""I have told you already," returned Eloise, "that I do not intend doing
one thing henceforward that grandfather could interpret as being done to
please him.""But that is carrying it ridiculously far, not to greet your cousin, who
has come from a journey and is your guest.""Very well, I shall go
and speak to the child.She shan't be able to tell her grandfather of
any rudeness."In a few minutes Jewel, sitting by her window, Anna Belle in her lap,
heard the _frou-frou_ of skirts in the hall, and with a knock at the
door, a lady entered.She was arrayed in a thin black gown and wore a
large black hat, that was very becoming.Jewel's admiration went out to her on the instant and she started up.The lady swept toward her, and bending, a delicate perfume wafted about
Jewel as she felt a light touch of lips on her cheek."So this is Julia Evringham," said the newcomer."And you are aunt Madge," returned the child gladly, clinging to the
gloved hand, which endured for a moment, and then firmly disengaged
itself."Your father and mother got off all right I hope?""I'm always afraid of winds at this season myself, but they may
not have them.Your cousin Eloise and I are hurrying away to a luncheon,
but we shall see you at dinner.She swept away, and the light again faded from Jewel's face as she went
slowly back to her seat."Aunt Madge is afraid, too," she said to the doll."We know there won't
be winds, don't we, dearie?An uncomfortable lump rose towards the child's throat.Evringham followed Eloise into the brougham, smiling."It couldn't be better," she announced with much satisfaction as they
drove away."She is plain--oh, plain as possible.Small eyes, large mouth,
insignificant nose.He never
could endure ugliness in a girl or woman.I have heard him say it was
unpardonable.If it hadn't been that we were what we are, Eloise, I
should never have dreamed of doing as I have done.Now if |
bedroom | Where is John? | You could do marvels with such a foil for contrast."CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST EVENING
In the excitement of the early morning start, Jewel had eaten little
breakfast, but the soft resonance of the Japanese gong, when it sounded
in the hall below, found her unready for food.However, she judged the mellow sound to be her summons and obediently
left her seat by the window.As she went down she looked askance at
the tall dark clock which, even as she passed, chimed the half hour
melodiously.Certainly her important grandfather lived in a wonderful
house.She paused to hear the last notes of the bells, but catching
sight of the figure of Mrs.Forbes waiting below, she started and moved
on.Evringham likes
everybody to be punctual in his house.""No, he won't be home for hours yet.The little girl followed to the dining-room, which she thought quite as
wonderful as the clock; but her admiration of all she saw was no longer
unmixed.One place was laid at the table, one handsome chair was drawn up to it.Jewel longed to call Anna Belle's attention to the glittering array on
the sideboard and behind the crystal doors of cabinets, but something
withheld her."I think I'll draw up
another chair for Anna Belle," she said.Forbes had already decided, from small signs of assurance, that
this Western child was bold."Give her an inch, and she'll take an ell,"
she had said to herself.You must
never bring it to the table.In silence Jewel seated the doll in the nearest chair against the wall,
and as she slid up into her own, a neat maid appeared with a puffy and
appetizing omelet.Forbes filled the child's glass with water, and the maid set down
the omelet and departed."I'm sorry," she began hesitatingly, "I never--I can't"--then she
swallowed hard in her desperate plight."It's very good," returned the housekeeper briefly, misconstruing the
child's hesitation."I--could I have a drink of milk?I don't--I don't eat eggs.""I'm sorry you
have been allowed to be notional.Children should eat what is set before
them."Remove the
omelet, Sarah, and bring Miss Julia a glass of milk."That was the order, but oh, the tone of it!Jewel's heart beat a little
faster as she took some bread and butter and drank the milk, Mrs.Forbes
standing by, a portentous, solemn, black-robed figure, awful in its
silence.When the child set down the glass empty, she started to push back her
chair.The maid reappeared, removed the bread and milk and served a
dainty dessert of preserved peaches, cream, and cake."I've really had enough," said Jewel politely."Don't you eat peaches and cream, or cake either?""Yes'm," returned the child, and ate them without further ado.Forbes when at last Jewel slipped down
from the table."I will come up and help you unpack it."thought the child as she lifted Anna Belle, but
the housekeeper preceded her up the stairs, breathing rather heavily.Sure enough, when they reached the white room, there stood the new trunk
that had been packed with so much anticipation.The bright black letters
on the side, J. E., had power even now to send a little glow of pride
through its possessor.Forbes, but, strange
as it may appear, the housekeeper gave no evidence of admiration."I don't need to trouble you, Mrs.I can unpack it," said the
child."I'm up here now, and anyway, I'd better show you where to keep your
things.Jewel laid down the doll and opened her leather side-bag, producing the
key tied with a little ribbon.Forbes unlocked the trunk, lifted out the tray, and began in a
business-like manner to dispose of the small belongings that had last
been handled so tenderly.Harry certainly knows how to pack," ran her thoughts, "and she'd
naturally know how to sew.Daniel went to the office.These things are as neat as wax, and the
child's well fixed."In the tray, among other things, were a number of
doll's clothes, some writing materials, a box of different hair
ribbons, and a few books."Glad to see a Bible," thought Mrs.One was a copy of
"Heidi," one was "Alice in Wonderland," and the third a small black book
with the design of a cross and crown in gilt on the cover.Forbes
looked from this up at the child."I--yes, I read it every day.""Well, I hope you'll be faithful now your mother's gone.She's taken the
trouble to put it in."Jewel's eyes had caught a glimpse of green color.Eagerly she reached
down into the trunk and drew out carefully a dress in tiny checks of
green and white.Mary went back to the office."That's my silk dress," she said, regarding it fondly."It is very neatly made," returned Mrs."It doesn't
matter at all what little girls have on if they are clean and neat.It
only matters that they shall be obedient and good."Jewel regarded her with the patience which children exercise toward
the inevitable."I'd like to fix Anna Belle's drawer myself," she said
modestly.Now here are your shoes and slippers, but I don't
find any rubbers."I think you better have had rubbers
than a silk dress!This happy event occurred before long, and the little girl amused
herself for a while with rearranging somewhat the closet and drawers.Then putting on her hat and taking her doll with her, she stole quietly
down the thickly carpeted stairs, and opening the heavy hall door, went
out upon the piazza.It was sheltered from the wind, and wicker chairs
were scattered about.Jewel looked off curiously amid the trees to where
she knew, by her father's description, she should find, after a few
minutes' ramble, the ravine and brook.Just now the sun was warm here, and the roomy chairs held out
inviting arms.Father would come
back here some happy day and find her.The thought brought a smile,
and with the smile on her lips, her head fell back against a yielding
cushion, and in a minute she had fallen asleep.Her plumed hat was pushed rakishly askew, but little she
cared.Evringham and Eloise, returning late from their luncheon, came upon
the little sleeping figure as they walked around the long piazza.Evringham softly, putting up her
lorgnette."At least she has not come uninvited," was her only comment."But she has come unwelcome, my dear," returned Mrs."Just wait until our gracious host realizes what he has let
himself in for.Oh, there's a good time coming, you may be sure.Hush,
don't waken her!It would be a blessed dispensation if she were always
to sleep while her grandfather is absent," and Mrs.Evringham led the
way into the house, her laces fluttering."I am looking for the child Julia," she said."I can't think where she
can have disappeared.""You've not far to seek," returned Mrs."She is asleep
on the piazza."Forbes hastened downstairs and out of doors.Glancing
about she quickly perceived the short legs stretched in a reclining
chair, and advanced toward the relaxed little figure.Her movement made the doll slip
to the floor, and this caused her to come to herself suddenly."Why, I fell asleep, didn't I?"she said drowsily, reaching for the
doll."They're all his, aren't they?""Yes, but this is his special favorite, where he always lies to rest."Come right upstairs now and change
your dress for dinner.He will be coming home in a few minutes."exclaimed Jewel with satisfaction, and passed into the
house.Sandra travelled to the bedroom."Oh, you don't need to
come with me," protested the child earnestly.replied the little girl, running lightly up the stairs."I ought to put her on the second floor," mused Mrs.Forbes, "if I've
got to be running up and down; but I suppose she has done for herself a
great deal.I suppose the mother hadn't time to be bothered.I'd like to
make Mamzell change rooms with her."Jewel hummed a tune as she took off her sailor suit, performed her
ablutions, and then went to her closet to choose a frock for dinner.She
decided on a blue dress with white dots chiefly because she would
not have to change her hair ribbons.She had never herself tied those
voluminous bows.At last she was ready and danced toward the door, but some novel
timidity made her hesitate and go back sedately to the chair by the
window.Forbes's impressive figure seemed to loom up with an order
to her to wait the summons of the gong.She sat there for what seemed a very long time, and at last a knock
sounded at the door.Jewel flew to open to
him--and saw the white capped maid who had appeared at luncheon."They are all at table, and Mr.Evringham wishes you to come down," she
said."But I was waiting for the gong."She
was eager to reach him, yet when she entered the dining-room, her little
face all alight, it was not so easy to run to him as she had fancied.He sat stiffly at the foot of the table.Opposite him was aunt Madge,
and at her left sat the prettiest young lady the child had ever seen.Jewel took in all this at a glance, and contenting herself with greeting
her grandfather's lifted eyes with a smile, she ran to Mrs."There's just one button in the middle, aunt Madge, that I can't reach,"
she explained softly.Every eye at the table was regarding the child curiously, but she took
no note of any one but her grandfather, and her dress buttoned, she
ran to her chair and slid up on its smooth morocco.Eloise observed the
little girl's loving expression."I am sorry you are late, Julia," said Mr."Yes, so am I, grandpa," was the prompt response."I wanted to be down
here as soon as you came home, but I thought I ought to wait for the
gong, and then it didn't ring."Her eyes roved to where, directly opposite, the beautiful young lady was
regarding her soberly."That is your cousin Eloise, Julia."Eloise inclined her graceful head, but made no further recognition of
the child's admiring look.Evringham, looking from one to the
other."It just
happened that Eloise and I were engaged at luncheon to-day, and when we
returned the little girl was taking a nap."Forbes had brought Jewel's soup and she was eating."Yes, grandpa, I went to sleep in your big chair on the piazza.I didn't
know it was your special chair until Mrs.John journeyed to the bedroom.Her grandfather regarded her from under his heavy brows.He was
resenting the fact that Eloise had made no effort to welcome the child."Because it was time to get ready for dinner," returned Jewel."It
reminded me of the story of Golden Hair, when she had gone to sleep on
the bear's bed, the way Mrs.Forbes said, 'This is your grandfather's
chair!'"She looked around the table, expectant of sympathy.Evringham
seemed to wish to laugh, and she was making heroic efforts not to do so.Lovely Eloise kept her serious eyes downcast.Evringham, after a lightning glance of suspicion
at his daughter-in-law.But
Golden Hair tried three beds, I believe.""Yes, she did, but you see there wasn't any little bear's chair on the
piazza.""Golden Hair was a great beauty, I believe," suggested Mrs.Evringham,
looking at the child oddly.Jewel put up a quick hand to the short tight braid which ended behind
her ear."Oh no, long, lovely, floating hair."It's a good while since I read it," returned Mrs.Evringham, laughing
low and glancing at Eloise.Her father-in-law sent her a look of
displeasure and turned back to Jewel.Ballard found you on the train, I suppose?"The child
glanced across at her cousin again.She wished cousin Eloise would lift
her eyes and not look so sorry."I wonder," she added aloud, "why Dr.Ballard called cousin Eloise a little girl.""Yes, he said that my cousin Eloise was a very charming little girl."Jewel wondered why Eloise flushed and looked still sorrier, and why aunt
Madge raised her napkin and turned her laugh into a cough.Perhaps it
teased young ladies to be called little girls."I guess he was just April-fooling me," she suggested comfortingly, and
the insistence of her soft gaze was such that Eloise looked up and met a
smile so irresistible, that in spite of herself, her expression relaxed.The softened look was a relief to the child."I've heard about you, of
course, cousin Eloise," she said, "and I couldn't forget, because your
name is so nice and--and slippery.It sounds just like--like--oh, like sliding down the banisters."I hadn't thought of it," she returned, then
relapsed into quiet."Children should be seen and not
heard," was her doctrine, and this dressmaker's child had an assurance
beyond belief.She seemed to feel no awe whatever in her grandfather's
presence.The housekeeper caught Jewel's eye and gave her such a quenching look
that thenceforward the little girl succumbed to the silence which the
others seemed to prefer.After dinner she would have a good visit with grandpa and talk about
when father was a little boy.Her hopes were dashed, for just as they
were rising from the table, a man was announced, with whom Mr.Evringham
closeted himself in the library.In the drawing-room aunt Madge and cousin Eloise both set themselves at
letter-writing, and entirely ignored Jewel.The child looked listlessly
at a book with pictures, which she found on the table, until half-past
eight, when Mrs.Forbes came to say it was time for her to go to bed.She rose and stood a moment, turning hesitatingly from her aunt to her
cousin.asked aunt Madge, looking up from her letter.Eloise bit her lip as she regarded the little girl with a moment's
hesitation, but no, she had decided on her plan of action.Eloise knew the housekeeper's attitude toward them
was defensive, if not offensive."Good-night," she said briefly, and
looked down again."Good-night," returned Jewel quietly, and went out."I want to say good-night to grandpa," she
said."Well, you can't," returned Mrs."He is talking
business and mustn't be disturbed.""I could go to bed alone, if I only knew where the matches are.""You said you could dress alone, but you had to ask Mrs.Evringham to
button your frock.Remember after this that I am the one to ask.She and
Miss Eloise don't want to be bothered.""Is it a bother to do a kindness?"On the highest ridges in the valley, at elevations of 5000 feet and
upwards, there are frequent approaches to the temperate flora, the
shady <DW72>s on northern exposures being frequently covered with small
patches of brushwood, containing species of _Berberis_, _Rubus_,
_Spiraea_, etc., and numerous herbaceous species, of forms common at
Simla.These, however, are quite exceptional, though no doubt with a
very little more humidity the shrubby vegetation would rapidly extend,
and under its shelter many small plants would be able to grow, which
are now, when they attempt to vegetate, destroyed by the scorching
heat of the sun.It must also not be forgotten, that notwithstanding the general
tendency to a tropical flora, the natural result of the low elevation
and great aridity of these hills, a portion of the vegetation even at
the lowest levels consists of plants of European forms, such as
characterize the temperate vegetation of the Himalaya.I do not here
refer to what may be called the cold-weather vegetation of the plains
of north-western India, at which season, the temperature of the air
approaching to that of the summer of the temperate zone, a
considerable number of European |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Daniel went to the office.These
naturally occur at the same season, in the low valleys among the
hills, in similar situations.Mary went back to the office.The circumstance to which I desire to
advert, is the occurrence at very low levels among the mountains,
during the hot and rainy seasons, of species belonging to genera
characteristic of temperate climates, and which therefore are the
prevailing forms at considerable elevations on the Himalaya.As
instances, I may adduce the occurrence in the valley of the Gambar, at
elevations not exceeding 3000 feet, of species of _Thalictrum_,
_Fragaria_, _Rosa_, _Rubus_, _Berberis_, &c., &c. This remarkable fact
has been ascribed by Jacquemont[1] to the obscure influence of the
mountains; and as the genera just enumerated never occur in the
plains of Upper India, it appears evident that the mountainous nature
of the country must be viewed as an essential element in the reasons
for their descent.These, with some others which also occur at low
levels in the Himalaya, appear to be in all parts of the continent of
India those genera of temperate climates, which descend to the lowest
altitudes.Hooker on Parasnath, a hill
in upper Behar, the elevation of which does not exceed 4000 feet; and
they are all natives of moderate elevations on the Nilgherries and in
Ceylon, as well as on the Khasya mountains in eastern Bengal.[Sidenote: ASCENT TO SIMLA._May, 1847._]
[Sidenote: SIMLA._May, 1847._]
The ridge which runs from Haripur to Sairi, parallel to the river
Gambar, is a branch from the Jutog spur, nearly north of Simla, a
ridge which is given off by the main South Sutlej chain in Simla
itself, and which runs directly north to the Sutlej river.The road,
after following this ridge till within a few miles of Simla, leaves it
on the left hand, to descend into a small stony ravine; after crossing
which it mounts abruptly a very steep spur, ascending at least 1500
feet to gain the crest of the ridge, and enter Simla at its
north-western extremity.The hill station of Simla, which was originally selected as a
sanatarium, or suitable residence for the servants of Government, or
other Europeans, whose health had been impaired by disease, or by too
long residence in a tropical climate, has of late years, in
consequence of the political state of north-western India, and of the
increasing number of retired officers, and of gentlemen unconnected
with the public service, who have made it their residence, become a
place of great importance.Besides an extensive bazaar or collection
of shops, which may now almost be designated a small native town,
Simla contains nearly 400 houses, scattered along the crest of
different mountain ranges.Its situation is a most favourable one, on
the main range of mountains south of the Sutlej river, at a point
where a massive peak rises to a height of 8100 feet, and on the
nearest part of the ridge to the plains of India, which is
sufficiently elevated, well wooded, and situated favourably with
regard to water.The greater part of the station is built on the main
range, partly surrounding the peak of Jako, and partly on the ridge
running north from it, at an elevation of about 7000 feet, as far as a
smaller culminating point of the range, which is by the inhabitants
named Prospect Point.At this point the main range turns sharply to
the west, and the station is continued for nearly a mile on a spur
which runs towards the north, passing through the station of Jutog.From the scattered position of the houses, the extent of Simla is much
more considerable than the bare statement of the number of houses
might lead one to suppose.The northern ridge extends almost four
miles, and the circuit of Jako, by the principal road, which is from
500 to 1000 feet below the summit, measures five miles.In consequence of the sudden elevation of the mountain range at the
place where Simla has been built, there is a most complete and
surprising change in the vegetation and general appearance of the
scenery.During the last ascent on the road from the plains this is
sufficiently perceptible, although from the great ravages which the
proximity of so large a population has made in the oak woods, only a
few stunted bushes are now left on the southern exposure.Between the
plains and Simla the hills are totally devoid of trees, but
immediately on gaining the top of the ridge on which the station is
built, we enter a fine forest, which covers all the broader parts of
the range, especially the <DW72>s which have a northern aspect,
stretching down on these in many places to the bottom of the valleys,
fully 2000 feet.[Sidenote: OAK FOREST._May, 1847._]
[Sidenote: PINES OF SIMLA._May, 1847._]
The nature of the forest varies a good deal with the exposure and with
the quality of the soil.By far the greater part consists of an oak
and a rhododendron, both small evergreen trees, rarely exceeding
thirty or forty feet, with wide-spreading arms and rugged twisted
branches.A species of _Andromeda_ is also very common, and a holly,
an _Euonymus_, _Rhamnus_, and _Benthamia_, are the other more common
trees, if we except the _Coniferae_, of which four species occur.Of
these, _Pinus longifolia_ is common at the western or lower extremity
of the station, and prevails, to the exclusion of any other tree, on
the dry sunny spurs which run towards the south, at elevations from
7000 to 5000 feet.This species is, of all the Indian pines known to
me (except its near ally _P.Khasyana_), that which is capable of
enduring the most heat, and at the same time the greatest variation in
amount of moisture; as it is found at elevations of not more than 1000
feet above the level of the sea, equally in the hot humid valleys of
Sikkim, where it enjoys a perpetual vapour-bath, and on the dry
sandstone hills of the upper Punjab, on which rain hardly ever falls.It is only, however, at low elevations, where the mean temperature is
high, that it is capable of supporting a great amount of humidity,
for in the damp climates of the Himalaya it is entirely wanting,
except in the deepest valleys; and even in the drier districts it is
always observed to select the sunnier, and therefore warmer exposures.Its upper limit is usually about 7000 feet above the level of the sea,
though on Jako at Simla a few stunted trees rise as high as 7700 feet._Pinus excelsa_ is also a very common species at Simla, particularly
on the southern face of Mount Jako, which is the highest part of the
ridge._Abies Smithiana_, the third coniferous tree, is exceedingly
rare, a few trees only occurring in a shady ravine facing the west;
while the deodar, the fourth species, is common on the southern and
western <DW72>s of Jako, above 7000 feet; and again in shady groves at
the bottom of the valleys on both sides of the ridge, as low as 5000
feet.This beautiful tree, the cedar of the Indian mountains, seems
limited to the western half of the Himalayan range, extending from the
most westerly part of Nipal, as far as the mountains of Affghanistan.It was first described by Roxburgh from specimens sent to him from
Kamaon, at a time when the western Himalaya was almost inaccessible to
Europeans, under the name by which it is known to the inhabitants of
that province, as well as in Kashmir.It is, however, singularly
enough, not known by that name in the Simla hills, where it is called
_Kelu_; another conifer, _Cupressus torulosa_, a rare tree in the
district, having usurped the name, as well as the sacred character, of
deodar.In the thick woods of Simla, a large white monkey, the _Langur_ of the
natives, is very common.These animals move about in large flocks, in
which may be seen individuals of all sizes and ages, and seldom remain
more than a few hours in one place.They are in constant motion,
leaping from bough to bough and from tree to tree, chattering
constantly; and, notwithstanding their great size, are in general
harmless, though ready enough to defend themselves if assailed.The forest extends in parts close up to the peak of Jako, which has an
elevation of 8130 feet.The very summit, however, which is a short
flat ridge, and a considerable part of the east and south face, are
bare and grassy, or covered with scattered shrubs.The more common
shrubby forms of the vegetation of the temperate zone, are _Salix_,
_Rosa_, _Rubus_, _Lonicera_, _Viburnum_, _Berberis_, _Indigofera_, and
_Prinsepia_, all, except the two last, quite European._Indigofera_
forms a remarkable exception, and one well worthy of note, as the
genus is a very tropical one, although its shrubby species are
particularly abundant throughout the whole of the western Himalaya.These shrubby species, however, constitute a particular section of the
genus, very distinct in habit, and in the large size and bright colour
of the flower, from the more ordinary forms, and they are confined to
the drier parts of the mountains, being quite wanting in the humid
climate of Darjeeling and Khasya, and almost entirely so in the
mountains of the Peninsula.[Sidenote: VEGETATION OF THE SPRING MONTHS._May, 1847._]
The herbaceous vegetation of the spring months quite corresponds, in
the temperate nature of its forms, with what has been found to be the
case with the trees and shrubs; but during the rainy season, as has
been well pointed out by Dr.Royle in his valuable essay on the
distribution of Himalayan plants, this is much less markedly the case.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.At the commencement of spring, in April (for March is still too cold
for much vegetation), the weather being generally bright, though with
occasional heavy showers, the earliest flowers are species of _Viola_,
_Fragaria_, _Geranium_, _Veronica_, _Valeriana_, and dandelion.From
April, as summer advances, the temperature gradually rises, till
towards the end of June, when the rainy season commences.These months
are generally dry, and if no rain falls the heat is sometimes
considerable, the thermometer rising as high as 80 deg.Still the flora is almost entirely temperate, the early spring plants
being succeeded by many others of European families, principally
_Ranunculaceae_, _Rosaceae_, _Labiatae_, _Stellatae_, _Polygonaceae_,
_Epilobiaceae_, _Primulaceae_, etc.I can scarcely enumerate a single
spring flowering plant which does not belong to an European family,
unless _Arum_ be an exception, which it can hardly be considered, the
flowers only being displayed during May and June, while the leaves do
not make their appearance until after the rainy season has commenced.Few species are, however, identical with those of Europe, except
_Stellaria media_, _Cerastium vulgatum_, _Taraxacum officinale_,
_Verbascum Thapsus_, _Thymus Serpyllum_, and _Poa annua_.[Sidenote: FLORA OF RAINY SEASON._July, 1847._]
[Sidenote: PEAK OF JAKO._July, 1847._]
The rainy season generally commences about the 20th of June, or
between that date and the end of the month, and continues till the
middle or end of September, with occasional intermissions, rarely
exceeding a week at a time.During the rains the atmosphere is
exceedingly moist, dense fogs usually prevailing when rain does not
fall.John journeyed to the bedroom.The rain-fall is probably more considerable at Simla than in
the lower ranges, which are nearer the plains, for it has been
observed that ranges of 7-8000 feet (which are generally for this
reason well wooded), attract much moisture, and the peak of Jako and
other parts of Simla are frequently observed from the stations of
Sabathu and Kussowlee, to be covered with dense clouds or mist, at
times when at the latter places the weather is bright and clear.The commencement of the rainy season is the signal in the mountains,
as it is very universally throughout India, wherever that season is
well marked, for the appearance of a very vigorous and luxuriant
growth of plants of annual growth, the seeds (or rootstocks) of which
had been lying dormant in the soil awaiting the access of heavy rain.At Simla, as elsewhere in the temperate region of the Himalaya, we
find at this season numerous species of Balsams, _Acanthaceae_,
_Orchideae_, and _Labiatae_, several Gentians and _Cichoraceae_, a great
many grasses and _Cyperaceae_, and species of _Parnassia_, _Drosera_,
_Pedicularis_, _Roscoea_, _Dipsacus_, _Thalictrum_, _Urtica_, etc.,
etc.Some of these are quite European genera, while others, as
_Roscoea_, are interesting as belonging to orders whose maxima occur
in very humid climates.The _Labiatae_ of the rainy season are mostly
species of _Plectranthus_ and _Elsholtzia_, both quite Indian genera,
and very extensively distributed in mountainous districts.Balsams are
quite an Indian order, and they seem everywhere, as has already been
remarked by Dr.Wight, to abound in humid shady
places, either in dense forest or on the stony banks of mountain
streams, in the drier districts only during the rainy season, but in
more humid countries more or less throughout the year.The _Orchideae_
of Simla are entirely terrestrial, the dryness and cold of the winter
months being greater than are compatible with the occurrence of
epiphytical species of this natural order, and for the same reason, I
presume, _Melastomaceae_, so abundant in the Eastern Himalaya, are
quite wanting.Among the many advantages of situation by which Simla is
characterized, one of the most fortunate is its position on a part of
the mountain range which lies transversely to the ordinary direction
of the chain, so that the view towards the plains of India, as well as
up the Sutlej valley, is very much more extensive than would be
obtained, had the station been situated in a less favourable position.This advantage is further enhanced by the sudden rise in elevation of
the chain, which enables a resident at Simla to overlook in the
direction of the plains the continuation of the range which would
otherwise obstruct the view.Towards the interior of the mountains,
this advantage is not possessed by Simla; for the ridge of Mahasu,
which rises 1000 feet higher than the peak of Jako, obscures at least
half of the snowy range, the view being limited in that direction to
the course of the valley of the Sutlej, and to the mountains north of
that river.[Sidenote: VIEW FROM THE
PEAK OF JAKO._July, 1847._]
With all these advantages of situation, the view from the peak of Jako
is one of the most agreeable and diversified, which occur in any part
of the Himalaya; although, from the rather too level top of the
mountain, and the intrusion of the forest almost to the very summit,
the whole panorama cannot be embraced at once.Immediately under the
eye are the numerous spurs and ridges covered with scattered houses,
and the deep ravines which terminate the steep <DW72>s below the
station; towards the plains, the whole valley of the Gambar is seen,
with the stations ofMary moved to the bedroom.Daniel travelled to the kitchen. |
office | Where is Sandra? | The ridge of Kussowlee in one
place excludes the view of the plains, but to the right they may be
seen stretching away in the distance, and only recognizable at last by
the track of the Sutlej river, which, from the very remarkable curve
close to its exit from the mountains, may be traced as far as vision
can extend, a distance of 116 miles[2].Daniel went to the office.To the north a valley
stretches from Simla as far as the Sutlej river, distant about fifteen
miles, so direct that the greater part of it is seen, though the river
itself is concealed.East of north a long partially wooded ridge,
about four miles distant at its nearest point, running parallel to the
valley just mentioned, excludes the view of the nearer part of the
Sutlej valley; but the lofty ranges north of that river, covered with
dense forest, and backed by masses of brilliant snow, close in the
view in that direction.Due east lies the Mahasu ridge, covered on the
Simla <DW72>s with a dense forest of deodar; and to the south, across
the valley of the Giri, towards which numerous rugged ridges run, is
the mountain called the Chor, the highest peak of the range which
separates the Giri from the Tons, the crest of which is upwards of
12,000 feet in height.From the peak of Jako, the serpentine course of the range, which
prevails universally throughout the Himalaya, may be well traced, as
the eye of the spectator, following the direct course of the ridge,
can observe numerous turns in its course, each of which, from the
great foreshortening, appears much more abrupt than it really is.Mary went back to the office.At
each curve the range rises into a peak, while the intermediate
portions are lower and excavated into "cols" or passes.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.In the
concavity of each bend of the range is situated the head of a valley,
numerous small spurs dividing the different ravines which unite to
form it; while on the convex side, from the high portion of the ridge,
is given off a branch of the range, forming a separation between two
adjacent valleys, each of which occupies a concavity in the main range
of mountain.John journeyed to the bedroom.On my arrival at Simla on the 25th of May, I found that Major A.
Cunningham, of the Bengal Engineers, and Captain Henry Strachey, of
the 66th Regiment N.I., were to be my fellow-travellers, the former
having been appointed the head of the mission.As Captain Strachey had
to travel from Dinapore, it was evident that some time would elapse
before he would arrive at Simla, nor was it till the beginning of
August that the completion of the necessary preliminaries rendered it
possible for us to commence our journey.I took advantage of this
delay to make myself as far as possible acquainted with the physical
features and vegetation of the surrounding country, though the
necessary preparations for the approaching journey occupied a good
deal of time, and the commencement of the rainy season rendered
travelling difficult, and even out-of-door exercise unpleasant.I have
already attempted to convey an idea of the general physical aspect of
the scenery, which, after a short residence has made one familiar with
the structure of the ridges, appears very simple.Situated on the
dividing range, by which the waters of the Giri, a tributary of the
Jumna, on the left, are separated from those of the tributaries of the
Sutlej on the right, the spectator looks into two of the immense
basins into which the Himalaya is divided by transverse ranges running
parallel to the great rivers; and after a short time he finds that the
chaos of mountains, which at first perplexed the eye and confused the
mind, gradually resolves itself into a definite shape, each ridge
being capable of being referred to its parent, and that in its turn to
a branch of the main chain.From his commanding position he can also
see that the main range is generally more elevated than its branches,
and that each chain, by a succession of sudden sinkings, diminishes in
elevation, each peak being lower than its predecessor.Nowhere in the
wide tract of country visible is there the least approach to a system
of parallel ridges, such as is indicated by the distant view of these
mountains.On the contrary, it is seen that the great ranges are,
though very irregularly, perpendicular to the general direction of the
mountain mass, and that it is only the shorter spurs which have a
general uniformity of direction.[Sidenote: STRUCTURE OF THE
MOUNTAIN RANGES._July, 1847._]
Nor could I find in the structure of the mountains around Simla any
confirmation of the view entertained by Humboldt of the sudden
elevation of the Himalaya out of a vast fissure in the external crust
of the earth.However plausible such a view might appear when the
Himalaya is contemplated as a whole (on a map), without any portion of
its extent being under the eye, I found it, on the spot, quite
impossible to conceive in what way, after such a sudden elevation, any
power in the least analogous to existing forces could have excavated
out of the solid rock those numerous valleys, so various in direction,
so rugged in outline, and so vast in dimensions, which now furrow the
mountain mass.On the contrary, the conclusion has been forced upon me that these
mountains have emerged extremely gradually from an ocean, of the
existence of which, at very various levels, the most evident traces
are, I think, discoverable.The present configuration of the surface
must, I do not doubt, have been given to it during periods of rest, or
of very slow elevation, the action of the sea upon submerged rocks
being so very superficial that no denudation takes place at any great
depth.During the period of emergence of the Himalaya, from the great
length of the present valleys, which extend between parallel ranges
far into the interior, the coast must have borne a strong resemblance
to that of Norway at the present day, numerous promontories projecting
far into the sea, and separated from one another by narrow and deep
bays.The geological structure of the Himalaya between Simla and the plains
is not easily discovered by the cursory observer.The general basis of
the mountains is clay-slate, occasionally very micaceous, passing
into a coarse sandstone, but here and there limestone occurs
interstratified.The dip is extremely variable, and the rocks,
whatever their age, are evidently highly metamorphosed.The tertiary
formations, so well illustrated by Falconer and Cautley, extend all
along the base of the mountains, and penetrate in some places far into
the valleys, for certain rocks in the neighbourhood of Sabathu have
been indicated by Major Vicary, which appear to be of the same age, or
perhaps of a still older tertiary epoch.FOOTNOTES:
[1] Voyage, etc., vol.[2] In this I allow 800 feet for the height of Loodiana above the
level of the sea.Leave Simla -- Mahasu Ridge -- Pine Forest -- Summit of Mahasu
-- Vegetation of Northern <DW72> -- Fagu -- Theog -- Mattiana --
Cultivated Valley -- Nagkanda -- Ascent of Hattu -- Forest of
Pine and Oak -- Vegetation of Summit -- View from top of
Mountain -- Plainward <DW72>s bare of forest, while those facing
the interior are well wooded -- Cultivation at 9500 feet --
Descent from Nagkanda towards Sutlej -- Damp shady Ravine
densely wooded -- Kotgarh -- Cultivation -- Rapid Descent --
Change of Climate -- Tropical Vegetation -- Rampur --
Swing-bridge -- Diurnal fluctuations in level of River -- Gaora
-- Serahan -- Tranda -- Western boundary of Kunawar.On the 2nd of August, 1847, every necessary preparation having been
completed, and the officers of the mission having received the
instructions of the Governor-General to proceed to Ladakh, and thence
to take severally such direction as they should consider most
conducive to the increase of our knowledge of these countries, Major
Cunningham, Captain Strachey, and myself left Simla.[Sidenote: DEPARTURE FROM SIMLA._August, 1847._]
The route selected as most eligible, in order to reach Hangarang and
Piti, to which we had been instructed in the first place to proceed,
lay up the course of the Sutlej river, through Kunawar.The advanced
period of the season, at which almost constant rain might be
expected, rendered the river route, on which at most stages tolerable
shelter is obtainable, preferable to that by the Pabar valley, and the
Bruang (or Borendo) pass, which otherwise we should have preferred,
from its passing through a more elevated tract of country.Mary moved to the bedroom.From Simla the first day's journey towards the interior of the
mountains is usually to Fagu, a distance of fourteen miles.Here, and
for several stages farther, as far as the road lies through British
territory, there are houses (bungalows, as they are termed in India)
provided by Government for the accommodation of travellers, upon the
payment of a small fixed sum per diem.Though often in bad repair, and
therefore very uncomfortable in rainy weather, these houses (which
occur also between Simla and the plains) are a very great convenience,
as they enable tourists to dispense with the carriage of tents.The difficulty of making a start, from the small number of porters
procurable for our baggage, was so great that it was some time after
dark before I reached the Fagu bungalow, in the midst of an extremely
heavy fall of rain, which had commenced about sunset, after a fair
though lowering day.The road from Simla to Fagu follows throughout
the course of the main range, not always on the very crest of the
ridge, but seldom at any great distance from it.After passing round
the peak of Jako, it turns northward, and descends abruptly about 500
feet, to a low part of the ridge, elevated about 6800 feet, and quite
bare of trees, the micaceous slaty rock being in many places exposed.The ridge continues in a direction for nearly four miles, varying
very little in level, only one short and rather steep ascent
occurring to a peak where a spur branches off to the south, beyond
which the road again slightly descends.About half-a-mile to the north
of this little ridge, on the <DW72> of the hill below the road, there
is a small cluster of trees of _Cupressus torulosa_, a species of
cypress, one of the rarer conifers of the Himalaya; the most favourite
situation of which seems to be on very steep mountains in the
interior, at elevations of from seven to nine thousand feet.It was
found abundantly by Major Madden[3] on Shali, a peak twenty miles east
of Simla, and it appears to extend thence west as far as Simla, where
it occurs in several places on hot, dry, and very bare rocky hills, as
low as six thousand feet.About four miles from Simla, a sudden increase in the elevation of the
range takes place, and at the same time it turns abruptly towards the
south-east.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.The road ascends the steep face of the ridge, in a series
of zigzags, rather steeply, with a deep ravine on either hand, that to
the right bare, while on the left there is first a thicket of rose and
willow bushes, and further on an oak-wood, of a species (_Quercus
floribunda_ of Wallich) different from that common at Simla, and
indicative of greater elevation, though here growing with
_Rhododendron_ and _Andromeda_, common Simla trees.When near the top
of the ascent, the road bends rapidly to the right, keeping on the
south face of the ridge, and passing under but close to a small house,
built on the very crest of the ridge, at an elevation of about 8000
feet.Close to this bungalow, which occupies a most excellent site,
forest commences, and the road runs for a mile through fine trees of
deodar and spruce (_Abies Smithiana_), generally on the very crest of
the ridge, looking down towards the east into a deep and broad valley.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Right across this valley, north-east, rises the remarkable peak of
Shali, a bold rocky mass sloping gently to the south, while to the
north, which seems to overhang the Sutlej valley, it is cut off very
abruptly.This highly beautiful mountain, the termination of a
northerly spur, given off close to Mattiana, is hardly visible from
Simla, its top only being seen from some of the more northerly houses.[Sidenote: MAHASU RIDGE._August, 1847._]
From an elevation of about 8000 feet at its north-west end, the Mahasu
ridge rises, at first gradually, to at least 9000 feet, and as it is
throughout well wooded, the road along it is extremely beautiful.On
the earlier part of the ridge, the forest consists chiefly of pine,
_P.excelsa_ and _Abies Smithiana_ being abundant, and more especially
the deodar, which, on the <DW72> facing the west, may be seen in the
greatest profusion, thousands of young trees springing up in dense
masses, on the <DW72>s which have been bared by the axe, or still more
destructively by the fires of the hill-men.After about five miles of what, in the Himalaya, may be called
tolerably level road, another sudden ascent follows, the road
inclining rather to the northern <DW72> of the mountain, and entering a
dense forest of large massive pines, intermixed with two species of
sycamore, and a fine cherry, which relieve the otherwise too gloomy
foliage of the coniferous trees.A magnificent climbing vine, which
attaches itself to the tallest trees, rising in light green coils
round their trunks, and falling in graceful festoons from the
branches high over head, adds much to the elegance of the scene, and
renders it, in the expressive words of Griffith, who was familiar with
the rich vegetation of the humid forests of the Eastern Himalaya, the
only true Himalayan forest of the western mountains.[Sidenote: SUMMIT OF MAHASU._August, 1847._]
On this ascent the road rises to about 9000 feet, the crest of the
Mahasu ridge being, according to Captain Herbert, 9200 feet.The large
size and dense shade of the trees, and the abundance of _Abies
Smithiana_, of the sycamore, and of the gigantic vine, give the forest
a totally different appearance from that of Simla, and the undergrowth
presents also a considerable amount of novelty; a species of currant,
a fine _Spiraea_, _Indigofera atropurpurea_, and fine species of _Rosa_
and _Rubus_, forming thickets under the tall trees.This forest,
indeed, from its dense shade, and great humidity, exhibits a much
greater contrast to the ordinary temperate vegetation of the Himalaya,
than is usually observed below 9000 feet, at which elevation the upper
temperate, or subalpine vegetation, begins fairly to predominate over
that which is prevalent from 5000 to 9000 feet.On reaching the summit of the steep ascent, the road again gains the
crest of the ridge, which consists of a succession of rounded knolls,
covered with grass, and quite bare of trees, the forest rising almost,
but not quite, to the top.On the very summit of one of the first of
these knolls, is a small wooden shrine or temple, of a form common in
the hills; the top of a mountain, or the summit of any very steep
ascent, being usually selected as a proper spot for the erection of a
sacred building by Indian mountaineers, in whose superstition every
hill and grove is tenanted by supernatural beings.[Sidenote: POTATO CULTIVATION.Sandra journeyed to the office._August, 1847._]
The steep ascent on the northern shoulder of Mahasu, from 8000 feet,
and |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | The steepest <DW72>s seem to
be preferred for this purpose, if they have only a sufficiency of
soil, which is very light, loose, and stony.The undergrowth of shrubs
is cleared away entirely on the spot where potatoes are planted, but
the pine forest is only partially thinned, the tall straight trunks
allowing of a free circulation of air below, while the thick branches
above afford the amount of shade requisite for the crop.The potatoes
are planted in rows in May; and, early in June, when the plants have
attained a height of a few inches, the soil is earthed up round their
stems in low ridges.The rains commence in the latter part of June,
and during their continuance nothing is done to the crop, beyond
keeping it clear of weeds.The steepness of the <DW72> seems to afford
a sufficient drainage to prevent any injury from the great rain-fall
and constant humidity.Daniel went to the office.The growth of the plants is exceedingly
luxuriant, the foliage being tall and bushy.By the middle of October,
or after the close of the rains, the potatoes are dug and ready for
market, supplying not only the station of Simla, but being despatched
in great quantities to the plains of India, where the potato is only
cultivated as a winter crop, and where, therefore, during the cold
months, none are otherwise procurable.On the very summit of the Mahasu ridge, there are a few trees of
_Quercus semicarpifolia_, the alpine oak of the western Himalaya, an
European-looking and partially deciduous species, and of _Picea
Webbiana_, or _Pindrow_, the silver fir of the Indian mountains, a
dark sombre-looking pine, abundant in the forests of the interior.These trees may be adopted as the characteristics of the subalpine
zone, in every part of which, from 9000 to about 12,000 feet, which is
the highest limit of tree vegetation in the Western Himalaya, they
abound.On Mahasu they are entirely confined to the crest of the
ridge, and form no part of the forest below._August, 1847._]
The descent from the top of Mahasu to the Fagu bungalow, is at first
abrupt, the road leaving the ridge to enter the forest on the northern
face, and winding down, after a few hundred yards of bare stony <DW72>,
among dense forest, among which it continues for a couple of miles,
rising at last rather steeply to the crest of the ridge at the point
where it resumes a northerly direction.Here the bungalow of Fagu has
been built, at an elevation of 8200 feet, at the very base of the
steep mountain ridge behind, which rises abruptly, to a height of six
or seven hundred feet.The bungalow faces the north-east, and commands
a most superb view of the snowy range beyond the Sutlej, with
occasional glimpses of the Jumno-Gangetic snows on the right hand.On my arrival at Fagu, in the midst of a pelting fall of rain, I found
the bungalow already occupied by my fellow-travellers, and before a
bright and comfortable fire I soon forgot the discomfort of my wet
ride, which indeed was not to be complained of, as it was only what
might fairly have been expected in the middle of the rainy season.The confusion among our baggage, however, was so great, from its
arriving irregularly and being set down hurriedly by the drenched
porters, anxious to escape as soon as possible to shelter, that it was
not without difficulty I procured the necessary change of clothing.The morning of the 3rd of August was densely foggy, but without rain,
and it was unanimously decided that it would be advisable to push on
to the next stage, Mattiana, a distance of fifteen miles.Our
anticipations of fair weather were unfortunately disappointed, for it
began to rain heavily before ten o'clock, and continued to do so with
little intermission till nearly two, when it cleared, and the
remainder of the day was fine.[Sidenote: GIRI VALLEY.Mary went back to the office._August, 1847._]
The whole day's journey lay along the ridge, which scarcely fell below
7500 feet, and nowhere rose above 9000 feet.Fagu is situated
immediately above the valley of the river Giri, a large mountain
stream, the most western tributary of the Jumna.A road across the
Jumnetic valleys to Massuri descends abruptly towards that river,
descending more than 5000 feet in little more than five miles, and
crossing the river by a bridge at an elevation of 3000 feet.The
mountains to the right, which dip into the valley of the Giri, are
bare of forest, with a good deal of cultivation in small terraced
fields on the steep sunny <DW72>s, while scattered houses, scarcely
collected into villages, are seen here and there among the fields.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.On
the left hand, again, the deep valley which runs towards the Sutlej is
full of forest, not rising however to the ridge, which is bare, or
lined only with scattered jungle of _Indigofera_, _Desmodium_,
_Spiraea_, roses, and brambles.It seems to be a constant rule that
the depressions of the ridges are bare and open, while the more
elevated portions are covered with forest.Probably the cause of this
is the greater humidity of the higher <DW72>s, which attract the
rain-clouds, while the lower ranges are dry.The currents of air which
sweep up the valleys may also in part be the cause of the bareness of
the ridges opposite their summits._August, 1847._]
At Theog, nearly eight miles from Fagu, there is a fort belonging to a
Rana, or hill chieftain, and a small village, with a good many fields.Indeed Hannah More had a certain queenly dignity about her, and the
reflection of those palmy days when she was the admired of all admirers
in the gay London world, the friend of Garrick and the great Dr.Johnson, did, in some degree, remain with her always.The spiritual life in which she had lived and moved for so many years,
had lifted her far above the interests and pursuits which once she held
to be the end and aim of life.Her religion was eminently practical, and
to do good and to communicate was never forgotten.John journeyed to the bedroom.Nevertheless, the
literary efforts which had made her famous, her brilliant conversation,
her intellectual powers, had given her a certain tone and dignity, which
while attractive, might yet be called the air of superiority, which in
those days was conceded, to be as quite the proper attitude for any
woman who had made herself a name.Now, in the great crowd of authors
and craftswomen of the pen, it is hard for anyone to lift her head above
her neighbours.Mary moved to the bedroom.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.A thing of the past indeed it is to remember how famous "the little
Burney," as Dr.Johnson called her, became; how flattery was poured upon
her, how no one dared to be jealous, because no one would dare to
emulate her performances.To be great in London Society in Hannah More's
early days, was to be great indeed.The author of "Percy" was presented
with a laurel crown, the stems confined within an elegant ring, and
Garrick himself read aloud the play to a select circle of admiring
listeners!But though history repeats itself, and fashion ruled then as now, in
literature as in other things, I think there was more honest and kindly
appreciation of the work of others than we have now-a-days.Sandra journeyed to the garden.The literary field was narrower, it is true, and therefore was not
broken up into plots, each plot hedged in by various conceits--a barrier
the uninitiated cannot pass.All flowers growing outside the barrier
are called weeds; and if they are fragrant, they are pronounced sickly;
if bright and vivid in colour, common.I may be wrong, but I think this
self-sufficient, dogmatic criticism is very much on the increase, and
that the little jealousies and rivalries amongst men and women who
follow the same profession in art or literature grow more frequent.Tongue and pen are often both too sharp; and the superficial chatter
about books and authors, pictures and music--both English and
foreign--is too often passed as the real coin of the great realm of
literature, when it is but a base imitation, stamped, it may be, on a
showy surface with the same token, but utterly worthless when the first
brilliancy is worn off."Come, my dear Miss Falconer," was Mrs.More's greeting to Joyce; "come
and sit near me, that we may have a pleasant chat.Sandra journeyed to the office.Tell me how you have
sped since I saw you, and whether you have studied the Book I gave you.""Yes, madam," Joyce said, as she seated herself on a high Chippendale
chair, the seat covered with fine cross-stitch, close to Mrs.More;
"yes, madam, I have read all the passages you marked; and I had no
notion before that the Bible was so beautiful.""Ah, my child, it is a deep mine; its treasures do not lie on the
surface; and let me tell you that I, who have drunk of the waters at
many springs, find in the Bible alone, the living fountain of water.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Your aunt told me she was anxious as to your education; she thought you
needed more than your good father found it convenient to give you.""Father has so many boys," Joyce said, "and, of course, boarding schools
are very expensive.I have had to help mother a great deal at home, and
I never wished to go to school.I think Aunt Letitia means by education
accomplishments like Charlotte's, and I have none of them.But," Joyce
went on, "I have a very clever brother, Ralph, and, when he is at home
for the holidays, I write his Latin exercises, and he corrects them, and
I can read French with him; and then I know a good deal of natural
history--because my brother Piers is lame, and nothing amuses him like
collections of birds, and moths, and insects.""Well," Hannah More said, smiling, "I think you have laid a very good
foundation; upon this, as you grow older, you can build up many fair
temples of knowledge, and I hope they will be ornamented by wisdom.You
know my story, I dare say."Joyce hesitated, "I know you write plays and books.We have 'Christian
Morals,' and 'Village Politics.'But----"
"Oh," Hannah More said, "those are my published works.I was alluding to
the story of my own life.I always like to bring it before the young,
because I can say to them, I have tasted all the world can give, and
found it vanity.My dear, if I were now depending on the favours of the
great for happiness, or the showering upon me of the fame which my
literary work brought me, where should I be?An old woman in her
eightieth year, can no longer dine with bishops and princes of the land.She can take no part in routs, and theatres would be a weariness; but,
thank God, and I beg you, my child, to mark this, I turned from those
vanities to strive to serve the living God when I was in my heyday.Because I felt them then to be _but_ vanity, often vexation of
spirit, and the higher part of me loathed the false lustre of the gay
world."Joyce listened attentively to every word Mrs.More said, and her young
heart gave in its allegiance to the beautiful old lady who, in her own
brilliant style, told her of the days of her youth, and of many little
incidents connected with the names of distinguished men and women who
had passed away."I expected opposition," she said with a sigh, "but we were a fourfold
band of sisters then, and we could meet a legion of objectors with a
bright face.Now, I alone am left, and can no longer give personal care
to the work.But I have kindled the spark, with God's help, and I do
trust the light will shine over the hills of Somersetshire when I am
laid in yonder churchyard.The Mendip miners give me the most
uneasiness; they are so rough, and wild, and lawless."Sandra travelled to the hallway.Arundel and I, met the man who had
been brought before the magistrates at Wells, and he knocked down Mr.Arundel, and----"
"I heard of that.Poor Susan Priday, the man's daughter, has been a good
girl, and has had a sad life indeed.""I felt so sorry for her," Joyce said, "and I should like to help her.She must be so unhappy with a bad father.If mother would let me, I
should like to have her in the kitchen; but I know she would not allow
it.""I suppose your good mother thinks the education in our school has
spoiled Susan for service."Mother is a good mistress," Joyce ventured to say, "and cares for the
maids, as maids, but she has a notion that people who have to earn their
bread, ought not to be able to read."that is a notion many have shared with your mother.Why, when the
great Edward Colston first proposed to begin the good work of education
in Bristol, he was voted by the Mayor and Aldermen as a dangerous
person, likely to turn the sons of the poor into vipers, who should
sting the rich when once they were raised out of ignorance.All that
feeling has passed away in Bristol, as it will pass away in time in the
country districts.Edward Colston's name is held now in honour; his
school sends out useful members of society year by year.Then there is
Robert Raikes at Gloucester, how his work has taken root.So I comfort
myself with thinking that before this century has counted out its last
year, Hannah More's schools for the sons of the soil under Mendip, will
have won their way humbly but steadily to swell the great tide of
progress which is bearing us on its breast."God has shown us marvellous things.Steam has become our
servant, and its concentrated force seems likely to move kingdoms, and
verify the prophecy that men shall go to and fro on the earth.Then in
our cities coal-gas is captured, and turns night into day.Who shall say
what hidden forces yet lie undiscovered, needing only the brain to
conceive, and the hand of some Watt to demonstrate the power, lying
concealed in the mysteries of God's natural kingdom.Who was with you
on Mendip when the rough fellow attacked you?"Arundel," Joyce said, in a low voice, the colour rising to her
face.Hannah More smiled, and said:
"Was he your _preux chevalier_?"Joyce blushed a still rosier red."I don't understand," she said, simply."Of course, how stupid; but I so seldom hear French spoken; and I expect
Ralph and I have a strange pronunciation.""French pronunciation can only be acquired by much speaking; and now
finish the story of your knight.""Oh, it was only that the man, Susan's father, was angry, and wanted to
force me to give him money; and Mr.Arundel made him move out of the
way, and then, of course, the man was furious, and hurled him down upon
the heather and gorse.We had lost our way, and father had to come out
with two men, and lanthorns to look for us."All the time Joyce was speaking she felt those dark eyes were fixed on
her, and she hurried on to the end of her story.Hannah More was too
keen an observer of faces not to read what was written on Joyce's; but
she only stroked the fair, rounded cheek gently, and said; "We shall be
friends, I hope; there is only a short space in earth left for me, but,
long or short, you may reckon on my sympathy.We will talk about
education to-morrow.That pile
is yet unread; many are begging letters, some are even less pleasant
than that;" and the old lady sighed.Even then the dishonesty and
extravagance of her household were beginning to be noticed outside
Barley Wood.Although her own eyes were blinded as to the cause, she
felt |
bedroom | Where is John? | This first day at Barley Wood was the beginning of a new life to Joyce.While Charlotte in her secret heart found the country dull, and almost
wished herself back in Wells, a new world opened for Joyce.More
would recite passages from Milton's "Paradise Lost," and fill Joyce's
mind with the beauties of the Garden of Eden, till she had thoughts for
nothing else.More told her she reminded her of a great man who on
reading Milton for the first time, said he forgot that there was anyone
else in the world but himself and Adam and Eve!Charlotte dawdled over a bit of fancy work, which her aunt had hoped
would awake Mrs.More's admiration, but as it met with but faint praise,
Charlotte felt herself aggrieved, and made various uncomplimentary
remarks, in private, upon the coarse aprons which Miss Frowde produced
as needlework which was _really_ wanted.But the stories of London life
pleased Charlotte, and she would wake up to interest when Mrs.More
described the grand routs where the elite of London were gathered; of
Johnson and his witty speeches; of Garrick, and of the continual round
of gaiety which she had led, till she awoke from a dream to realities,
and from those vanities to serve the living God.The Bible meeting at Wrington was the great event of the year, and the
village was in holiday trim.The bells rang from the noble church tower;
the school children, in clean white tippets and blue cotton frocks,
walked in procession to Barley Wood, where tea was provided for parents
and teachers, and several of those who had come to the meeting addressed
them in simple words.Sir Thomas Acland had brought with him the Bishop
of Ohio, and the good old man looked upon the scene before him, with
eyes dim with emotion.Here in this Somersetshire village, lying under
the range of low hills, had the influence of a good woman been felt.She
had borne bitter scoffs and rudeness from her enemies; she had been
laughed at even by her friends, and yet she had carried the banner of
the Lord onward, and now in her old age the victory was won.The people
loved her, and though there were malcontents in Wrington, as in every
other place, still the feeling for the good work the four sisters had
done, was stronger than that which was against it, and the Bible had
become a treasure in many humble homes.No longer like that of which
Joyce had spoken at Fair Acres--rarely opened and seldom read--nor like
the one described by Hannah More herself as the only one she found at
Cheddar, used to prop up a flower-pot in the window!There was a large dinner-party of seventeen at Barley Wood after the
meeting, and this was a novelty to the two girls, who had never before
sat down with so many at a table.Charlotte was in good spirits, having
captured a pale-faced young clergyman, to whom she talked in her
sentimental fashion, and who seemed almost as much fascinated by her, as
she intended he should be.Joyce, on the contrary, had no time to think of herself.She was
intently listening to all that was said, and the conversation of those
refined and educated gentlemen charmed her.It was impossible not to be
struck with her beautiful face, glowing with interest and, though silent
herself, showing that she was drinking in all that was said around her.More's sitting-room, where all the
guests gathered to sip fragrant tea and coffee, and talk over the
burning questions of the day.The good Bishop of Ohio, who had laboured long in the field abroad, as
Hannah More had laboured at home, knew well how rough was the road,
which those who desire the highest good of others, must ever tread.Hannah More was speaking of the deep anxiety that the condition of the
Mendip miners caused her, and how, of all her work, that seemed to be
bringing forth the least fruit."An ear here and there is gathered," she said; "but the harvest is scant
indeed."Joyce, who had been listening earnestly, said:
"Susan Priday is an 'ear,' I am sure.She seemed to try to do all she
could, and--"
The Bishop turned quickly.Joyce almost thought she ought not to have
spoken, and that the Bishop and Mrs.More would think her forward, but
the good old man said:
"That is right, my dear young lady.It is well to remind our dear friend
that the grains she has scattered are not all in vain.Some will fall on
the good ground, and by God's blessing spring up and bear fruit."Come nearer the Bishop, Joyce," Mrs.More said, kindly, "and tell him
your experience of Mendip miners, and of Susan also."Joyce did as she was told, and soon forgot her nervousness at being
called upon to talk to so great a person as a Bishop, as she narrated
with sweet simplicity, and yet with dramatic power, the story which we
already know.By degrees the voices of people in other parts of the room ceased, and
Joyce found herself the centre of interest as she told her story.Sir Thomas Acland asked, as Joyce finished her story, and
answered a summons from Miss Frowde at the further end of the room.Failing a little in the good manners, on which Miss Falconer put so high
a value, Charlotte answered a question _not_ addressed to her."She is my cousin, sir--Joyce Falconer.She has led a very retired life
at Fair Acres.""There are many flowers that bloom unseen, and she is one of the fairest
I ever saw.If a retired life produces such good effect, it strikes me,
Mrs.More, we had all better go into retirement.But--"
He stopped, for Joyce, with a white face from which every vestige of
colour had vanished, came back to her position by Mrs.Her
hands were clasped tightly together, her whole attitude one of
repressed emotion.More, I must beg you to excuse me.I am sent for to
go home, for my father--Oh!"I will take care of
Miss Falconer," she added.Miss Frowde shook her head, and was leading Joyce away, when she
suddenly turned back.John travelled to the bedroom.More, please pray for me;" and, unable to resist
the impulse, she threw her arms round the old lady's neck."Miss Falconer, indeed you must restrain your emotion; you will agitate
dear Mrs.But Hannah More held the trembling form of the poor stricken child
close."My dear," she whispered, "many are the sorrows through which I have
passed, and He whom I trust has never forsaken me.Trust in Him, and to
His loving kindness I commend you."Joyce raised herself from the old lady's arms, and the Bishop, deeply
moved, laid his hand upon her head."The Lord bless you and keep you, my child, now and evermore."Joyce did not weep or make any outward sign of great distress.She left
all tears and cries to Charlotte, who, sincerely grieved, took care that
every one should know it."No, Charlotte; don't come; don't come.I--I
can't find the clasp."Miss Frowde thrust Charlotte aside, and fastening Joyce's cloak, seemed
only anxious to get her off as speedily as possible.It was a very
inconvenient episode; and if Mrs.More were the worse for the excitement
it would be very disastrous.Secretly Miss Frowde wished she could get
rid of Charlotte too, but as she only wept and moaned, and made no
attempt to put her things together, Miss Frowde refrained from urging
her to do so.Miss Frowde was not unkind or unfeeling, she was simply
and absolutely devoted to Mrs.More; and, indeed, it was well that she
was always at hand to perform the hundred and one kindly offices, which
the spoiled and pampered domestics neglected.Joyce was soon ready, Charlotte clinging to her to the last, and
following her to the hall, with sobs and tears.Nevertheless, as the gig drove off, and the wheels crunched the gravel
on the drive, Charlotte returned to her room to bathe her eyes and
smooth her hair, and soon returned with a woe-begone face to the
sitting-room, and received, with some complacency, the condolences of
the pale-faced curate in the corner, sharing his hymn-book when the
family service of praise and prayer began, with which all gatherings
closed at Barley Wood.[Illustration]
CHAPTER IX.A DARK CLOUD OVER FAIR ACRES."It's them Mendip fellows," he said."The master rode to Chewton
yesterday, and somewhere about nine o'clock Mavis come home with no one
on his back.We knew summat was amiss, and we set out with lant'uns, the
mistress and I----"
"Mother went!""Yes; we couldn't keep her back.We was wandering about most of the
night.About eight o'clock this morning a cart comed along, and there
was the master brought home more dead than alive by one of farmer
Scott's carters.""Well, yes; he was when I comed off," Thomas said, doubtfully."And why did not you come for me before?"Well," said Thomas, "we've had so much running about for doctors; and
Mavis ain't much good.Joyce asked, "a fall from Mavis?""Aye, I dare say; but he was knocked off by a blow of a stone or summat.There's a hole in his temple, just cut clean by a stone so they say.""There's a lot of folks come to see after him.Paget and Squire
Bennett, and the Bishop's son from Wells; and there's no want of help;
and they'll try and hunt him out.""Why, the brute that caused the master to fall off Mavis's back, of
course.I never did hold with master being so free riding over the
Mendips at late hours.I've said so scores of times--_scores_.But
there, he had the heart of a lion, he had."had!_ How the word smote on Joyce's ear."_Has_ father--_has_--" she murmured, "he cannot, cannot be--dead!"They went at a fair pace along the lonely
lanes; they passed through villages where the men were smoking pipes at
the cottage doors, the women standing by with babies in their arms,
while dusty, dirty little urchins played at "cross sticks" under the
very nose of the old horse.Once they passed a small farm where a
mother, neatly dressed, was standing at the gate, and a girl of fourteen
ran out to meet a man with her baby brother in her arms, who stretched
out his hands as the girl said:
"Yes, there's daddy!how often had Joyce watched for her father at the gate!How her
heart had thrilled with joy as she ran to meet him; and now!A low cry escaped her, which made Thomas turn his head, which he had
hitherto kept steadily to the front, as if everything depended on his
staring straight between the ears of the horse, and never looking to the
right hand, or the left.Thomas was a hard featured man, who had served the old squire, and to
whom Mr."Doan't ee fret, my dear
Miss Joyce.Ah, _was_ it the hand of Almighty Love, the God that had so lately
revealed Himself to her in Christ, the All-loving as well as the
All-mighty--was it possible He could take away 'the master from her head
that day'?The old servant's voice quavering with sympathy made Joyce feel that she
was also trembling on the brink of tears."Thomas, I want to be brave, for I shall have to comfort him and
mother."The even jog trot of the horse's heavy
hoofs kept up a continuous rhythm:
"Home, home again; home, home again--this seemed the burden of the
strain--home, home again, but the same home never, never again."The evening shadows were lying across the turf where the daisies had
closed their golden eyes for the night, when the gig turned into the
familiar road and drew up at the door.The door was open, but there was no one there.Joyce sprang down and
passed in, throwing off her large bonnet, and unfastening the clasp of
her cloak, which seemed like to choke her.Mary moved to the bedroom.In the supreme moments of life the most trivial things always seem to
fasten upon the outward senses, as if to show, by force of contrast, the
enormous proportions of the great trouble--or the great joy, it may
be--which is at the time overshadowing us.So Joyce, as she stood in the hall, noticed that one of the stag's
glass eyes had dropped out and lay upon the bench upon which Gilbert
Arundel had sat on the night of their adventure on the moor.She saw,
too, lying there, a large pair of scissors, and a roll of lint lay on
the window-seat, with a basin in which the water was a pale
crimson."They bandaged his head here," she thought,--and she was going
upstairs, when slow, heavy, jerky footsteps were heard, and Duke came
down, and, putting his nose into her hand, whined a low, piteous whine.As if he understood her human speech--as, indeed, he did, Duke turned to
precede her upstairs.On a bench in the long corridor two maid servants were seated, crying
bitterly.But Joyce did not speak to them, she dared not; even the
question she had asked Duke died on her lips.The door of her father's room was ajar; and as Duke pushed it open with
his nose, Joyce could see the great four-post bed, her mother sitting by
it, and curled up in the window-seat was Piers.The friends who had been there in the early part of the day were gone;
they could do no more at Fair Acres.Paget's aim was to set the
constables to work to find the man who must have hurled a sharp stone at
Mr.He had a pressing
case near Wells upon his hands, but he was to return at eight o'clock,
when, it was hoped the doctor greater than himself, who had been
summoned from Bristol, would have arrived.In those days help in emergency was slow to obtain.Telegrams were not
dreamed of, and horsepower performed the part which steam was soon to
take up; to be followed by the marvellous electric force, which now
sends on the wings of the wind messages all over the world, multiplied,
on the very day on which I write, to an enormous extent, by the
introduction of sixpenny telegrams, which will send a call for help, or
strike a note of joy, and win an immediate response from thousands.But there were no electric messages possible to get medical help for the
squire, nor, indeed, would any help avail.With a great sigh, Duke resumed his watch at the foot of the high bed;
and Joyce, crossing over, kissed her mother and Piers, and then gazed
down upon her father."He has not spoken nor opened his eyes since we laid him here," Mrs."He knows no one--no one----"
"Did he tell how it happened?""It might have been that he was thrown from--from--Mavis."Falconer said again, "that could not be, they think; besides,
they found a heavy stick and a tinder box close by."Presently Piers came down from his place, and Joyce put her arms round
him.The boy was very calm, but great tears fell upon Joyce's hand as
she pressed him close.Duke lay motionless, but his eyes were on the
alert.The servants looked in sometimes, and brought Joyce and her
mother some tea and cake.Joyce swallowed a cup of tea, but ate nothing.Could this be the evening of the day which dawned so brightly?--the
Wrington bells chiming, the village children singing hymns, joyousness
and gladness everywhere.More; the
bright, intelligent conversation to which she was listening; then her
own narrative of the Mendip adventure;--and this brought her to the
present from the past!If her father had been assailed by a malicious miner on Mendip, that
assailant was Bob Priday; of this she felt no doubt.The Bristol doctor came, and the Wells doctor and they held a
consultation.But there was nothing to be done; the injury Mr."Will he give no sign, no word that he knows us?""We |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | And so the sad hours of the night passed, and the
dawn broke over the familiar fields, and Fair Acres smiled in the first
bright rays of the morning.Piers had slept curled up in his window-seat, worn out with grief.Falconer, too, had slept in an upright position, her head resting
against the back of the chair, sleeping for sorrow.But Joyce did not sleep; she kept watch, hoping, praying for one word of
farewell.As the first sunbeam slanted through the casement, her father opened his
eyes, and fastened them on Joyce."Sunshine," he said, with a faint
smile."I hope my little girl will be named after my mother, _Joyce_.Yes, it
is an old-world name, but I fancy it; name her Joyce."The sound of his master's voice roused Duke, who pricked his ears and
came to the bedside."There is a word I cannot catch, about the _Life_.Then Piers, starting up, said:
"I know.'Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the
_Life_.'"A smile of infinite content came over the father's face.Presently he murmured Melville's name, and those of the children who had
gone before."The little girls all died but _one_," he said.They knelt down as in the presence of something unseen but near; for the
shadows gathered on the fine face of the husband and father; and Piers
repeated for the second time:
"Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the Life!"As if with a great effort to repeat the words, the squire said, faintly,
"Jesus said,"--then silence fell; and the next thing Joyce knew was
that she was lying in her own little bed, and that she was fatherless.* * * * *
The news of the squire's death spread quickly through the whole
district.As is often the case, no one knew how much he had been
respected till he was gone.Then there were terrible circumstances
connected with his death, which, apart from his loss, troubled the
magistrates who had sat with him on the bench, and had probably made
enemies, as he had done, in the performance of their duty.The roads across the Mendip were avoided more than ever, and as time
went on and nothing was heard of or discovered about the man who had
thrown the missile which had caused Mr.Falconer's death; if the wonder
faded out, the fear remained; the county constabulary were, truth to
tell, afraid of their own lives, and there was no machinery of
detectives at work then, as now.However, whatever search was made it
was fruitless, and the offender had escaped beyond the reach of
punishment.As with a sudden transition into a new state of existence, Joyce found
herself the central figure to whom everyone looked for help and advice.She would sit for hours in that inaction,
which it is so painful to notice in those who have been once so full of
life and movement.The boys who had been sent for from school did not
return to it.Ralph surprised everyone by saying that he should give up
study, and come and live at home and help his mother--at any rate, till
Melville came back, if ever he did come back, to take his place at Fair
Acres.By interest exerted by the Bishop of Bath and Wells, Harry and
Bunny both got into the navy, and went forth, poor little boys, full of
hope and delight, to encounter the hardships which then were the
universal fate of little middys, in their first acquaintance with the
salt sea waves they loved so well.It was touching to see the young brother and sister, who were left at
the head of affairs, resolutely doing their utmost to spare their
mother, and to keep things, as Mr.If he were old he was intensely useful and honourable; and Ralph's power
to adapt himself to his new manner of life was really wonderful.He set
himself to study the few and scanty agricultural books which were on his
father's shelves, and mastered the accounts in a way which Mr.Gell, the
lawyer, and Mr.Paget, the executor under the will, found to be
surprising.Miss Falconer had sent many kind little notes on very deep black-edged
paper, and sealed with a large black seal, to "her dear afflicted
sister;" and Charlotte, who had returned from Barley Wood on the day
after Joyce left it, composed verses of doubtful rhythm, and still more
doubtful sense, which she sent, done up in brown paper parcels by the
carrier, as they were too voluminous to be conveyed in any other way.Verses in which "bleeding hearts" and "rivers of tears," sought vainly
for appropriate rhymes; where "fears" refused to follow "bears," and
"eyes" was made to do duty again and again with "prize" and "sighs."More wrote a tender letter of sympathy to Joyce, and would have
driven over to see her, had not the shortening days and threatened cold
kept her a close prisoner.Indeed, she was laid low with one of her most
dangerous illnesses before September was over; and Miss Frowde and her
doctor thought it more than doubtful if, at her advanced age, she would
recover.It was on a still October afternoon, when autumnal stillness reigned in
the woods and fields, that Joyce went to the seat under the fir trees to
be alone with her sorrow.The grassy <DW72> was slippery now with recent
rain, and though the clouds had rolled off eastward, the sunshine was
pale and watery, coming in fitful gleams through the veil of thin misty
vapour which hung over the sky.Joyce often came to this seat; it was associated with her father, and
she loved to be there and give full vent to the sorrow which, for the
sake of others, she had learned to hide.Miss Falconer and Charlotte had
paid one visit of condolence after the funeral.They were surprised, and
I may even say disappointed, to see Joyce so calm, and Miss Falconer
thought how different it would be with Charlotte when she was taken from
her; she would be entirely prostrate and unfit for exertion.John travelled to the bedroom.It is well for the world that some people are fit for exertion, even in
the midst of crushing sorrow.It would be a melancholy thing if all
grief-stricken ones fed on their grief in solitude, and shut themselves
up from doing their best, to lighten the burden of others.Miss Falconer would not have had cause to lament Joyce's unnatural calm,
if she had seen her as she sat upon the old bench, in the dim, pale
light of the October day, when, amidst the hush of all around, her sobs
and low cry of "Oh!father--father," throbbed in the quiet air.They had been so much to each other; they had understood each other so
perfectly.The beautiful tie between father and daughter, which when it
exists is one of the most beautiful in the world, seemed severed,
cruelly severed, and Joyce was desolate.She was scarcely eighteen, and
the freshness and gladness of her life hitherto had been remarkable.Now, all unawares, the storm had swept over her sky, and, when it
passed, left her lonely indeed.Falconer was one of those people who bury their dead out of sight,
and cannot bear the mention of their names.Ralph, setting his face
bravely to meet his duty, did not speak of his father as Joyce would
have loved to speak of him, and it was only to Piers, that Joyce could
sometimes ease her burdened heart, by talking of her father.Just as on
the summer morning, now looking so far off, left in the golden haze of
joy and glad young life, Joyce had seen her lame brother at the gate of
the plantation, so she saw him now.She made a great effort to control her weeping, and said:
"It is very slippery on the turf to-day; wait, dear, and I will come
down to help you."But Piers said:
"I want _you_ to come down; I don't want to come up."Piers did not answer, and in another minute Joyce was at his side."Joyce, there is a woman hiding under the maples and brambles."Perhaps she is one of the women employed on the farm.""I don't know," said Piers, "I wish you would come and see who it is.""Very well, dear," Joyce said; "you are sure it is a _woman_?""Yes, and she is crying and sobbing."Joyce followed Piers along the shrubbery path, now covered with a new
layer of fallen leaves, and, at the turn of a still narrower side path,
she saw, half hidden by the brambles and undergrowth, a woman; her head,
bowed upon her hands, and her attitude one of despair.Joyce went near and said: "What is the matter?The woman raised her head, and Joyce recognised at once that she was
Susan Priday.Thoughts of the night on Mendip; of the fierce onslaught made on Gilbert
Arundel by the big giant, and the almost certainty she felt, that the
cruel blow aimed at her father was by the same hand, made Joyce start
back and say, coldly:
"You had better not stay here, these are private grounds."Piers, who was leaning against the bole of a beech tree, said:
"Yes; get up and go away.I will show you the gate into the road.""Lady," said the girl, passionately, "I came to see _you_.I saw you
sobbing and crying on the bench yonder, for I got into the plantation
that way.I heard you sob, and call 'Father,' and then my heart nearly
broke, and I came round at the back and got over the hedge.I felt as if
I dare not speak to you."Yes," Joyce said; "of course I see who you are, but I--I cannot do
anything for you, and we are all in great grief, very, very great
grief," Joyce said, with a sudden spasm of agony in her voice."I know it, I know it, that's why I came; and I'm in grief, too.Father
is gone away, no one knows where; the boys have run off, and, oh!I did think I'd keep him, for mother's sake; but, in a
drunken fit, father threw a pot of boiling water at me.It missed me,
and the baby caught it on his neck and face, and it scalded him
dreadful.The school mistress was kind, and so was Mrs.Amos, she that
owns the farm; but he died--he died--and I am all alone.For you must be
aware that suspicion points to him as the cause of my--of my dear
father's death."miss, forgive me, and let me come and serve
you.I want no wage; but I'd die for you, if that would do you good.I
have never forgot your face that night, nor how you spoke soft then
instead of angry.Oh, miss, let me come and live with you.I'll do the work of two in the dairy, or in the house,
and I want no wage.Poor mother always said God would take care of me,
but He has taken away the baby, He has, that is the cruellest part.miss, you can't tell what it is to be filled with shame
about a father."Yes, I remember now that the General was called Ernest,
I knew I had some particular reason for disliking the name.I felt from the first that you could
have no other name!Mary moved to the bedroom.Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly
that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth.For I feel that you are sure to change.[Embraces her]
Miss Prism.My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of
triviality.On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I've now realised for the first
time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.He took iodide of
potassium for a time after his mercurial course.He has since
been and is now in perfect health.The remedies for this disease are unfortunately so numerous, there is so
much temptation to try another where one remedy has failed, that it is
seldom or never that an uncomplicated case of dyspepsia applies for
electrical treatment.As a rule, the disease that furnishes cause for
referring a case to the specialist, is some nervous trouble secondary to
the dyspepsia.In regard to the influence of electric baths on dyspeptic conditions,
whether complicated or not, I can however speak unqualifiedly in their
favor.I know of no one other remedy that can at all approach them in
this respect.Whatever the secondary or other troubles of patients, any
co-existing dyspepsia was in every instance either cured or greatly
ameliorated.The improvement usually begins at once--after the first or
second bath, and continues steadily.As I have not had occasion to treat
by means of electric baths any uncomplicated cases of dyspepsia, I can
adduce none.John went back to the bathroom.I may safely claim however for the baths a reliability and
bespeak for them a confidence that I might claim or bespeak for no other
remedy or plan of treatment whatsoever--assertions which would appear
rash and venturesome, had I not at my command abundant clinical evidence
to warrant my making them.A case of melancholia, highly illustrative of the effects in this
condition of electric baths, came under my notice very recently.It may
serve as a guide in the treatment of this and kindred conditions.22, single, butcher, consulted me Oct.21st, 1875, for melancholia and loss of memory, from which he
had suffered for upwards of a year.He had frequently
entertained the idea of suicide.Sandra moved to the bathroom.A thorough examination revealed
no trouble of any of the viscera.There were no collateral symptoms to
furnish any evidence of organic cerebral trouble.I prescribed
phosphorus and strychnia, and galvanized the brain twice a week.Two weeks of this treatment had completely negative results.I
then ordered electric baths.Four baths resulted in a complete
cure.INEQUALITIES OF THE CIRCULATION.As a very fruitful source of morbid conditions of almost every nature,
abnormities of the circulation of the blood are well worthy our
attention.As is the case with dyspepsia, so here likewise patients
seldom present themselves for treatment unless some definite secondary
pathological condition has supervened.We find these patients
complaining of cold hands and feet, irregular and disturbed sleep,
occasional local congestions, with vague, usually slight pains here and
there, etc., etc.Where organic cardiac disease is at the bottom of the
trouble, we cannot of course expect much permanent improvement.Although
even here considerable relief is often afforded while the baths are
being used, their discontinuance will in all probability be soon
followed by a return of the former condition.Where, however, cases are
not complicated by organic disease, where we have a "sluggishness" of
the circulation, due either to vasomotor inertia or atony of the
muscular coats of vessels, the electric bath will be found reliably
efficient.55) alluded to this subject, and explained
the probable "mode of action" here of the baths.I will now offer some
suggestions as to the best method of administering them with a view to
equalizing the circulation.We must here seek to stimulate the vasomotor system, both central and
peripheral; to give tone to the coats of vessels, both by direct and
indirect electric influence; through counter-irritation to relieve
internal congestions, by causing an afflux of blood to the skin.These
objects are best attained by means of the galvanic current, which should
be employed of sufficient intensity to produce a rubefacient effect.The
faradic current acts in the same direction, but far less energetically,
if we except the vessels near the surface, the muscular coats of which
are probably more efficiently tonicised by this than by the constant
current.The faradic current however is applicable here in another way,
and for a very important object.I refer to the _mechanical_
counter-action of a sluggish circulation, through the agency of
prolonged muscular contraction.This mechanical effect is not of course
peculiar to the faradic current; it is shared by gymnastic and |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | By administering the _general_ faradic
current in the bath, of sufficient intensity to _maintain_ muscular
contraction as long as the circuit remains closed, any stagnant blood in
the lower extremities will be efficiently forced into the general
circulation.After from three to five minutes of this faradization, the
surface board may be successively applied for a minute or two each to
the arms, abdomen, pectoral and dorsal muscles.I believe the _best_
results can be obtained by first going through the faradic process, then
subjecting the patient to general galvanization, as above indicated, and
concluding by another but brief faradization.AFFECTIONS OF THE SYMPATHETIC.Last, but not least, I have some remarks to offer on the treatment by
the electric bath of certain affections of the sympathetic nerve.While
I do not in any such cases accord to the baths the rank of an exclusive
remedy or even a specific, their importance as an adjuvant is sufficient
to entitle them to special consideration in this connection.In those
neuroses of the sympathetic where electricity (galvanism) is indicated,
the _greatest_ benefit can be obtained from local applications.On the
other hand the baths, employed in addition to local applications, will
be found a very important factor in the treatment, possessing, as they
do, two advantages, viz: _first_, by their means, the electric influence
is brought to bear--in a much less concentrated form it is true--on the
entire sympathetic system, from the _ganglion impar_ to the _ganglion
cervicale supremum_, and, by derived currents, on the cephalic ganglia
also, at one and the same time; _second_, the rest of the body
participates in the general nutrient and tonic effects of the bath
equally with the sympathetic, the latter thus receiving a reflex benefit
which local applications fail to furnish.There are, moreover, cases
where hyperaesthetic conditions of the nerve do not admit of local
applications, and where yet electricity is urgently called for.Thus I
have at present under treatment a lad sixteen years of age, in whom both
supreme cervical sympathetic ganglia as well as the ganglion impar were
until recently so susceptible that the mere adjustment of the
electrodes caused him great pain, while on the other hand he bore the
baths exceedingly well.In such cases, electric baths, suitably
administered, frequently constitute in conjunction with proper
medication, the most useful treatment.As to the mode of administration in sympathetic neuroses of the baths,
the most direct manner in which to influence the diseased nerve, is by
connecting one pole of a _galvanic_ battery (I consider the faradic
current next to useless here) to the head electrode, the other to the
surface board, the latter applied portion of the time to the epigastrium
(solar plexus), the balance to the coccyx (_ganglion impar_).This will
include in the direct circuit the main portion of the sympathetic, the
position in the tub of the bather bringing the cilio-spinal centre very
close to the head-electrode.The direction of the current must be
determined by the individual features presented by each case, as also
the duration of the bath.31, merchant, was referred to me April
3d 1874, by Dr.S., until then
in the enjoyment of good health, woke up one morning to find, as
he expressed it, "everything dark before his eyes."He groped
his way to the window, in order to open the blinds.When at the
window, he felt as though about to fall out--probably vertigo.He soon returned to an apparently normal condition, and went
about his business as usual.A week after, he had a much more
serious attack, which he describes as follows: "I had been
playing whist during the evening (several hours), when suddenly,
without premonition, I felt as though a champagne cork popped
against the top of my head, inside.John travelled to the bedroom.Accompanying this was an
indefinable sensation about the heart as though the blood all
rushed thence down to the feet.I did not lose consciousness;
did not fall.I trembled all over, and a great fear came over
me.Felt very weak all night; my pulse was very slow."About two
months subsequently, patient was referred to me, as above
stated.Mary moved to the bedroom.He then had an uneasy look; an indefinable continual
sense of fear; was excessively nervous in the forepart of the
day; had brief attacks of tremor--usually every alternate
morning, but not typical as to time of occurrence.John went back to the bathroom.The history
exhibited neither syphilis, malaria nor intemperance.The most
pathognomonic symptom, however, related to his pulse.This was
abnormally slow, ranging from 44 to 54 (the latter only when
standing or after walking) per minute.In the absence of any other
symptom whatsoever pointing to irritation of the pneumogastric
or spinal accessory, I was justified in excluding this as the
possible cause of the cardiac infrequency.On the other hand,
the pathogenetic manifestations appeared all to point to
"asthenia of the sympathetic"--at any rate the portion of this
whence the cardiac nerves take their origin, and I formed my
diagnosis accordingly.In the beginning, the treatment consisted
of bilateral ascending (from cilio-spinal centre to both mastoid
fossae) galvanizations of the sympathetic, and galvanic baths
(head electrode negative, surface board positive, to
epigastrium) on alternate days.Improvement in every respect was
steady, though not rapid.At the end of three weeks, I
supplemented this treatment by the administration of ergotin and
nux vomica.At the expiration of two more weeks, the patient
being nearly recovered, I discontinued these medicaments,
substituting the valerianates of zinc and iron, and steadily
maintaining meanwhile the electrical treatment as above
indicated.After a short time recovery appeared complete, and
patient was discharged from treatment.He returned however a few
months subsequently, complaining of "faint spells" in the
mornings, accompanied with excessive nervousness, and a renewed
though moderate cardiac infrequency.Electrical treatment,
similar to that above described, soon restored him.One or two
more slight relapses occurred during the next six months.For
over a year past however Mr.S. has been in the enjoyment of
perfect and undisturbed health.His normal pulse ranges from 72
to 80.Whoever is familiar with the physiological effects of electric baths,
will readily concede their great utility in a variety of conditions that
I have not thus far specially alluded to.Of such I would mention
ASTHENIAE, ATONIC AND DEBILITATED CONDITIONS GENERALLY, including the
state of CONVALESCENCE FROM ACUTE DISEASES and the DECLINE OF ADVANCING
AGE; many cases of CHRONIC HEADACHE; some INCLASSIFIABLE CONDITIONS OF
MARASMUS and MALNUTRITION, etc., etc.In all such cases, when purely
functional and uncomplicated by incurable organic disease, good results
may be confidently looked for.* * * * *
With these remarks I conclude my subject.Whichever the errors that a
too limited experience may have engendered--and I doubt not there are
many, I cannot on reviewing my work accuse myself of lack of candor nor
yet of undue enthusiasm.I have cited but a small proportion of the
successful cases whereof I possess records; still I believe that I have
adduced amply sufficient clinical proof of the great value as a remedial
agent of electric baths, and of the desirability of their more general
adoption.I would more especially call attention to the
inappropriateness of deferring their employment until almost all other
remedies have been exhausted; and when I reflect that pretty much all
those cases that had been referred to me by other physicians had already
had the doubtful benefit of almost every other conceivable treatment,
while many of those who came of their own accord, had in addition made
the rounds of all the quacks, and exhausted nearly all the nostrums that
are to be found advertised in the columns of our daily papers, the
wonder seems that the results obtained were as good as they have been.I
sincerely trust that in the future physicians will avail themselves
more frequently than heretofore of a remedy that is certainly capable of
accomplishing much good; and I hope that in addition to myself there
will be found others, more competent, to devote themselves to the study
of the subject.To these, and perhaps to myself at a future time, I
relegate the task of correcting my errors and promulgating hitherto
undiscovered truths.Footnotes:
[Footnote 10: Centralblatt fuer die medicinischen Wissenschaften,
No.Sandra moved to the bathroom.[Footnote 11: The apparatus used in these experiments was that
of Du Bois-Reymond, with a Grove's element.][Footnote 12: Since writing the above, this case has had an
entirely favorable termination.][Footnote 13: The cases distinguished by an asterisk were
published in No.[Footnote 14: Wherever I use the word "general" as descriptive
of an electric current used in the bath, it is not as a
characteristic, but merely to distinguish it from the instances
where the surface board is employed.][Footnote 15: Austin Flint, M.D.John journeyed to the office.A Treatise on the Principles
and Practice of Medicine.[Footnote 16: See Beard and Rockwell, op.Daniel journeyed to the office.[Footnote 17: This was written a year ago.See remarks preceding
the case.]A.
PAGE
Agrypnia 92
Anaemia 93
Apparatus for baths 7
Articular effusions 105
B.
Bath-tub 8
Batteries 16
C.
Cachexiae 118
Chemicals in baths 15
Chorea 80
Circulation, effects on 55
" inequalities of 123
Clinical Record 61
Conductivity of water, etc.13
Constipation 112
Counter-irritant effects 56
D.
Debility, general 129-130
Diagnostic uses 53
Digestive apparatus, effects on 44
Dyspepsia 121
E.
Electric Bath compared with other
electrical methods 32
Electrodes 10
G.
General Therapeutics 52
H.
Hydrargyrosis 115
Hypnotic effects 38-58
Hysterical affections 82
I.
Impotency 106
Insomnia 92
Invigorant properties 57
|
bedroom | Where is John? | 029: [normalized] the sub-acute symptoms -> subacute
p.056: GENERAL COUNTER IRRITANT -> COUNTER-IRRITANT
p.056: [normalized] the use of the surface-board -> surface board
p.059: does... became apparent -> become apparent
p.067: [normalized] acute, sub-acute and chronic -> subacute
p.073: [normalized] bi-carbonate of soda or potassa -> bicarbonate
p.The grounds of these laws are just and equitable.Undoubtedly
the good fame of every man ought to be under the protection of the laws
as well as his life, and liberty, and property.Good fame is an outwork,
that defends them all, and renders them all valuable.The law forbids
you to revenge; when it ties up the hands of some, it ought to restrain
the tongues of others.The good fame of government is the same, it ought
not to be traduced.This is necessary in all government, and if opinion
be support, what takes away this destroys that support; but the liberty
of the press is necessary to this government.The wisdom, however, of government is of more importance than the laws.I
should study the temper of the people before I ventured on actions of
this kind.I would consider the whole of the prosecution of a libel of
such importance as Junius, as one piece, as one consistent plan of
operations; and I would contrive it so that, if I were defeated, I should
not be disgraced; that even my victory should not be more ignominious
than my defeat; I would so manage, that the lowest in the predicament of
guilt should not be the only one in punishment.I would not inform
against the mere vender of a collection of pamphlets.John travelled to the bedroom.I would not put
him to trial first, if I could possibly avoid it.I would rather stand
the consequences of my first error, than carry it to a judgment that must
disgrace my prosecution, or the court.We ought to examine these things
in a manner which becomes ourselves, and becomes the object of the
inquiry; not to examine into the most important consideration which can
come before us, with minds heated with prejudice and filled with
passions, with vain popular opinions and humours, and when we propose to
examine into the justice of others, to be unjust ourselves.An inquiry is wished, as the most effectual way of putting an end to the
clamours and libels, which are the disorder and disgrace of the times.For people remain quiet, they sleep secure, when they imagine that the
vigilant eye of a censorial magistrate watches over all the proceedings
of judicature, and that the sacred fire of an eternal constitutional
jealousy, which is the guardian of liberty, law, and justice, is alive
night and day, and burning in this house.Mary moved to the bedroom.But when the magistrate gives
up his office and his duty, the people assume it, and they inquire too
much, and too irreverently, because they think their representatives do
not inquire at all.The communication, called
by the lawyers the publication.John went back to the bathroom.The matter--diminution of
fame.The law presumptions on all these are in the communication.No
intent can, make a defamatory publication good, nothing can make it have
a good tendency; truth is not pleadable.Taken juridically, the
foundation of these law presumptions is not unjust; taken
constitutionally, they are ruinous, and tend to the total suppression of
all publication.If juries are confined to the fact, no writing which
censures, however justly, or however temperately, the conduct of
administration, can be unpunished.Therefore, if the intent and tendency
be left to the judge, as legal conclusions growing from the fact, you may
depend upon it you can have no public discussion of a public measure,
which is a point which even those who are most offended with the
licentiousness of the press (and it is very exorbitant, very provoking)
will hardly contend for.So far as to the first opinion, that the doctrine is right and needs no
alteration.The next is, that it is wrong, but that we are not in a
condition to help it.I admit, it is true, that there are cases of a
nature so delicate and complicated, that an Act of Parliament on the
subject may become a matter of great difficulty.It sometimes cannot
define with exactness, because the subject-matter will not bear an exact
definition.It may seem to take away everything which it does not
positively establish, and this might be inconvenient; or it may seem
_vice versa_ to establish everything which it does not expressly take
away.It may be more advisable to leave such matters to the enlightened
discretion of a judge, awed by a censorial House of Commons.But then it
rests upon those who object to a legislative interposition to prove these
inconveniences in the particular case before them.For it would be a
most dangerous, as it is a most idle and most groundless, conceit to
assume as a general principle, that the rights and liberties of the
subject are impaired by the care and attention of the legislature to
secure them.If so, very ill would the purchase of Magna Charta have
merited the deluge of blood, which was shed in order to have the body of
English privileges defined by a positive written law.This charter, the
inestimable monument of English freedom, so long the boast and glory of
this nation, would have been at once an instrument of our servitude, and
a monument of our folly, if this principle were true.The thirty four
confirmations would have been only so many repetitions of their
absurdity, so many new links in the chain, and so many invalidations of
their right.You cannot open your statute book without seeing positive provisions
relative to every right of the subject.This business of juries is the
subject of not fewer than a dozen.To suppose that juries are something
innate in the Constitution of Great Britain, that they have jumped, like
Minerva, out of the head of Jove in complete armour, is a weak fancy,
supported neither by precedent nor by reason.Whatever is most ancient
and venerable in our Constitution, royal prerogative, privileges of
parliament, rights of elections, authority of courts, juries, must have
been modelled according to the occasion.I spare your patience, and I
pay a compliment to your understanding, in not attempting to prove that
anything so elaborate and artificial as a jury was not the work of
chance, but a matter of institution, brought to its present state by the
joint efforts of legislative authority and juridical prudence.It need
not be ashamed of being (what in many parts of it at least it is) the
offspring of an Act of Parliament, unless it is a shame for our laws to
be the results of our legislature.Juries, which sensitively shrank from
the rude touch of parliamentary remedy, have been the subject of not
fewer than, I think, forty-three Acts of Parliament, in which they have
been changed with all the authority of a creator over its creature, from
Magna Charta to the great alterations which were made in the 29th of
George II.To talk of this matter in any other way is to turn a rational principle
into an idle and vulgar superstition, like the antiquary, Dr.Sandra moved to the bathroom.Woodward,
who trembled to have his shield scoured, for fear it should be discovered
to be no better than an old pot-lid.This species of tenderness to a
jury puts me in mind of a gentleman of good condition, who had been
reduced to great poverty and distress; application was made to some rich
fellows in his neighbourhood to give him some assistance; but they begged
to be excused for fear of affronting a person of his high birth; and so
the poor gentleman was left to starve out of pure respect to the
antiquity of his family.From this principle has risen an opinion that I
find current amongst gentlemen, that this distemper ought to be left to
cure itself; that the judges having been well exposed, and something
terrified on account of these clamours, will entirely change, if not very
much relax from their rigour; if the present race should not change, that
the chances of succession may put other more constitutional judges in
their place; lastly, if neither should happen, yet that the spirit of an
English jury will always be sufficient for the vindication of its own
rights, and will not suffer itself to be overborne by the bench.I
confess that I totally dissent from all these opinions.These
suppositions become the strongest reasons with me to evince the necessity
of some clear and positive settlement of this question of contested
jurisdiction.If judges are so full of levity, so full of timidity, if
they are influenced by such mean and unworthy passions, that a popular
clamour is sufficient to shake the resolution they build upon the solid
basis of a legal principle, I would endeavour to fix that mercury by a
positive law.If to please an administration the judges can go one way
to-day, and to please the crowd they can go another to-morrow; if they
will oscillate backward and forward between power and popularity, it is
high time to fix the law in such a manner as to resemble, as it ought,
the great Author of all law, in "whom there is no variableness nor shadow
of turning."As to their succession, I have just the same opinion.I would not leave
it to the chances of promotion, or to the characters of lawyers, what the
law of the land, what the rights of juries, or what the liberty of the
press should be.My law should not depend upon the fluctuation of the
closet, or the complexion of men.Whether a black-haired man or a fair-
haired man presided in the Court of King's Bench, I would have the law
the same: the same whether he was born in _domo regnatrice_, and sucked
from his infancy the milk of courts, or was nurtured in the rugged
discipline of a popular opposition.This law of court cabal and of
party, this _mens quaedam nullo perturbata affectu_, this law of
complexion, ought not to be endured for a moment in a country whose being
depends upon the certainty, clearness, and stability of institutions.Now I come to the last substitute for the proposed bill, the spirit of
juries operating their own jurisdiction.This, I confess, I think the
worst of all, for the same reasons on which I objected to the others, and
for other weighty reasons besides which are separate and distinct.First,
because juries, being taken at random out of a mass of men infinitely
large, must be of characters as various as the body they arise from is
large in its extent.If the judges differ in their complexions, much
more will a jury.A timid jury will give way to an awful judge
delivering oracularly the law, and charging them on their oaths, and
putting it home to their consciences, to beware of judging where the law
had given them no competence.We know that they will do so, they have
done so in a hundred instances; a respectable member of your own house,
no vulgar man, tells you that on the authority of a judge he found a man
guilty, in whom, at the same time, he could find no guilt.But supposing
them full of knowledge and full of manly confidence in themselves, how
will their knowledge, or their confidence, inform or inspirit others?They give no reason for their verdict, they can but condemn or acquit;
and no man can tell the motives on which they have acquitted or
condemned.So that this hope of the power of juries to assert their own
jurisdiction must be a principle blind, as being without reason, and as
changeable as the complexion of men and the temper of the times.But, after all, is it fit that this dishonourable contention between the
court and juries should subsist any longer?John journeyed to the office.On what principle is it that
a jury refuses to be directed by the court as to his competence?Whether
a libel or no libel be a question of law or of fact may be doubted, but a
question of jurisdiction and competence is certainly a question of law;
on this the court ought undoubtedly to judge, and to judge solely and
exclusively.If they judge wrong from excusable error, you ought to
correct it, as to-day it is proposed, by an explanatory bill; or if by
corruption, by bill of penalties declaratory, and by punishment.Daniel journeyed to the office.What
does a juror say to a judge when he refuses his opinion upon a question
of judicature?You are so corrupt, that I should consider myself a
partaker of your crime, were I to be guided by your opinion; or you are
so grossly ignorant, that I, fresh from my bounds, from my plough, my
counter, or my loom, am fit to direct you in your profession.This is an
unfitting, it is a dangerous, state of things.The spirit of any sort of
men is not a fit rule for deciding on the bounds of their jurisdiction.First, because it is different in different men, and even different in
the same at different times; and can never become the proper directing
line of law; next, because it is not reason, but feeling; and when once
it is irritated, it is not apt to confine itself within its proper
limits.John went back to the garden.If it becomes, not difference in opinion upon law, but a trial
of spirit between parties, our courts of law are no longer the temple of
justice, but the amphitheatre for gladiators.Juries
ought to take their law from the bench only; but it is our business that
they should hear nothing from the bench but what is agreeable to the
principles of the Constitution.The jury are to hear the judge, the
judge is to hear the law where it speaks plain; where it does not, he is
to hear the legislature.As I do not think these opinions of the judges
to be agreeable to those principles, I wish to take the only method in
which they can or ought to be corrected, by bill.Next, my opinion is, that it ought to be rather by a bill for removing
controversies than by a bill in the state of manifest and express
declaration, and in words _de praeterito_.I do this upon reasons of
equity and constitutional policy.I do not want to censure the present
judges.I think them to be excused for their error.Ignorance is no
excuse for a judge: it is changing the nature of his crime--it is not
absolving.John journeyed to the bedroom.It must be such error as a wise and conscientious judge may
possibly fall into, and must arise from one or both these causes: first,
a plausible principle of law; secondly, the precedents of respectable
authorities, and in good times.In the first, the principle of law, that
the judge is to decide on law, the jury to decide on fact, is an ancient
and venerable principle and maxim of the law, and if supported in this
application by precedents of good times and of good men, the judge, if
wrong, ought to be corrected; he ought not to be reproved, or to be
disgraced, or the authority or respect to your tribunals to be impaired.In cases in which declaratory bills have been made, where by violence and
corruption some fundamental part of the Constitution has been struck at;
where they would damn the principle, censure the persons, and annul the
acts; but where the law having been, by the accident of human frailty,
depraved, or in a particular instance misunderstood, where you neither
mean to rescind the acts, nor to censure the persons, in such cases you
have taken the explanatory mode, and, without condemning what is done,
you direct the future judgment of the court.All bills for the reformation of the law must be according to the subject-
matter, the circumstances, and the occasion, and are of four kinds:--1.Either the law is totally wanting, and then a new enacting statute must
be made to supply that want; or, 2.It is defective, then a new law must
be made to enforce it.Or it is opposed by power or fraud, and then
an act must be made to declare it.4 Or it is rendered doubtful and
controverted, and then a law must be made to explain it.These must be
applied according to the exigence of the case; one is just as good as
another of them.Miserable, indeed, would be the resources, poor and
unfurnished the stores and magazines of legislation, if we were bound up
to a little narrow form, and not able to frame |
bathroom | Where is John? | Those who think that the judges, living and dead, are to be condemned,
that your tribunals of justice are to be dishonoured, that their acts and
judgments on this business are to be rescinded, they will undoubtedly
vote against this bill, and for another sort.I am not of the opinion of those gentlemen who are against disturbing the
public repose; I like a clamour whenever there is an abuse.The fire-
bell at midnight disturbs your sleep, but it keeps you from being burned
in your bed.The hue and cry alarms the county, but it preserves all the
property of the province.But a
clamour made merely for the purpose of rendering the people discontented
with their situation, without an endeavour to give them a practical
remedy, is indeed one of the worst acts of sedition.I have read and heard much upon the conduct of our courts in the business
of libels.I was extremely willing to enter into, and very free to act
as facts should turn out on that inquiry, aiming constantly at remedy as
the end of all clamour, all debate, all writing, and all inquiry; for
which reason I did embrace, and do now with joy, this method of giving
quiet to the courts, jurisdiction to juries, liberty to the press, and
satisfaction to the people.John travelled to the bedroom.I thank my friends for what they have done;
I hope the public will one day reap the benefit of their pious and
judicious endeavours.They have now sown the seed; I hope they will live
to see the flourishing harvest.Their bill is sown in weakness; it will,
I trust, be reaped in power; and then, however, we shall have reason to
apply to them what my Lord Coke says was an aphorism continually in the
mouth of a great sage of the law, "Blessed be not the complaining tongue,
but blessed be the amending hand."SPEECH ON A BILL FOR SHORTENING THE DURATION OF PARLIAMENTS
It is always to be lamented when men are driven to search into the
foundations of the commonwealth.Mary moved to the bedroom.It is certainly necessary to resort to
the theory of your government whenever you propose any alteration in the
frame of it, whether that alteration means the revival of some former
antiquated and forsaken constitution of state, or the introduction of
some new improvement in the commonwealth.John went back to the bathroom.The object of our deliberation
is, to promote the good purposes for which elections have been
instituted, and to prevent their inconveniences.If we thought frequent
elections attended with no inconvenience, or with but a trifling
inconvenience, the strong overruling principle of the Constitution would
sweep us like a torrent towards them.But your remedy is to be suited to
your disease--your present disease, and to your whole disease.That man
thinks much too highly, and therefore he thinks weakly and delusively, of
any contrivance of human wisdom, who believes that it can make any sort
of approach to perfection.There is not, there never was, a principle of
government under heaven, that does not, in the very pursuit of the good
it proposes, naturally and inevitably lead into some inconvenience, which
makes it absolutely necessary to counterwork and weaken the application
of that first principle itself; and to abandon something of the extent of
the advantage you proposed by it, in order to prevent also the
inconveniences which have arisen from the instrument of all the good you
had in view.To govern according to the sense and agreeably to the interests of the
people is a great and glorious object of government.This object cannot
be obtained but through the medium of popular election, and popular
election is a mighty evil.It is such, and so great an evil, that though
there are few nations whose monarchs were not originally elective, very
few are now elected.They are the distempers of elections, that have
destroyed all free states.Sandra moved to the bathroom.To cure these distempers is difficult, if not
impossible; the only thing therefore left to save the commonwealth is to
prevent their return too frequently.The objects in view are, to have
parliaments as frequent as they can be without distracting them in the
prosecution of public business; on one hand, to secure their dependence
upon the people, on the other to give them that quiet in their minds, and
that ease in their fortunes, as to enable them to perform the most
arduous and most painful duty in the world with spirit, with efficiency,
with independency, and with experience, as real public counsellors, not
as the canvassers at a perpetual election.It is wise to compass as many
good ends as possibly you can, and seeing there are inconveniences on
both sides, with benefits on both, to give up a part of the benefit to
soften the inconvenience.John journeyed to the office.The perfect cure is impracticable, because the
disorder is dear to those from whom alone the cure can possibly be
derived.Daniel journeyed to the office.The utmost to be done is to palliate, to mitigate, to respite,
to put off the evil day of the Constitution to its latest possible hour,
and may it be a very late one!This bill, I fear, would precipitate one of two consequences, I know not
which most likely, or which most dangerous: either that the Crown by its
constant stated power, influence, and revenue, would wear out all
opposition in elections, or that a violent and furious popular spirit
would arise.I must see, to satisfy me, the remedies; I must see, from
their operation in the cure of the old evil, and in the cure of those new
evils, which are inseparable from all remedies, how they balance each
other, and what is the total result.The excellence of mathematics and
metaphysics is to have but one thing before you, but he forms the best
judgment in all moral disquisitions, who has the greatest number and
variety of considerations, in one view before him, and can take them in
with the best possible consideration of the middle results of all.We of the opposition, who are not friends to the bill, give this pledge
at least of our integrity and sincerity to the people, that in our
situation of systematic opposition to the present ministers, in which all
our hope of rendering it effectual depends upon popular interest and
favour, we will not flatter them by a surrender of our uninfluenced
judgment and opinion; we give a security, that if ever we should be in
another situation, no flattery to any other sort of power and influence
would induce us to act against the true interests of the people.All are agreed that parliaments should not be perpetual; the only
question is, what is the most convenient time for their duration?We are agreed, too, that the term ought
not to be chosen most likely in its operation to spread corruption, and
to augment the already overgrown influence of the crown.On these
principles I mean to debate the question.It is easy to pretend a zeal
for liberty.Those who think themselves not likely to be encumbered with
the performance of their promises, either from their known inability, or
total indifference about the performance, never fail to entertain the
most lofty ideas.They are certainly the most specious, and they cost
them neither reflection to frame, nor pains to modify, nor management to
support.The task is of another nature to those who mean to promise
nothing that it is not in their intentions, or may possibly be in their
power to perform; to those who are bound and principled no more to delude
the understandings than to violate the liberty of their fellow-subjects.Faithful watchmen we ought to be over the rights and privileges of the
people.But our duty, if we are qualified for it as we ought, is to give
them information, and not to receive it from them; we are not to go to
school to them to learn the principles of law and government.In doing
so we should not dutifully serve, but we should basely and scandalously
betray, the people, who are not capable of this service by nature, nor in
any instance called to it by the Constitution.I reverentially look up
to the opinion of the people, and with an awe that is almost
superstitious.I should be ashamed to show my face before them, if I
changed my ground, as they cried up or cried down men, or things, or
opinions; if I wavered and shifted about with every change, and joined in
it, or opposed, as best answered any low interest or passion; if I held
them up hopes, which I knew I never intended, or promised what I well
knew I could not perform.John went back to the garden.Of all these things they are perfect sovereign
judges without appeal; but as to the detail of particular measures, or to
any general schemes of policy, they have neither enough of speculation in
the closet, nor of experience in business, to decide upon it.They can
well see whether we are tools of a court, or their honest servants.Of
that they can well judge; and I wish that they always exercised their
judgment; but of the particular merits of a measure I have other
standards.John journeyed to the bedroom.That the frequency of elections proposed by this bill has a
tendency to increase the power and consideration of the electors, not
lessen corruptibility, I do most readily allow; so far as it is
desirable, this is what it has; I will tell you now what it has not: 1st.It has no sort of tendency to increase their integrity and public spirit,
unless an increase of power has an operation upon voters in elections,
that it has in no other situation in the world, and upon no other part of
mankind.This bill has no tendency to limit the quantity of
influence in the Crown, to render its operation more difficult, or to
counteract that operation, which it cannot prevent, in any way
whatsoever.It has its full weight, its full range, and its uncontrolled
operation on the electors exactly as it had before.Nor, thirdly,
does it abate the interest or inclination of Ministers to apply that
influence to the electors: on the contrary, it renders it much more
necessary to them, if they seek to have a majority in parliament, to
increase the means of that influence, and redouble their diligence, and
to sharpen dexterity in the application.The whole effect of the bill is
therefore the removing the application of some part of the influence from
the elected to the electors, and further to strengthen and extend a court
interest already great and powerful in boroughs; here to fix their
magazines and places of arms, and thus to make them the principal, not
the secondary, theatre of their manoeuvres for securing a determined
majority in parliament.I believe nobody will deny that the electors are corruptible.They are
men; it is saying nothing worse of them; many of them are but
ill-informed in their minds, many feeble in their circumstances, easily
over-reached, easily seduced.If they are many, the wages of corruption
are the lower; and would to God it were not rather a contemptible and
hypocritical adulation than a charitable sentiment, to say that there is
already no debauchery, no corruption, no bribery, no perjury, no blind
fury, and interested faction among the electors in many parts of this
kingdom: nor is it surprising, or at all blamable, in that class of
private men, when they see their neighbours aggrandised, and themselves
poor and virtuous, without that _eclat_ or dignity which attends men in
higher stations.But admit it were true that the great mass of the electors were too vast
an object for court influence to grasp, or extend to, and that in despair
they must abandon it; he must be very ignorant of the state of every
popular interest, who does not know that in all the corporations, all the
open boroughs--indeed, in every district of the kingdom--there is some
leading man, some agitator, some wealthy merchant, or considerable
manufacturer, some active attorney, some popular preacher, some money-
lender, &c., &c., who is followed by the whole flock.This is the style
of all free countries.--Multum in Fabia valet hic, valet ille Velina;
Cuilibet hic fasces dabit eripietque curule.These spirits, each of which informs and governs his own little orb, are
neither so many, nor so little powerful, nor so incorruptible, but that a
Minister may, as he does frequently, find means of gaining them, and
through them all their followers.To establish, therefore, a very
general influence among electors will no more be found an impracticable
project, than to gain an undue influence over members of parliament.Therefore I am apprehensive that this bill, though it shifts the place of
the disorder, does by no means relieve the Constitution.I went through
almost every contested election in the beginning of this parliament, and
acted as a manager in very many of them: by which, though at a school of
pretty severe and ragged discipline, I came to have some degree of
instruction concerning the means by which parliamentary interests are in
general procured and supported.Theory, I know, would suppose, that every general election is to the
representative a day of judgment, in which he appears before his
constituents to account for the use of the talent with which they
entrusted him, and of the improvement he had made of it for the public
advantage.It would be so, if every corruptible representative were to
find an enlightened and incorruptible constituent.But the practice and
knowledge of the world will not suffer us to be ignorant, that the
Constitution on paper is one thing, and in fact and experience is
another.We must know that the candidate, instead of trusting at his
election to the testimony of his behaviour in parliament, must bring the
testimony of a large sum of money, the capacity of liberal expense in
entertainments, the power of serving and obliging the rulers of
corporations, of winning over the popular leaders of political clubs,
associations, and neighbourhoods.It is ten thousand times more
necessary to show himself a man of power, than a man of integrity, in
almost all the elections with which I have been acquainted.Elections,
therefore, become a matter of heavy expense; and if contests are
frequent, to many they will become a matter of an expense totally
ruinous, which no fortunes can bear; but least of all the landed
fortunes, encumbered as they often, indeed as they mostly are, with
debts, with portions, with jointures; and tied up in the hands of the
possessor by the limitations of settlement.It is a material, it is in
my opinion a lasting, consideration, in all the questions concerning
election.Let no one think the charges of election a trivial matter.John went to the bathroom.The charge, therefore, of elections ought never to be lost sight of, in a
question concerning their frequency, because the grand object you seek is
independence.Independence of mind will ever be more or less influenced
by independence of fortune; and if, every three years, the exhausting
sluices of entertainments, drinkings, open houses, to say nothing of
bribery, are to be periodically drawn up and renewed--if government
favours, for which now, in some shape or other, the whole race of men are
candidates, are to be called for upon every occasion, I see that private
fortunes will be washed away, and every, even to the least, trace of
independence, borne down by the torrent.I do not seriously think this
Constitution, even to the wrecks of it, could survive five triennial
elections.Mary moved to the office.If you are to fight the battle, you must put on the armour of
the Ministry; you must call in the public, to the aid of private, money.The expense of the last election has been computed (and I am persuaded
that it has not been overrated) at 1,500,000 pounds; three shillings in
the pound more on the Land Tax.About the close of the last Parliament,
and the beginning of this, several agents for boroughs went about, and I
remember well that it was in every one of their mouths--"Sir, your
election will cost you three thousand pounds, if you are independent; but
if the Ministry supports you, it may be done for two, and perhaps for
less;" and, indeed, the thing spoke itself.Where a living was to be got
for one, a commission in the army for another, a post in the navy for a
third, and Custom-house offices scattered about without measure or
number, who doubts but money may be saved?The Treasury may even add
money; but, indeed, it is superfluous.A gentleman of two thousand a
year, who meets another of the same fortune, fights with equal arms; but
if to one of the candidates |
office | Where is John? | It will be
said, I do not allow for the operation of character; but I do; and I know
it will have its weight in most elections; perhaps it may be decisive in
some.But there are few in which it will prevent great expenses.The destruction of independent fortunes will be the consequence on the
part of the candidate.What will be the consequence of triennial
corruption, triennial drunkenness, triennial idleness, triennial
law-suits, litigations, prosecutions, triennial frenzy; of society
dissolved, industry interrupted, ruined; of those personal hatreds that
will never be suffered to soften; those animosities and feuds, which will
be rendered immortal; those quarrels, which are never to be appeased;
morals vitiated and gangrened to the vitals?I think no stable and
useful advantages were ever made by the money got at elections by the
voter, but all he gets is doubly lost to the public; it is money given to
diminish the general stock of the community, which is the industry of the
subject.I am sure that it is a good while before he or his family
settle again to their business.John went to the bathroom.Their heads will never cool; the
temptations of elections will be for ever glittering before their eyes.They will all grow politicians; every one, quitting his business, will
choose to enrich himself by his vote.They will take the gauging-rod;
new places will be made for them; they will run to the Custom-house quay,
their looms and ploughs will be deserted.So was Rome destroyed by the disorders of continual elections, though
those of Rome were sober disorders.They had nothing but faction,
bribery, bread, and stage plays to debauch them.We have the
inflammation of liquor superadded, a fury hotter than any of them.There
the contest was only between citizen and citizen; here you have the
contests of ambitious citizens on one side, supported by the Crown, to
oppose to the efforts (let it be so) of private and unsupported ambition
on the other.Yet Rome was destroyed by the frequency and charge of
elections, and the monstrous expense of an unremitted courtship to the
people.I think, therefore, the independent candidate and elector may
each be destroyed by it, the whole body of the community be an infinite
sufferer, and a vicious Ministry the only gainer.Gentlemen, I know,
feel the weight of this argument; they agree that this would be the
consequence of more frequent elections, if things were to continue as
they are.But they think the greatness and frequency of the evil would
itself be a remedy for it; that, sitting but for a short time, the member
would not find it worth while to make such vast expenses, while the fear
of their constituents will hold them the more effectually to their duty.To this I answer, that experience is full against them.This is no new
thing; we have had triennial parliaments; at no period of time were seats
more eagerly contested.The expenses of elections ran higher, taking the
state of all charges, than they do now.The expense of entertainments
was such, that an Act, equally severe and ineffectual, was made against
it; every monument of the time bears witness of the expense, and most of
the Acts against corruption in elections were then made; all the writers
talked of it and lamented it.Will any one think that a corporation will
be contented with a bowl of punch, or a piece of beef the less, because
elections are every three, instead of every seven years?Will they
change their wine for ale, because they are to get more ale three years
hence?Will they make fewer demands for the advantages
of patronage in favours and offices, because their member is brought more
under their power?We have not only our own historical experience in
England upon this subject, but we have the experience co-existing with us
in Ireland, where, since their Parliament has been shortened, the expense
of elections has been so far from being lowered that it has been very
near doubled.John moved to the office.Formerly they sat for the king's life; the ordinary charge
of a seat in Parliament was then 1,500 pounds.They now sit eight years,
four sessions: it is now 2,500 pounds and upwards.The spirit of
emulation has also been extremely increased, and all who are acquainted
with the tone of that country have no doubt that the spirit is still
growing, that new candidates will take the field, that the contests will
be more violent, and the expenses of elections larger than ever.A seat in this House, for good purposes, for
bad purposes, for no purpose at all (except the mere consideration
derived from being concerned in the public councils) will ever be a first-
rate object of ambition in England.Avarice itself does not calculate strictly when it games.He summoned a congress, by which
he was appointed President, and Captain-general of the Republic.Meanwhile a party, jealous of his intentions, had obtained the
ascendancy in the Venezuela Congress held at Angostura; and Bolivar,
fearful of being supplanted, quitted the scene of war with his best
troops and marched to Angostura.His presence, with such a force, turned
the scale in favour of the party attached to his interest.It was
determined to summon a general convention from the independent provinces
of Venezuela and Granada; and December 17, 1819, the celebrated decree
was passed by which the two states were united, and entitled the
Republic of Columbia.Strengthened by union, the patriots took the field in greater force than
they had hitherto been able to raise.The course of war during 1820 was
on the whole favourable to them.In November, an armistice for six
months was concluded.Soon after the renewal of hostilities, an
important victory was gained by the Columbian troops under Bolivar, at
Carabobo, not far from the city of Valencia, June 21, 1821, which may be
regarded as having closed the war in Venezuela.Before the end of the
year, Columbia was nearly cleared of Spanish troops, with the exception
of the province of Quito; and time was found to attend to the
establishment of civil order.The constitution of the short-lived
Columbian Republic was adopted, August 20, 1821, and Bolivar was
appointed First Constitutional President.The war was then directed against the Spaniards in the south.In
January, 1822, Bolivar himself conducted operations in the province of
Pasto, lying to the north of Quito, while General Sucre, who had been
sent previously to assist the cause of independence in Guayaquil, after
liberating the southern provinces of Loxa and Cuenca, advanced
northwards, and secured independence to the province of Quito by the
decisive victory of Pichincha, May 24, 1822.But though this portion of
Columbia was now cleared of enemies, there could be no security to the
frontier provinces while the Spaniards held Peru; and it was therefore
determined to send assistance to the patriots in that country.Bolivar
landed at Lima, September 1, 1823, and was invested with supreme power
as Dictator of Peru.It was not until the end of 1825, however, that the
war of independence was finished; and the honour of this, in a military
point of view, belongs rather to Sucre than to Bolivar.On the establishment of a separate republic in 1825, in the province
called by the Spaniards Upper Peru, the new state paid a high compliment
to the Liberator, by assuming the name of Bolivia, and requesting him to
draw up a constitution for its adoption.In compliance with the wish
thus expressed, he presented to the constituent congress in May, 1826,
the celebrated Bolivian Code; for an account of which we must refer to
the ‘Encyclopædia Americana,’ or the appendix to the ‘Memoirs of General
Miller.’ This forms a remarkable era in Bolivar’s life; for, out of the
institutions of this code, arose the first suspicions that the Liberator
was at heart indisposed to republican institutions.It was however
adopted; and Sucre was appointed President.Meanwhile, though the
deliverance of Peru was completed, Bolivar showed no intention of
leading home the Columbian troops.A congress summoned at Lima, in
February, 1825, continued to him, for another year, the dictatorial
power which he had received on his first entrance into the country.A
second congress, held in 1826, adopted the same course, adding a
recommendation that he should consult the provinces as to the form of
government which it might be desirable to establish.The result was,
that the Bolivian Code was declared to be adopted by Peru, and Bolivar
himself was nominated President.During the Liberator’s long absence in the south, the northern provinces
of Columbia became involved in civil confusion.The Vice-president,
General Santander, was a man of firmness and ability; but the
newly-formed government wanted consistency, and that habitual respect
which is paid to long recognised authority.In April, 1826, General
Paez, who commanded in Venezuela, being summoned before the senate of
Columbia to answer certain charges, refused obedience, trusting to the
devoted attachment of the troops under his command: and to this private
act of rebellion, something of a national character was given, by the
accession of many in Venezuela, who disapproved of the union with New
Granada, or distrusted the intentions of those who held the reins of
power.At the same time, the southern departments, which had formerly
composed the presidency of Quito, displayed a strong inclination to
adopt the Bolivian Code.Bolivar has not escaped the suspicion of having
fomented these troubles, with a view to convince all parties that
tranquillity could only be secured by strengthening the executive, by
appointing him Dictator of the Columbian Republic.Being recalled for
the suppression of these disturbances, he quitted Lima in September,
1826, and hastened to Caracas, where, instead of punishing, he met Paez
upon friendly terms, confirmed him in the office which he held, and
published a general amnesty on the submission of the insurgents.The
term for which he was elected President had now expired.He had been
re-elected, and should have gone through the forms of taking office at
the beginning of 1827; but in February, he announced his intention to
resign, and retire to his estates, in consequence of the imputations of
ambition cast upon him.The spring was spent by Congress in discussing
this matter; and at last, June 6, it was finally determined not to
accept his resignation, and a general convention was summoned to meet at
Ocaña, March 2, 1828, to revise the constitution.In September, Bolivar
again assumed the office of President.Meanwhile a speedy revolution had taken place in Peru.It is no great
argument of Bolivar’s purity of purpose, that, a year after the war was
finished, the Columbian auxiliaries were still retained by him in
Bolivia and Peru, one division being quartered in the former country,
and two in the latter.Many of them were strongly attached to their
general, and perhaps had no objection to becoming instruments of his
ambition, so far as Peru was concerned.But when he incurred the
suspicion of meditating the overthrow of the Columbian constitution,
they took fire.The division quartered at Lima matured a plan of revolt,
arrested their generals, who were personally attached to Bolivar, and
announced to the authorities of Lima their desire to relieve the
Peruvians from a constitution which had been forced upon them, and to
return home to defend their own country.Hereupon, in concurrence with
the generally declared wish of the people throughout Peru, the Bolivian
Code was thrown aside only a few weeks after it had been adopted; and in
June, 1827, a new congress was summoned, and a new President and
Vice-president of the republic were elected.The troops embarked; but on
their landing in Columbia, part placed themselves under the orders of
officers sent to take the command of them, and the rest were easily
reduced to obedience.Bolivar opened the proceedings
with an address, in which he ascribed the internal troubles of Columbia
to the want of sufficient power in the executive department, and plainly
intimated his opinion that the constitution had been founded on views
too liberal to be adapted to the state of society existing in that
country.His speech was very much in accordance with the views developed
in the Bolivian Code, and furnished good reason for believing that he
was no less willing to accept supreme power than his friends were
disposed to invest him with it, as the only remedy for existing evils.The majority of the convention, however, were suspicious of the
President’s intentions.Finding themselves in a minority, his friends
vacated their seats in the assembly, which being thus reduced below the
number necessary to give validity to its proceedings, became virtually
extinct.In this state of things, a meeting was convened at Bogotá, June 13, of
the principal civil and military residents, at which resolutions were
passed investing Bolivar with the most extensive powers as Supreme Chief
of Columbia.He himself was not present, but in the near neighbourhood;
and on receiving intimation of these resolutions, he made a solemn entry
into Bogotá, June 20, and assumed the powers thus gratuitously bestowed
upon him, not, it is to be observed, by the act of the convention, or of
any body authorised to interfere in any way with the existing
constitution.Great dissatisfaction was felt by those who were not
attached to the party of Bolivar; and in the following September, a
conspiracy was organised in the garrison of Bogotá, to which the
President’s life had nearly fallen a sacrifice.General Santander, the Vice-president, was accused of being concerned in
it, and was banished from Columbia.Partial insurrections subsequently
broke out in various places.Towards the close of 1829, the discontent
which had formerly appeared in Venezuela, manifested itself more
decidedly.Paez put himself at the head of the dissatisfied party; and
in a very short time, the whole province raised the standard of
independence, and expressed its determination to be merged no longer in
the Columbian Republic.In the midst of these tumults, Bolivar resolved
at length to retire from the eminent station in which he had been the
cause of so much offence.He had issued a proclamation, December 24,
1828, summoning a convention in January, 1830, to frame a new permanent
constitution for Columbia.Bolivar, in
opening the deliberations, expressed his determination not to accept
again the chief magistracy of the state; but, as he had said the same
thing in equally strong terms before, nobody paid much attention to the
declaration.This time, however, he adhered to it.Besides the labour of
making a new constitution, the convention had to discuss the difficult
question of the secession of Venezuela: nor was this all, for as that
district had separated itself from the Columbian Republic, in a great
degree Owing to its distrust of Bolivar, so the southern provinces
refused to acknowledge the new constitution unless he were placed at its
head.The convention wisely resolved, with respect to Venezuela, that
every peaceful method should be tried to prevent its secession, but that
it would not be expedient or proper to attempt to maintain the union by
force.To anticipate a little the order of time, the Venezuelans were
resolved to have an independent government; and finally, in 1832, the
short-lived republic of Columbia was divided into three, bearing
respectively the titles of Venezuela, New Granada, and the Republic of
the Equator, which was formed out of the southern provinces of Quito,
Guayaquil, and Assuai.After the adoption of the new constitution of 1830, Bolivar retired to
the province of Carthagena, exhausted both in body and mind.He died at
Santa Martha, December 17, 1830, leaving a character on the merits of
which it is difficult to pronounce a decided opinion.His name will not
soon be forgotten, for it is indissolubly connected with the cause of
independence in South America: but, in reviewing the progress and
prospects of North and South America, it is impossible not to remark
Bolivar’s inferiority to Washington, both in talent and virtue, and not
to reflect with regret how different, in all probability, the conduct
and the prosperity of the South American republics would have been if
they had possessed such a leader as the first President of the United
States.The chief books which have been consulted for this sketch have been the
‘Annual Register,’ General Ducoudray Holstein’s ‘Memoirs of Bolivar, |
hallway | Where is John? | John went to the bathroom.A clear and
impartial history of the war of independence is still a desideratum.[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
ARKWRIGHT._From a Picture by Wright of Derby._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge._London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
ARKWRIGHT.John moved to the office.In the history of trade there is nothing so remarkable as the rapid and
immense increase of the British cotton manufacture during the last
thirty years of the eighteenth century.Two nearly contemporaneous
discoveries concurred to produce that increase: the invention of
machinery for spinning; and the improvement, we might almost say
completion, of the steam-engine by James Watt.To his eminent merits we
have borne our testimony in the first volume of this work; and scarcely
less important, though less imposing, have been the services of the
ingenious men who contrived to spin thread without the use of the human
hand.We do not hesitate to take Arkwright as the representative of
those who wrought this great revolution in our manufacturing system, for
though recent evidence has refuted his claim to the invention, properly
speaking, of spinning by machinery, he was the first person who rendered
that invention profitable.By the year 1760, the manufacture of cotton goods, which had been
increasing slowly from the beginning of the century, had attained
considerable importance.In 1764, the declared value of British cotton
goods exported was upwards of 200,000_l._, having increased tenfold
within forty or fifty years.At this period the demand for them exceeded
the supply, in consequence of the difficulty of obtaining a sufficient
quantity of yarn for weaving.The one-thread spinning-wheel, now nearly
banished from our cottages, was then the sole source from which
spun-yarn could be obtained; and the trades of spinning and weaving were
commonly united in a humble manner—the man wove, while his wife and
daughters spun.If this domestic supply was insufficient, the weaver had
often to waste time and labour in collecting materials for his daily
work.Guest states, that “it was no uncommon thing for a weaver to
walk three or four miles in a morning, and call on five or six spinners,
before he could collect weft to serve him for the remainder of the day;
and when he wished to weave a piece in a shorter time than usual, a new
ribbon or a gown was necessary to quicken the exertions of the spinner.”
This check existing on the industry of the weaver, it is no wonder that
mechanical ingenuity was tasked to invent a quicker way of spinning.The
principle of the first plan by which this was effected may be easily
explained.Suppose a ribbon placed between two horizontal cylinders
which are in contact with each other; if the cylinders are made to
revolve, it is evident that they will draw the ribbon onwards in the
direction of their motion.Again, if the foremost end of it be presented
to a second pair of similar revolving cylinders, it will be drawn
through these also.If both pairs revolve with exactly the same
velocity, it will pass through them unaltered; but if the second pair
revolve with greater velocity than the first, there will be a certain
strain on the intermediate ribbon, which, if extensible, will be
stretched in the same degree that the velocity of the second pair of
rollers exceeds that of the first.Now cotton, after being cleaned and
carded, comes from the card in fleecy rolls, the fibres of which are
laid parallel, and so made fit to spin.John went to the hallway.To reduce these to thread or
yarn takes more than one operation: the first brings the _cardings_ into
thick, loosely twisted threads, called _rovings_; the subsequent ones
reduce the rovings into yarn fit for the loom.It is evident that both
the cardings and rovings are fitted by their texture for the process of
extension by rollers described above; and that they would be drawn out
twofold, fourfold, or in any greater or less degree, proportionate to
the difference of velocity between the first and second pair of rollers.From the second pair the thread is delivered to a spindle, which gives
the due degree of twist; and it is finally wound on a bobbin: the whole
being set in motion by the same mechanical power.It is evident that
many spindles might be attached to, and many threads spun by, the same
combination of rollers.It is proved, however, by the undeniable evidence of an existing patent,
printed by Mr.Baines in his History of the Cotton Manufacture, that
this principle of spinning by rollers was patented so early as the year
1738, by a foreigner named Lewis Paul; the real inventor was John Wyatt,
of Birmingham.In their hands however, though the invention did not
absolutely fail, it did not so succeed as to be brought into general
use, or even to become profitable to the inventors.Simple and obvious
as the _principle_ appears when once laid down, great difficulties were
to be overcome in forming this stretched cotton into a useful thread; as
may be conceived from reflecting on the great rapidity with which, to
make spinning profitable, parts of the machine must move, the perfect
regularity of motion requisite, and the slightness of the strain which a
few untwisted filaments of cotton will bear.For the apparently trivial
object of producing a uniform line of fine yarn, the utmost efforts of
mechanical ingenuity have been called forth, and some of the most
beautiful, delicate, and powerful machinery in existence has been
constructed.It was in overcoming these difficulties that the talent or
perseverance of Paul and Wyatt failed; the merit of conquering them, and
giving birth to a new system of manufacture, belongs to Arkwright.We
quote the following notice of his early life from Mr.Baines:—
“Richard Arkwright rose by the force of his natural talents from a very
humble condition in society.He was born at Preston, December 23, 1732,
of poor parents.Being the youngest of thirteen children, his parents
could only afford to give him an education of the humblest kind, and he
was scarcely able to write.He was brought up to the trade of a barber,
at Kirkham and Preston, and established himself in that business at
Bolton, in 1760.Having become possessed of a chemical process for
dyeing human hair, which in that day, when wigs were universal, was of
considerable value, he travelled about collecting hair, and again
disposing of it when dyed.In 1761, he married a wife from Leigh, and
the connexions he thus formed in that town are supposed to have
afterwards brought him acquainted with Highs’s experiments in making
spinning machines.He himself manifested a strong bent for experiments
in mechanics, which he is stated to have followed with so much
devotedness as to have neglected his business and injured his
circumstances.His natural disposition was ardent, enterprising, and
stubbornly persevering; his mind was as coarse as it was bold and
active, and his manners were rough and unpleasing.”
In the course of his travels in 1767, he fell in with a clockmaker,
named Kay, at Warrington, whom he employed as a workman in prosecuting
some of his mechanical experiments.Kay, according to his own account,
gave Arkwright some description of a machine contrived by one Highs, for
spinning by rollers.It is certain that from thenceforward Arkwright
abandoned his former pursuits, and applied himself, in conjunction with
Kay, to the construction of a spinning machine.One Smalley, a
liquor-merchant of Preston, assisted him with money; and the two,
fearing lest they might be endangered by a riotous spirit which had been
directed against machinery in Lancashire, went to settle at Nottingham.There Arkwright obtained an introduction to Messrs.Need and Strutt, two
gentlemen largely engaged in the stocking manufactory, who appreciated
his talents, and entered into partnership with him.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Arkwright took out a patent for his invention,
which was enrolled, July 15, 1769.The partners erected a mill near
Nottingham, which was turned by horse-power: but this was soon
superseded by a much larger establishment at Cromford in Derbyshire, on
the river Derwent, in which water-power was applied for the first time
to the purpose of spinning; and from that circumstance Arkwright’s
machine was called the _water-frame_.As the difficulty of meeting the weavers’ demand for yarn had led to the
invention of machines for spinning, so the rapid manufacture of yarn
rendered it indispensable to facilitate the prior operations in
preparing the raw material.Men’s minds had been turned to this object
for some time.The operation of carding, whether wool or cotton, was at
first done with hand-cards of small size.The first improvement was the
invention of stock-cards, one of which was fixed, and the other held in
the hand, or afterwards suspended from above, so that the workman could
manage a much larger card, and prepare more cotton in a given time.The
next and main improvement was placing cards lengthways upon a cylinder,
which worked within a concave half cylinder of the same diameter.This
process was patented by Paul in 1748.But he derived no profit from
this, any more than from his former patent; and it was not until after
the improvements in spinning that the method of carding by cylinders was
brought into use.Arkwright was not the first to revive it, but he had a
great share in perfecting the carding machinery when it had been
revived.The raw cotton being carded, an extension, or rather a new
application, of the principle of spinning by rollers converted the
cardings into rovings, which again were made into yarn fit for the loom
by the water-frame, or, as it is now called in an improved form, the
_throstle_.Arkwright took out his second patent, December 16, 1775;
this included the carding machine, drawing-frame, and roving-frame, a
series of engines by which the cotton, from its raw state, was rendered
fit for the last process of spinning.We shall not attempt to explain
the construction of these elaborate machines, which can hardly be
rendered intelligible even by the help of numerous plates.The process of turning cotton-wool into thread by machinery was thus
completed.Before we follow its effects upon Arkwright’s fortunes, it is
proper to say a few words concerning other improvements.About, or
somewhat earlier than, the time when Arkwright’s attention was first
turned to spinning, a weaver named James Hargreaves, of Stand Hill, near
Blackburn, invented a machine by which, according to the terms of the
patent, sixteen or more threads might be spun by one person at the same
time.This is the machine so well known under the name of the
_spinning-jenny_.Hargreaves’ patent was invaded, and invalidated on
technical grounds; so that his machine came rapidly into general use,
and for spinning the _weft_ was preferred to Arkwright’s water-frame,
from which it was entirely different in principle.Samuel Crompton, an
ingenious weaver resident near Bolton, between the years 1774 and 1779,
tried to unite the principles of both, and produced a machine which, on
that account, he called a _mule_.This, under different improved forms,
is the machine now generally used in spinning; but the water-frame, or
throstle, is still found to answer best for some kinds of work[11].But
to return to the fortunes of Arkwright: the series of machines which he
invented or improved gave an amazing impulse to the cotton trade.“Weavers could now obtain an unlimited quantity of yarn at a reasonable
price; manufacturers could use warps of cotton, which were much cheaper
than the linen warps formerly used.Cotton fabrics could be sold lower
than had ever before been known.The shuttle flew with fresh energy, and the weavers earned
immoderately high wages.Spinning-mills were erected to supply the
requisite quantity of yarn.The fame of Arkwright resounded through the
land, and capitalists flocked to him to buy his patent machines, or
permission to use them.” * * *
Footnote 11:
A third person has been mentioned as the inventor both of the jenny
and of roller-spinning, Thomas Highs, of Leigh, above-mentioned, whose
claims seem entitled to more courteous notice than they have met with
in the Edinburgh Review.There is nothing unreasonable in supposing
that both Highs and Arkwright may have heard of Wyatt’s method of
spinning by rollers, which was practised in two factories, one erected
at Birmingham, the other at Nottingham.“The factory system in England takes its rise from this period.Hitherto
the cotton manufacture had been carried on almost entirely in the houses
of the workmen: the hand or stock-cards, the spinning-wheel, and the
loom, required no larger apartment than that of a cottage.A
spinning-jenny of small size might also be used in a cottage, and in
many instances was so used; when the number of spindles was considerably
increased, adjacent workshops were used.But the water-frame, the
carding-engine, and the other machines which Arkwright brought out in a
finished state, required both more space than could be found in a
cottage, and more power than could be applied by the human arm.Their
weight also made it necessary to place them in strongly-built mills, and
they could not be advantageously turned by any power then known but that
of water.”
“The use of machinery was accompanied by a greater division of labour
than existed in the primitive state of the manufacture; the material
went through many more processes, and of course the loss of time and the
risk of waste would have been much increased, if its removal from house
to house at every stage of the manufacture had been necessary.It became
obvious that there were several important advantages in carrying on the
numerous operations of an extensive manufacture in the same building.Where water-power was required, it was economy to build one mill, and
put up one water-wheel, rather than several.This arrangement also
enabled the master-spinner himself to superintend every stage of the
manufacture; it gave him a greater security against the wasteful or
fraudulent consumption of the material; it saved time in the
transference of the work from hand to hand; and it prevented the extreme
inconvenience which would have resulted from the failure of one class of
workmen to perform their part, when several other classes of workmen
were dependent upon them.Another circumstance which made it
advantageous to have a large number of machines in one manufactory was,
that mechanics must be employed on the spot to construct and repair the
machinery, and that their time could not be fully occupied with only a
few machines.”
“All these considerations drove the cotton-spinners to that important
change in the economy of English manufactures, the introduction of the
factory system; and when that system had once been adopted, such were
its pecuniary advantages that mercantile competition would have rendered
it impossible, even had it been desirable, to abandon it.” (Baines,
‘History of Cotton Manufacture,’ pages 183, 185.)It was not to be expected that Arkwright would enjoy undisturbed so
valuable a monopoly as that which he had created, and many persons
infringed his patents, in the belief that he was not the real owner of
the inventions which he claimed.An attempt was made in 1772 to set
aside his first patent for the water-frame; but this failed, and he
retained the enjoyment of that patent unquestioned till the expiration
of the fourteen years.To preserve his second patent, for the carding,
drawing, and roving machines, he brought several actions against
master-spinners, one of which, against Colonel Mordaunt, was tried in
1781, and a verdict was obtained for the defendant, setting aside the
patent.Arkwright for some time did not contest this decision.But in
1785, he made another attempt to establish his second patent before a
court of law; and in the first instance obtained a verdict in his own
favour, but on the cause being reheard, the patent was |
bathroom | Where is John? | Notwithstanding this defeat, Arkwright rapidly acquired a very large
fortune, through the magnitude of his concerns, and his industry,
penetration, and skill in business.On the dissolution of his
partnership with the Messrs.Strutt about 1783, the extensive works at
Cromford fell to his share.John went to the bathroom.In 1786, he was High Sheriff of Derbyshire,
and was knighted, on occasion of presenting an address to the King.We
find no other record worth notice of the last years of his life.He
died, August 3, 1792, in his sixtieth year.Arkwright’s originality and honesty as an inventor have been violently
impugned by Mr.Guest, in his History of the Cotton Manufacture.The
arguments on the other side may be seen in the Edinburgh Review, No.John moved to the office.91,
to which Guest published a reply.John went to the hallway.Baines’s History of the Cotton
Manufacture, which we have chiefly followed and largely quoted from in
this account, contains the latest and fullest account which we have seen
of Arkwright’s character and history.There appears to have been some
alloy of selfishness and disingenuousness in his disposition, some
ground for the statement of counsel in the trial of 1785: “It is a
notorious story in the manufacturing counties; all men that have seen
Mr.Arkwright in a state of opulence have shaken their heads, and
thought of these poor men, Highs and Kay, and have thought, too, that
they were entitled to some participation of the profits.” Still it
becomes us to speak with gentleness of the faults of a person to whose
talents, nationally speaking, we owe so much: and there is much to be
said in extenuation of them, in consideration of the lowness of his
original calling, of the self-complacency and sensitive jealousy common
to almost all schemers, and the fascination of wealth when it flows
largely and unexpectedly upon a man bred in extreme poverty.As an
inventor Arkwright’s merit is undeniable.Baines, who seems to have
judged calmly and impartially, assigns to him the high praise, that “in
improving and perfecting mechanical inventions, in exactly adapting them
to the purposes for which they were intended, in arranging a
comprehensive system of manufacturing, and in conducting vast and
complicated concerns, he displayed a bold and fertile mind, and
consummate judgment, which, when his want of education, and the
influence of an employment so extremely unfavourable to mental expansion
as that of his previous life, are considered, must have excited the
astonishment of mankind.But the marvellous and ‘unbounded invention,’
which he claimed for himself and which has been too readily accorded to
him—the _creative faculty_ which devised all that admirable mechanism,
so entirely new in its principles, and characteristic of the first order
of mechanical genius—which has given a new spring to the industry of the
world, and within half a century has reared up the most extensive
manufacture ever known—this did not belong to Arkwright.” * * * * * * *
“The most marked traits in the character of Arkwright were his wonderful
ardour, energy, and perseverance.He commonly laboured in his
multifarious concerns from five o’clock in the morning till nine at
night; and when considerably more than fifty years of age, feeling that
the defects of his education placed him under great difficulty and
inconvenience in conducting his correspondence, and in the general
management of his business, he encroached upon his sleep, in order to
gain an hour each day to learn English grammar, and another hour to
improve his writing and orthography!He was impatient of whatever
interfered with his favourite pursuits; and the fact is too strikingly
characteristic not to be mentioned, that he separated from his wife not
many years after his marriage, because she, convinced that he would
starve his family by scheming when he should have been shaving, broke
some of his experimental models of machinery.Arkwright was a severe
economist of time; and, that he might not waste a moment, he generally
travelled with four horses, and at a very rapid speed.His concerns in
Derbyshire, Lancashire, and Scotland, were so extensive and numerous as
to show at once his astonishing power of transacting business, and his
all-grasping spirit.In many of these he had partners, but he generally
managed in such a way that, whoever lost, he himself was a gainer.So
unbounded was his confidence in the success of his machinery, and in the
national wealth to be produced by it, that he would make light of
discussions on taxation, and say that he would pay the national debt!His speculative schemes were vast and daring; he contemplated entering
into the most extensive mercantile transactions, and buying up all the
cotton in the world, in order to make an enormous profit by the
monopoly; and from the extravagance of some of these designs, his
judicious friends were of opinion that, if he had tried to put them in
practice, he might have overset the whole fabric of his prosperity.”
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
COWPER._From a Picture in the Possession of the Publisher._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge._London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
COWPER.William Cowper was born at the rectory of Berkhampstead, in
Hertfordshire, Nov.He was nearly related to the noble family
of that name, his great-uncle having been chancellor and first Earl
Cowper: his grandfather, the brother of the chancellor, was a judge of
the common pleas.Cowper’s mother died before he was six years old.Soon
afterwards he was sent to a country school, from which, at the age of
nine, he was removed to Westminster.It is probable that one cause among
others of his future unhappiness was the early loss of that tender
parent, whose “constant flow of love,” beautifully acknowledged in his
verses on receiving her picture, and in many parts of his
correspondence, made a deep and lasting impression on his infant mind.Cowper was exactly the boy to require a mother’s care.His constitution
was delicate, his mind sensitive and timid; and he discovered a tendency
to dejection, which was aggravated by the tyranny then practised at our
public schools.Quitting Westminster at eighteen, with a good character
for talent and scholarship, he went at once into an attorney’s office;
where he spent three years, according to his own account, with very
little profit.He then became a member of the Inner Temple, intending to
practise at the bar.At this period of life he amused himself with
composition, and showed a strong predilection for polite literature and
agreeable society; but he had no taste for the law, and took no pains to
qualify himself for his profession.Long afterwards he deeply lamented
the loss of time during his early manhood, and earnestly warned his
young friends against a similar error.In 1763 Cowper was appointed to the lucrative office of reading clerk,
and clerk of the private committees of the House of Lords.The fairest
prospect of happiness now lay before him, for his union with one of his
cousins, it is said, had only been deferred until he should obtain a
satisfactory establishment.But the idea of reading in public was
intolerable to him; and he gave up this office for the less valuable one
of clerk of the journals, in which it was hoped that his personal
appearance before the House would not be required.Unfortunately it did
prove necessary that he should appear at the bar to qualify himself for
the post.“They whose spirits are formed like mine,” he thus expressed
himself in after-life, “to whom a public exhibition of themselves is
mortal poison, may have some ideas of the horrors of my situation:
others can have none.” He fought hard against this morbid feeling; but,
when the day arrived for entering upon his duties, such was his terror
and distress, that even his friends acquiesced in his abandoning the
attempt.But his mind had been disordered in the struggle, and he
shortly sank into deep religious despondency; so that it was found
necessary, in December, 1763, to place him in a lunatic asylum at St.Albans, under the care of Dr.Cowper’s insanity at this period, and the grievous dejection of the last
twenty-seven years of his life, have been imputed to the so-called
gloominess of his religious tenets.From that opinion we entirely
dissent.No sense of religious abasement can be conceived able to drive
a sane man to distraction at the thought of having to appear in a public
capacity before Parliament; and Cowper’s struggles and mental distress
on that occasion were anterior to his receiving any serious impressions
of religion.Moreover, it appears certain that his recovery was due to
more encouraging views of the doctrines of the Gospel, assisted by the
kind and judicious mental, as well as bodily, treatment of Dr.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.She left him, promising to write to
me of all that happened."The minister was at one of his country estates, and did not receive the
abbess's letter till the next day, but hastened to reply in person.My
aunt easily convinced his excellency of the need for keeping the matter
secret, for a man had been sent into the convent, which would be to her
dishonour.She shewed the proud minister the letter she had had from me,
and told him how the honest young man had given her my jewel-casket.He
thanked her for her open dealing, and begged her pardon with a smile for
sending a fine young man to her nunnery."'The secret,' said he, 'is of the greatest importance; we must see that
it goes no farther.I will relieve you of your false niece, and take her
away in my carriage.'"My aunt took him at his word and brought out the young recluse, who
drove away with the minister.The abbess tells me that from that day she
has heard nothing about him, but that all Lisbon is talking over the
affair, but in a wholly distorted manner.They say that the minister
first of all put me under the care of my aunt, but soon after took me
away, and has kept me in some secret place ever since.Count Al---- is
supposed to be in London, and I in the minister's power, and probably we
are supposed to have entered into a tender relationship.No doubt his
excellency is perfectly well informed of my doings here, for he knows my
address and has spies everywhere."On the advice of my aunt I wrote to Oeiras a couple of months ago,
telling him that I am ready to return to Lisbon, if I may marry Count
Al---- and live in perfect liberty.Otherwise, I declared, I would stay in
London, where the laws guaranteed my freedom.I am waiting for his answer
every day, and I expect it will be a favourable one, for no one can
deprive me of my estates, and Oeiras will probably be only too glad to
protect me to lessen the odium which attaches to his name as the murderer
of my father."Pauline made no mystery of the names of the characters, but she may be
still alive, and I respect her too well to run the risk of wounding her,
though these Memoirs will not see the light of day during my lifetime.It
is sufficient to say that the story is known to all the inhabitants of
Lisbon, and that the persons who figure in it are public characters in
Portugal.I lived with dear Pauline in perfect harmony, feeling my love for her
increase daily, and daily inspiring her with tenderer feelings towards
myself.But as my love increased in strength, I grew thin and feeble; I
could not sleep nor eat.I should have languished away if I had not
succeeded in gratifying my passion.On the other hand, Pauline grew
plumper and prettier every day."If my sufferings serve to increase your charms," said I, "you ought not
to let me die, for a dead man has no suffering.""Do you think that your sufferings are due to your love for me?""There may be something in it, but, believe me, the tender passion does
not destroy the appetite nor take away the power of sleep.Your
indisposition is undoubtedly due to the sedentary life you have been
leading of late.If you love me, give me a proof of it; go out for a
ride.""I cannot refuse you anything, dearest Pauline, but what then?""Then you shall find me grateful to you, you will have a good appetite,
and will sleep well."I kissed her hand--for I had not got
any farther than that--and began to ride towards Kingston.I did not care
for the motion of trotting, so I put my horse at a gallop, when all of a
sudden he stumbled, and in an instant I was lying on the ground in front
of the Duke of Kingston's house.Miss Chudleigh happened to be at the
window, and seeing me thrown to the ground uttered a shriek.I raised my
head and she recognized me, and hastened to send some of her people to
help me.As soon as I was on my feet I wanted to go and thank her, but I
could not stir, and a valet who knew something of surgery examined me,
and declared that I had put out my collar-bone and would require a week's
rest.The young lady told me that if I liked to stay in her house the greatest
care should be taken of me.I thanked her warmly, but begged her to have
me taken home, as I should not like to give her so much trouble.She
immediately gave the necessary orders, and I was driven home in a
comfortable carriage.The servants in charge would not accept any money,
and I saw in the incident a proof of that hospitality for which the
English are famed, although they are at the same time profoundly
egotistic.John journeyed to the bathroom.When I got home I went to bed, and sent for a surgeon, who laughed when I
told him that I had put out a bone."I'll wager it is nothing more than a sprain.I only wish it was put out
that I might have some chance of shewing my skill.""I am delighted," I said, "not to be in a position to call for that
amount of talent, but I shall have a high opinion of you if you set me up
in a short time."I did not see Pauline, much to my astonishment.I was told she had gone
out in a sedan-chair, and I almost felt jealous.In two hours she came in
looking quite frightened, the old house-keeper having told her that I had
broken my leg, and that the doctor had been with me already.she exclaimed as she came to my bedside,
"'tis I that have brought you to this."Daniel went to the bathroom.With these words she turned pale and almost fell in a swoon beside me.I cried, as I pressed her to my breast, "it is nothing;
only a sprain.""What pain that foolish old woman has given me!"God be praised that it is no worse!Fastening my lips on hers, I felt with delight that our transports were
mutual, and I blessed the sprain that had brought me such bliss.After these ecstasies I felt that Pauline was laughing."What are you laughing at, sweetheart?""At the craft of love, which always triumphs at last.""I went to my old jeweler's to redeem my ring, that you might have a
souvenir of me; here it is."a little love would have been much more precious to me
than this beautiful ring."Till the time of my departure, which will come only
too soon, we will live together like man and wife; and to-night shall be
our wedding night, and the bed the table for the feast.""What sweet news you give me, Pauline!I cannot believe it till my
happiness is actually accomplished.""You may doubt, if you like; but let it be a slight doubt, or else you
will do me wrong.I am tired of living with you as a lover and only
making you wretched, and the moment I saw you on horseback I determined
to belong to you.Consequently I went to redeem the ring directly you
left, and I |
office | Where is John? | I have dreaded its arrival every day for the last week.""May the messenger that brings it be robbed on the way."As Pauline was standing, I asked her to come to my arms, for I longed to
give her some palpable signs of my love.John went to the bathroom."No, dearest, one can love and yet be wise; the door is open."She got down Ariosto and began to read to me the adventure of
Ricciardetto with Fiordespina, an episode which gives its beauty to the
twenty-ninth canto of that beautiful poem which I knew by heart.She
imagined that she was the princess, and I Ricciardetto.She liked to
fancy,
'Che il ciel L'abbia concesso,
Bradamante cangiata in miglior sesso.'When she came to the lines;
'Le belle braccia al collo indi mi getta,
E dolcemente stringe, a baccia in bocca:
Tu puoi pensar se allora la saetta
Dirizza Amor, se in mezzo al cor mi tocca.'She wanted some explanations on the expression 'baccia in bocca', and on
the love which made Ricciardetto's arrow so stiff, and I, only too ready
to comment on the text, made her touch an arrow as stiff as
Ricciardetto's.Of course, she was angry at that, but her wrath did not
last long.She burst out laughing when she came to the lines,
'Io il veggo, io il sento, e a pena vero parmi:
Sento in maschio in femina matarsi.'And then,
'Cosi le dissi, e feci ch'ella stessa
Trovo con man la veritade expressa.She expressed her, wonder that this poem abounding in obscenities had not
been put on the "Index" at Rome."What you call obscenity is mere license, and there is plenty of that at
Rome.""That's a joke which should bring the censures of the Church upon you.But what do you call obscenities, if Ariosto is not obscene?""Obscenity disgusts, and never gives pleasure.""Your logic is all your own, but situated as I am I cannot reargue your
proposition.John moved to the office.I am amused at Ariosto's choosing a Spanish woman above all
others to conceive that strange passion for Bradamante.""The heat of the Spanish climate made him conclude that the Spanish
temperament was also ardent, and consequently whimsical in its tastes.""Poets are a kind of madmen who allow themselves to give utterance to all
their fancies."John went to the hallway.The reading was continued, and I thought my time had come when she read
the verses:
Io senza scale in su la rooca salto,
E to stendardo piantovi di botto,
E la nemica mia mi caccio sotto**
**I scaled the rock without a ladder, I planted my standard suddenly, and
held my enemy beneath me.I wanted to give her a practical illustration of the lines, but with that
sensibility so natural to women, and which they can use so well as a goad
to passion, she said,--
"Dearest, you might make yourself worse; let us wait till your sprain is
cured.""Are we to wait till I am cured for the consummation of our marriage?""I suppose so, for if I am not mistaken the thing can't be done without a
certain movement.""You are wrong, dear Pauline, but it would make no difference to me even
if it were so.You may be sure I would not put it off till to-morrow,
even if it cost me my leg.Besides, you shall see that there are ways and
means of satisfying our passions without doing me any harm."Well, well, as it is written that a wife should obey her husband, you
will find me docile."We shall dine with all the better appetite
to-morrow."No, for the suspicions of the servants might be aroused.Love has its
rules of decency like everything else.""You talk as wisely as Cato, and I am obliged to confess that you are
right in all you say."Supper was served as usual; it was delicate enough, but the thought of
approaching bliss had taken away our appetites, and we ate only for
form's sake.At ten o'clock we were at liberty, and could indulge our
passion without any fear of being disturbed.But this delightful woman, who had so plainly told me a few hours before
that when I was cured we would live together as man and wife, was now
ashamed to undress before me.She could not make up her mind, and told me
so, laughing at herself.From this circumstance I gathered that the
decency of the body is more tenacious in its grasp than the purity of the
soul."But, sweetheart," said I, "you dressed and undressed for a fortnight
before your betrothed.""Yes, but he was always lying in his hammock with his back towards me at
night, and in the morning he never turned round and wished me good day
till he knew I was dressed.""You see the count was to be my husband, and I was to be his wife, and in
such cases a young woman is careful.Besides, I believe that if one will
but refrain from taking the first step, continence is easy.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.John journeyed to the bathroom.Then the
count was naturally timid, and would never have taken any liberties
without my encouraging him, which I took care not to do.For this once,
you will allow me to sleep with you in my clothes.""Certainly, if you wish me to be dressed also, otherwise it would be
unbearable for both of us.""But, dearest, are you not ashamed of these foolish scruples?""Well, well, put out the candles, and in a minute I will be beside you.""Very good; though the want of light will deprive me of a great pleasure.My charming Portuguese did not reflect that the moon shone full into the
room, and that the muslin curtains would not prevent my seeing her
exquisite figure, which shewed to greater advantage in the position she
happened to take.If Pauline had been a coquette I should have considered
her scruples as mere artifice calculated to increase my ardour; but she
had no need to use such stratagems.At last she was within my arms, and
we clasped each other closely and in silence that was only broken by the
murmur of our kisses.Soon our union became closer, and her sighs and the
ardour of her surrender shewed me that her passion was more in need of
relief than mine.I was sufficiently master of myself to remember that I
must have a care for her honour, greatly to her astonishment, for she
confessed she had never thought of such a thing, and had given herself up
freely, resolved to brave the consequences which she believed to be
inevitable.Till this moment love alone had swayed me, but now that the bloody
sacrifice was over I felt full of respect and gratitude.I told her
effusively that I knew how great was my happiness, and that I was ready
to sacrifice my life to her to prove my love.The thought that our embraces would have no dangerous result had put
Pauline at her ease, and she have reins to her ardent temperament, while
I did valiant service, till at last we were exhausted and the last
sacrifice was not entirely consummated.We abandoned ourselves to a
profound and peaceful sleep.I was the first to awake; the sun was
shining in through the window, and I gazed on Pauline.As I looked at
this woman, the first beauty in Portugal, the only child of an
illustrious family, who had given herself to me all for love, and whom I
should possess for so short a time, I could not restrain a profound sigh.Pauline awoke, and her gaze, as bright as the rising sun in springtime,
fixed itself on me truthfully and lovingly."What are you thinking of, dearest?""I am trying to convince myself that my happiness is not a dream, and if
it be real I want it to last for ever.I am the happy mortal to whom you
have given up your great treasure, of which I am unworthy, though I love
you tenderly.""Sweetheart, you are worthy of all my devotion and affection, if you have
not ceased to respect me.""No, dearest, I think you love me, and that I shall never repent having
trusted in you."The sweet sacrifice was offered again, and Pauline rose and laughed to
find that she was no longer ashamed of her nakedness before me.Then,
passing from jest to earnest, she said,--
"If the loss of shame is the result of knowledge, how was it that our
first parents were not ashamed till they had acquired knowledge?""I don't know, dearest, but tell me, did you ever ask your learned
Italian master that same question?""That their shame arose not from their enjoyment, but from disobedience;
and that in covering the parts which had seduced them, they discovered,
as it were, the sin they had committed.Whatever may be said on the
subject, I shall always think that Adam was much more to blame than Eve.""Because Adam had received the prohibition from God, while Eve had only
received it from Adam.""I thought that both of them received the prohibition directly from God.""Then you have read it carelessly, because it is distinctly stated that
God made Eve after he had forbidden Adam to eat of the fruit.""I wonder that point has not been remarked by our commentators; it seems
a very important one to me.""They are a pack of knaves, all sworn enemies of women.""No, no, they give proofs of quite another feeling only too often.""We won't say anything more about it."Very good; I should like to have it proved to me that a man can be a
Jesuit and honest at the same time."My Pauline was a profound thinker, and strongly attached to her religion.I should never have discovered that she possessed this merit if I had not
slept with her.I have known several women of the same stamp; if you wish
to know the elevation of their souls, you must begin by damning them.Daniel went to the bathroom.When this is done, one enjoys their confidence, for they have no secrets
for the happy victor.This is the reason why the charming though feeble
sex loves the brave and despises the cowardly.Sometimes they appear to
love cowards, but always for their physical beauty.Women amuse
themselves with such fellows, but are the first to laugh if they get
caned.After the most delicious night I had ever passed, I resolved not to leave
my house till Pauline had to return to Portugal.She did not leave me for
a moment, save to hear mass on Sundays.I shut my door to everybody, even
to the doctor, for my sprain disappeared of itself.I did not fail to
inform Miss Chudleigh of my rapid cure; she had sent twice a day ever
since the accident to learn how I was.Pauline went to her room after our amorous conflict, and I did not see
her again till dinner-time; but when I did see her I thought her an
angel.Her face had caught the hues of the lily and the rose, and had an
air of happiness I could not help admiring.As we both wanted to have our portraits taken, I asked Martinelli to send
me the best miniature-painter in London.He sent a Jew, who succeeded
admirably.Sandra moved to the garden.I had my miniature mounted in a ring and gave it to Pauline;
and this was the only present she would accept from me, who would have
thought myself all the richer if she had accepted all I had.We spent three weeks in a happy dream which no pen can describe.I was
quite well again, and we tasted all the sweets of love together.All day
and all night we were together, our desires were satisfied only to be
renewed; we enjoyed the extremest bliss.In a word, it is difficult to
form a just idea of the state of two individuals who enjoy all the range
of physical and mental pleasures together, whose life is for the present
without thought of the future; whose joys are mutual and continual; such,
nevertheless, was the position of myself and my divine Pauline.Every day I discovered in her some fresh perfection which made me love
her more; her nature was inexhaustible in its treasures, for her mental
qualities even surpassed her physical beauties, and an excellent
education had wonderfully increased the powers of her intelligence.With
all the beauty and grace of a woman she had that exalted character which
is the lot of the best of men.She began to flatter herself that the
fatal letter would never come, and the count was little more than a dream
of the past.Sometimes she would say that she could not understand how a
pretty face could exercise such a strong influence over us in spite of
our reason.John moved to the office."I have found out too late," she added, "that chance alone can make a
marriage, contracted for such physical reasons, happy."The 1st of August was a fatal day for both of us.Pauline received a
letter from Lisbon, which summoned her home without delay, and I had a
letter from Paris announcing the death of Madame d'Urfe.Madame du Rumain
told me that on the evidence of her maid the doctors had pronounced her
death to be due to an overdose of the liquid she called "The Panacea."She added that a will had been found which savoured of a lunatic asylum,
for she had left all her wealth to the son or daughter that should be
born of her, declaring that she was with child.I was to be the governor
of the infant; this vexed me exceedingly, as I knew I should be the
laughing-stock of Paris for a week at least.Her daughter, the Comtesse
de Chatelet, had taken possession of all her real estate and of her
pocket-book, which contained, to my surprise, four hundred thousand
francs.It was a great shock for me, but the contents of the two letters
Pauline had received was a greater blow.One was from her aunt, and the
other from Oeiras, who begged her to return to Lisbon as soon as
possible, and assured her that she should be put in possession of her
property on her arrival, and would be at liberty to marry Count Al---- in
the sight of all the world.He sent her a cheque for twenty million reis.I was not aware of the small value of the coin, and was in an ecstasy;
but Pauline laughed, and said it only came to two thousand pounds, which
was a sufficient sum, however, to allow her to travel in the style of a
duchess.The minister wanted her to come by sea, and all she had to do
was to communicate with the Portuguese ambassador, who had orders to give
her a passage on a Portuguese frigate which happened to be riding in an
English port.Pauline would not hear of the voyage, or of applying to the
ambassador, for she did not want anyone to think that she had been
obliged to return.She was angry with the minister for having sent her a
cheque, thinking that he must be aware that she had been in need, but I
soon brought her to see reason on this point, telling her that it was a
very thoughtful and delicate proceeding on the part of Oeiras, and that
he had merely lent-her the money, and not given it to her.Pauline was rich, and she was a high-minded woman.Her generosity may be
estimated by her giving me her ring when she was in want, and she
certainly never counted on my purse, though she may have felt sure that I
would not abandon her.I am sure she believed me to be very rich, and my
conduct was certainly calculated to favour that idea.The next day Pauline addressed
me as follows:
"We must part, dear friend, and try to forget one another, for my honour
obliges me to become the wife of the count as soon as I arrive in Lisbon.The first fancy of my heart, which you have almost effaced, will regain
all its old force when I see you no longer, and I am sure I shall love my
husband, for he is a goodhearted, honest, and pleasant young man; that
much I know from the few days we lived together."Now I have a favour to ask of you, which I am sure you will grant.Promise me never to come to Lisbon without my permission.I hope you |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | I have dreamed we have lived together as man and wife, and now we
are parted I shall fancy myself a widow about to undertake another
marriage."I burst into tears, and pressing her to my breast promised I would do as
she wished.Pauline wrote to her aunt and Oeiras that she would be in Lisbon in
October, and that they should have further news of her when she reached
Spain.She had plenty of money, and bought a carriage and engaged a maid,
and these arrangements took up her time during the last week she spent
with me.I made her promise me to let Clairmont accompany her as far as
Madrid.She was to send me back my faithful servant when she reached the
Spanish capital, but fate had decreed that I should see his face no more.John went to the bathroom.The last few days were spent partly in sorrow and partly in delight.We
looked at each other without speaking, and spoke without knowing what we
said.We forgot to eat, and went to bed hoping that love and anguish
would keep us awake, but our exhausted bodies fell into a heavy sleep,
and when we awoke we could only sigh and kiss again.John moved to the office.Pauline allowed me to escort her as far as Calais, and we started on the
10th of August, only stopping at Dover to embark the carriage on the
packet, and four hours afterwards we disembarked at Calais, and Pauline,
considering her widowhood had begun, begged me to sleep in another room.She started on the 12th of August, preceded by my poor Clairmont, and
resolved only to travel by daytime.The analogy between my parting with Pauline and my parting with Henriette
fifteen years before, was exceedingly striking; the two women were of
very similar character, and both were equally beautiful, though their
beauty was of a different kind.John went to the hallway.Thus I fell as madly in love with the
second as with the first, both being equally intelligent.The fact that
one had more talent and less prejudices than the other must have been an
effect of their different educations.Pauline had the fine pride of her
nation, her mind was a serious cast, and her religion was more an affair
of the heart than the understanding.She was also a far more ardent
mistress than Henriette.I was successful with both of them because I was
rich; if I had been a poor man I should never have known either of them.I have half forgotten them, as everything is forgotten in time, but when
I recall them to my memory I find that Henriette made the profounder
impression on me, no doubt because I was twenty-five when I knew her,
while I was thirty-seven in London.The older I get the more I feel the destructive effects of old age; and I
regret bitterly that I could not discover the secret of remaining young
and happy for ever.we must finish as we began, helpless
and devoid of sense.I went back to England the same day, and had a troublesome passage.Nevertheless, I did not rest at Dover; and as soon as I got to London I
shut myself up with a truly English attack of the spleen, while I thought
of Pauline and strove to forget her.Jarbe put me to bed, and in the
morning, when he came into my room, he made me shudder with a speech at
which I laughed afterwards."Sir," said he, "the old woman wants to know whether she is to put up the
notice again."She is very fond of you, seeing you seemed so sad,
she thought."Go and tell her never to think such things again, and as for you."I will do as you wish, sir."let me hear you
say the word again!""Home," said the young fellow, gazing at the ripe ockapillies hanging
overhead.[Illustration]
Mastering his ill-concealed emotion, T. T. rose and strode--(when I say
strode--T. T. never walked: he strolled, strutted, strode, or stepped,
invariably)--towards the house.[Illustration]
Threw open the door!![Illustration]
Dust met his eye.(When I say that, I mean that he saw dust--over all
the simple cottage furniture he loved.)The young man, who was idly chewing the stone of a cringet, turned and
saw, through the open door, dust, dust, dust.[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Leaping to his feet, he rushed to the Captain's side."Captain," said he, "we must have a Charwoman."(I say charwoman, meaning a woman who is paid to do work that other
servants are hired to do, but will not.)Sandra journeyed to the hallway.[Illustration]
In less time than it takes to skin an acquadatoric, Dingy David was in
the rowing-boat making for the shore of the mainland.[Illustration]
Sixty-eight hours of hard rowing, without a rest, brought the strong
young fellow to the coast.[Illustration: Pause--excited reader.]A light burned in the window of the lonely cottage that stood upon the
shore.[Illustration]
It was the work of a moment for Dingy David to seize upon the beautiful
maiden who was writing jam labels, by the light of a solitary candle.[Illustration]
Without a glance at her face, he carried her at breakneck speed to the
boat--pushed off, and rowed like Hercules for the island.[Illustration]
Exactly one hundred and thirty-six hours--which is five days sixteen
hours from the time he started--David brought the captive beauty and
laid her, senseless with fatigue, at the feet of Tom Tomb.[Illustration]
"What have we here?"asked Tomb, pronouncing the H very clearly."A charwoman, sire," responded David; and, smiling, the lad fell
asleep.[Illustration]
When he awoke the sun was shining and the day was warm.One glance showed him that the cottage was a model of cleanliness.[Illustration]
A smell of breakfast smote his nostrils pleasantly.It was the work of a moment to dash into the house, wash, shave,
and--there, upon a snowy bed, were laid the very clothes in which--long
years ago--he had been captured.In another moment he was in them and dashing downstairs, doing up the
buttons as he went.He flung himself, panting, into the breakfast-room.[Illustration]
The glorious girl looked up from her bacon with a cry.[Illustration]
"Ermyntrude!"For once Tomb's cool courage failed him.--He started back.The sweethearts were in each other's arms.[Illustration]
"Listen," said Tomb, when he regained his breath; and they, gazing into
each other's eyes, listened."Gaze elsewhere," said Tomb, "and I will unfold a tale."In the heat of the moment he put his sleeve into the butter.Ermyntrude sprang to his assistance.Tomb enfolded her in his embrace.[Illustration]
"This lady is my daughter," he said, turning to Wencheslaus, who stood
amazed.John journeyed to the bathroom."I will not bother you with the story," said Tomb, "but five and forty
years ago I wooed and wed her lovely mother.Twenty-one years ago to-day
Ermyntrude was born, and her mother, after lingering two years, died.Leaving the girl in the care of an honest fishwife (when I say honest, I
mean, as honest as her profession allowed), I roamed the seas as a
Pirate: sorrow made me merciless.Then, when I wished to return to my
daughter, I found that I had lost her address.""My daughter," he exclaimed, "I am a careless man!"said Wencheslaus--"what is the secret of my birth?"Going up to him, Tomb, with one superb movement, bared the youth's arm.Upon it was tattooed, in gold and purple, the crest of a noble family.exclaimed Tomb; then he removed his hat."Lord
Wencheslaus of When-cheeselawn!""The Duke of Thingamaroo," said Tomb, bowing low.[Illustration]
A cry sounded from the cellars of the cottage.Daniel went to the bathroom.Then he put his hand into his pocket, and
drew forth this very book."Ten years ago," said he, consulting his notes, "I told you that I had
killed your family.Sandra moved to the garden.said Lord Wencheslaus--for so we must now call him."I immured them in these cellars,
with ten years' provisions."With a noble gesture, he flung the key of the cellars upon the table."Release them, my Lord," he said.[Illustration]
We draw a veil over the rapturous meeting.[Illustration]
When the boat was loaded with the noble family, Lord Wencheslaus
(erstwhile Dingy David) and Ermyntrude Tomb stood hand in hand in front
of Captain Thomas Tomb."You must often come and see us, father," she said."My little Ermyntrude," he said, "you can bet your back hair your poor
old father will often come."Lord W. wrung Tomb's hand: his emotion was too great for words.[Illustration]
As they touched the mainland they started.came the sound of guns across the water.[Illustration]
PRINTED BY NEILL AND COMPANY, LIMITED, EDINBURGH.as she called a certain little blank book, "my
diary!"To the latter she confided every night the important events of
the day.This book had assumed such proportions, during the last few
days, that it threatened to reach the dimensions of the Duchesse
d'Abrantes' memoires, but if the album was free to public admiration,
nobody ever saw the diary, and Justine herself never had been able to
discover the sanctuary that concealed this mysterious manuscript.Aline was not so pleasantly received as the others, and Madame de
Bergenheim hardly concealed the ill-humor her pretty sister-in-law's
beaming face caused her every time Octave's name was mentioned.The latter's diplomatic conduct was bearing fruit, and his expectations
were being fulfilled with a precision which proved the correctness of his
calculations.In the midst of all the contradictory sentiments of fear, remorse,
vexation, love, and jealousy, Clemence's head was so turned, at times,
that she did not know what she did want.She found herself in one of
those situations when a woman of a complex and mobile character whom all
sensations impress, passes, with surprising facility, from one resolve to
another entirely opposed to it.After being frightened beyond measure by
her lover's presence in her husband's house, she ended by becoming
accustomed to it, and then by ridiculing her first terror."Truly," she thought, at times, "I was too silly thus to torment myself
and make myself ill; I was wanting in self-respect to mistrust myself to
such an extent, and to see danger where there was none.He can not
expect to make himself so very formidable while scrawling this
genealogical tree.If he came one hundred leagues from Paris for that,
he really does not merit such severe treatment."Then, having thus reassured herself against the perils of her position,
without realizing that to fear danger less was to embolden love, she
proceeded to examine her lover's conduct."He seems perfectly resigned," she said, to herself; "not one word or
glance for two days!Since he resigns himself so easily, he might, it
seems to me, obey me entirely and go away; or, if he wishes to disobey
me, he might do it in a less disagreeable manner.For really, his manner
is almost rude; he might at least remember that I am his hostess, and
that he is in my house.I do not see what pleasure he can take in
talking to this little girl.I wager that his only object is to annoy
me!He deceives himself most assuredly; it is all the same to me!She has become very coquettish, the last
few days!It certainly is very wrong for him to try to turn this child's
head.I should like to know what he would say to justify himself."Thus, little by little, she mentally reached the point to which Octave
wished to bring her.The desire for an explanation with him, which she
dared not admit to herself at first from a feeling of pride, became
greater from day to day, and at last Octave himself could not have longed
more ardently for an interview.Now that Octave seemed to forget her,
she realized that she loved him almost to adoration.She reproached
herself for her harshness toward him more than she had ever reproached
herself for her weakness.John moved to the office.Her antipathy for all that did not concern him
increased to such a degree that the most simple of household duties
became odious to her.Sandra moved to the hallway.It seemed to her that all the people about her
were enemies bent upon separating her from happiness, for happiness was
Octave; and this happiness, made up of words, letters, glances from him,
was lost!The evening of the fourth day, she found this torture beyond her
strength."I shall become insane," she thought; "to-morrow I will speak to him."Gerfaut was saying to himself, at nearly the same moment: "To-morrow I
will have a talk with her."Thus, by a strange sympathy, their hearts
seemed to understand each other in spite of their separation.Daniel went to the kitchen.But what
was an irresistible attraction in Clemence was only a determination
resulting from almost a mathematical calculation on her lover's part.By the aid of this gift of second sight which intelligent men who are in
love sometimes possess, he had followed, degree by degree, the variations
of her heart, without her saying one word; and in spite of the veil of
scorn and indifference with which she still had the courage to shield
herself, he had not lost a single one of the tortures she had endured for
the last four days.Now he thought that he had discovered enough to
allow him to risk a step that, until then, he would have deemed
dangerous; and with the egotism common to all men, even the best of
lovers, he trusted in the weakness born of sorrow.The next day a hunting party was arranged with some of the neighbors.Early in the morning, Bergenheim and Marillac started for the rendezvous,
which was at the foot of the large oak-tree where the artist's tete-a-
tete had been so cruelly interrupted.Gerfaut refused to join them,
under the pretence of finishing an article for the 'Revue de Paris',
and remained at home with the three ladies.As soon as dinner was ended,
he went to his room in order to give a semblance of truth to his excuse.He had been busying himself for some time trimming a quill pen at the
window, which looked out upon the park, when he saw in the garden,
directly beneath him, Constance's forefeet and nose; soon the dog jumped
upon the sill in order to warm herself in the sun."The old lady has entered her sanctuary," thought Gerfaut, who knew that
it was as impossible to see Constance without her mistress as St.-Roch
without his dog.A moment later he saw Justine and Mademoiselle de Corandeuil's maid
starting off, arm in arm, as if they were going for a promenade.Finally, he had hardly written half a page, when he noticed Aline
opposite his window, with a straw hat upon her head and a watering-pot in
her hand.A servant carried a bucket of water and placed it near a mass
of dahlias, which the young girl had taken under her protection, and she
at once set about her work with great zeal."Now," said Gerfaut, "let us see whether the place is approachable."And
closing his desk, he stealthily descended the stairs.After crossing the vestibule on the first floor, and a small gallery
decorated with commonplace pictures, he found himself at the library
door.Thanks to the genealogical tree which he had promised to compile,
he possessed a key to this room, which was not usually open.By dint of
preaching about the danger in certain reading for young girls,
Mademoiselle de Corandeuil had caused this system of locking-up,
especially designed to preserve Aline from the temptation of opening
certain novels which the old lady rejected en masse."Young girls did
not read novels in 1780," she would say.This put an end to all
discussion and cut short the protest |
garden | Where is Mary? | Several large books and numerous manuscripts were spread out upon the
table in the library, together with a wide sheet of Holland paper, upon
which was sketched the family tree of the Bergenheims.Instead of going
to work, however, Gerfaut locked the door, and then went across the room
and pressed a little knob which opened a small door no one would have
noticed at first.Leather bands representing the binding of books, like those which covered
the rest of the walls, made it necessary for one to be informed of the
existence of this secret exit in order to distinguish it from the rest of
the room.This door had had a singular attraction for Gerfaut ever since
the day he first discovered it.After silently opening it, he found
himself in a small passage at the end of which was a small spiral
staircase leading to the floor above.A cat creeping to surprise a bird
asleep could not have walked more stealthily than he, as he mounted the
stairs.When he crossed the last step, he found himself in a small room, filled
with wardrobes, lighted by a small glass door covered with a muslin
curtain.This door opened into a little parlor which separated Madame de
Bergenheim's private sitting-room from her sleeping-apartment.The only
window was opposite the closet and occupied almost the whole of the
woodwork, the rest of which was hung with pearl-gray stuff with lilac
figures upon it.A broad, low divan, covered with the same material as
the hanging, occupied the space in front of the window.It was the only
piece of furniture, and it seemed almost impossible to introduce even one
chair more.The blinds were carefully closed, as well as the double curtains, and
they let in so little light that Octave had to accustom himself to the
obscurity before he could distinguish Madame de Bergenheim through the
muslin, curtains and the glass door.She was lying upon the divan, with
her head turned in his direction and a book in her hand.He first
thought her asleep, but soon noticed her gleaming eyes fastened upon the
ceiling."She is not asleep, she does not read, then she is thinking of me!"said
he to himself, by a logical deduction he believed incontestable.After a moment's hesitation, seeing that the young woman remained
motionless, Gerfaut tried to turn the handle of the door as softly as
possible so as to make his entrance quietly.The bolt had just
noiselessly slipped in the lock when the drawing-room door suddenly
opened, a flood of light inundated the floor, and Aline appeared upon the
threshold, watering-pot in hand.The young girl stopped an instant, for she thought her sister-in-law was
asleep; but, meeting in the shade Clemence's sparkling eyes, she entered,
saying in a fresh, silvery voice:
"All my flowers are doing well; I have come to water yours."Madame de Bergenheim made no reply, but her eyebrows contracted slightly
as she watched the young girl kneel before a superb datura.This almost
imperceptible symptom, and the rather ill-humored look, foretold a storm.A few drops of water falling upon the floor gave her the needed pretext,
and Gerfaut, as much in love as he was, could not help thinking of the
fable of the wolf and the lamb, when he heard the lady of his thoughts
exclaim, in an impatient tone:
"Let those flowers alone; they do not need to be watered.Do you not see
that you are wetting the floor?"Aline turned around and looked at the scolder for a moment; then, placing
her watering-pot upon the floor, she darted toward the divan like a
kitten that has just received a blow from its mother's paw and feels
authorized to play with her.Madame de Bergenheim tried to rise at this
unexpected attack; but before she could sit up, she was thrown back upon
the cushions by the young girl, who seized both her hands and kissed her
on each cheek.how cross you have been for the last few days!"cried
Aline, pressing her sister's hands."Are you going to be like your aunt?Clemence felt a sort of remorse at this question, asked with such a
loving accent; but her jealousy she could not overcome.To make up for
it, she kissed her sister-in-law with a show of affection which seemed to
satisfy the latter.asked the young girl, picking up the book which
had fallen to the floor in their struggle--"Notre Dame de Paris."You know very well that my aunt has forbidden you to read novels."she does that just to annoy me and for no other reason.Must I remain an idiot, and never read anything but
history and geography the rest of my life?As if I did not know that
Louis Thirteenth was the son of Henri Fourth, and that there are eighty-
six departments in France.Clemence replied in a rather imperative tone, which should have put an
end to the discussion
"When you are married you can do as you like.Until then you must leave
your education in the hands of those who are interested in you.""All my friends," replied Aline with a pout, "have relatives who are
interested in them, at least as much as your aunt is in me, and they do
not prevent their reading the books they like.There is Claire de
Saponay, who has read all of Walter Scott's novels, Maleck-Adel, Eugenie
and Mathilde--and I do not know how many more; Gessner, Mademoiselle de
Lafayette--she has read everything; and I--they have let me read Numa
Ponzpilius and Paul and Virginia.Isn't that ridiculous at sixteen years
of age?""Do not get excited, but go into the library and get one of Walter
Scott's novels; but do not let my aunt know anything about it."At this act of capitulation, by which Madame de Bergenheim doubtless
wished to atone for her disagreeableness, Aline made one joyous bound for
the glass door.Gerfaut had barely time to leave his post of observation
and to conceal himself between two wardrobes, under a cloak which was
hanging there, when the young girl made her appearance, but she paid no
attention to the pair of legs which were but imperfectly concealed.She
bounded down the stairs and returned a moment later with the precious
volumes in her hand."Waverley, or, Scotland Sixty Years Ago," said she, as she read the
title."I took the first one on the shelf, because you are going to lend
them all to me, one by one, are you not?Claire says that a young girl
can read Walter Scott, and that his books are very nice.""We shall see whether you are sensible," replied Clemence, smiling; "but,
above all things, do not let my aunt see these books, for I am the one
who would get the scolding.""Do not worry;--I will go and hide them in my room."She went as far as the door, then stopped and came back a few steps.Mary travelled to the garden."It seems," said she, "that Monsieur de Gerfaut worked in the library
yesterday, for there are piles of books on the table.It is very kind of
him to be willing to make this tree, is it not?I hope your aunt will not be there;
she is not one of our family."Daniel moved to the bathroom.Clemence's face clouded again at the name of Gerfaut."I know no more about it than you," she replied, a little harshly."The reason I asked is because there are only pictures of men in the
drawing-room; it is not very polite on their part.I should much prefer
that there should be portraits of our grandmothers; it would be so
amusing to see the beautiful dresses that they wore in those days rather
than those old beards which frighten me.But perhaps they do not put
young girls in genealogical trees," she continued, in a musing tone."You might ask Monsieur de Gerfaut; he wishes to please you too much to
refuse to tell you," said Clemence, with an almost ironical smile."I should never dare to ask
him.""You are still afraid of him, then?""A little," replied the young girl, lowering her eyes, for she felt her
face flush.This symptom made Madame de Bergenheim more vexed than ever, and she
continued, in a cutting, sarcastic tone:
"Has your cousin d'Artigues written you lately?"Mademoiselle de Bergenheim raised her eyes and looked at her for a moment
with an indifferent air:
"I don't know," she said, at last.you do not know whether you have received a letter from your
cousin?"continued Clemence, laughing affectedly.Alphonse--no, that is, yes; but it was a long time ago.""How cold and indifferent you are all of a sudden to this dear Alphonse!You do not remember, then, how you wept at his departure, a year ago, and
how vexed you were with your brother who tried to tease you about this
beautiful affection, and how you swore that you would never have any
other husband than your cousin?""I was a simpleton, and Christian was right.Alphonse is only one year
older than I!Think of it, what a fine couple we should make!I know
that I am not very sensible, and so it is necessary that my husband
should be wise enough for both.Christian is nine years older than you,
is he not?""What age should you like your husband to be?""Oh!--thirty," replied the young girl, after a slight hesitation."Monsieur de Gerfaut's age?"Octave, who, from his place of
concealment heard the whole of this conversation, noticed the sad
expression which passed over Clemence's face, and seemed to provoke
entire confidence.The young girl allowed herself to be caught by this
appearance of interest and affection."I will tell you something," said she, "if you will promise never to tell
a soul."You know that I am very discreet as to your
little secrets.""It is because this might be perhaps a great secret," continued Aline.Clemence took her sister-in-law's hand, and drew her down beside her."You know," said Aline, "that Christian has promised to give me a watch
like yours, because I do not like mine.Yesterday, when we were out
walking, I told him I thought it was very unkind of him not to have given
it to me yet.Do you know what he replied?--It is true that he laughed
a little--It is hardly worth while buying you one now; when you are the
Vicomtesse de Gerfaut, your husband will give you one.'""Your brother was joking at your expense; how could you be such a child
as not to perceive it?"exclaimed Aline, rising with a vexed air;
"I know what I have seen.They were talking a long time together in the
drawing-room last evening, and I am sure they were speaking of me."Madame de Bergenheim burst into laughter, which increased her sister-in-
law's vexation, for she was less and less disposed to be treated like a
young girl.said the Baroness, at last; "they were talking about the
fifth portrait; Monsieur de Gerfaut can not find the name of the original
among the old papers, and he thinks he did not belong to the family.You
know, that old face with the gray beard, near the door."The young girl bent her head, like a child who sees her naughty sister
throw down her castle of cards.How could you hear at the other end of the room what
Monsieur de Gerfaut was saying?"It was Clemence's turn to hang her head, for it seemed to her that the
girl had suspected the constant attention which, under an affectation of
indifference, never allowed her to lose one of Octave's words.As usual,
she concealed her embarrassment by redoubling her sarcasm."Very likely," said she, "I was mistaken, and you may be right after all.What day shall we have the honor of saluting Madame la Vicomtesse de
Gerfaut?""I foolishly told you what I imagined, and you at once make fun of me,"
said Aline, whose round face lengthened at each word, and passed from
rose-color to scarlet; "is it my fault that my brother said this?""I do not think it was necessary for him to speak of it, for you to think
a great deal about the matter.""Very well; must one not think of something?""But one should be careful of one's thoughts; it is not proper for a
young girl to think of any man," replied Clemence, with an accent of
severity which would have made her aunt recognize with pride the pure
blood of the Corandeuils."I think it is more proper for a young girl to do so than for a married
woman."At this unexpected retort, Madame de Bergenheim lost countenance and sat
speechless before the young maiden, like a pupil who has just been
punished by his teacher."Where the devil did the little serpent get that idea?"thought Gerfaut,
who was very ill at ease between the two wardrobes where he was
concealed.Seeing that her sister-in-law did not reply to her, Aline took this
silence from confusion for an expression of bad temper, and at once
became angry in her turn."You are very cross to-day," said she; "good-by, I do not want your
books."She threw the volumes of Waverley upon the sofa, picked up her watering-
pot and went out, closing the door with a loud bang.Madame de
Bergenheim sat motionless with a pensive, gloomy air, as if the young
girl's remark had changed her into a statue.said Octave to himself, leaving his niche and putting
his hand upon the door-knob."This little simpleton has done me an
infinite wrong with her silly speeches.I am sure that she is cruising
with full sails set upon the stormy sea of remorse, and that those two
rosebuds she is gazing at now seem to her like her husband's eyes."Before the poet could make up his mind what to do, the Baroness arose and
left the room, closing the door almost as noisily as her sister-in-law
had done.Gerfaut went downstairs, cursing, from the very depths of his heart,
boarding-school misses and sixteen-year-old hearts.After walking up and
down the library for a few moments, he left it and started to return to
his room.As he passed the drawing-room, loud music reached his ear;
chromatic fireworks, scales running with the rapidity of the cataract of
Niagara, extraordinary arpeggios, hammering in the bass with a petulance
and frenzy which proved that the 'furie francaise' is not the exclusive
right of the stronger sex.In this jumble of grave, wild, and sad notes,
Gerfaut recognized, by the clearness of touch and brilliancy of some of
the passages, that this improvisation could not come from Aline's
unpractised fingers.He understood that the piano must be at this moment
Madame de Bergenheim's confidant, and that she was pouring out the
contradictory emotions in which she had indulged for several days; for,
to a heart deprived of another heart in which to confide its joys and
woes, music is a friend that listens and replies.Gerfaut listened for some time in silence, with his head leaning against
the drawing-room door.Clemence wandered through vague melodies without
fixing upon any one in particular.At last a thought seemed to captivate
her.After playing the first measures of the romance from Saul, she
resumed the motive with more precision, and when she had finished the
ritornello she began to sing, in a soft, veiled voice,
"Assisa al pie d'un salice--"
Gerfaut had heard her sing this several times, in society, but never with
this depth of expression.She sang before strangers with her lips; now
it all came from her heart.At the third verse, when he believed her to
be exalted by her singing and the passion exhaled in this exquisite song,
the poet softly entered, judging it to be a favorable moment, and enough
agitated himself to believe in the contagion of his agitation.The first sight which met his eyes was Mademoiselle de Corandeuil
|
hallway | Where is John? | The old maid's spectacles hanging on the end of her nose had
singularly compromised the harmony of her false front.The 'Gazette de
France' had fallen from her hands and decorated the back of Constance,
who, as usual, was lying at her mistress's feet."Decidedly, the Fates
are against me to-day."However, as both mistress and dog were sleeping
soundly, he closed the door and tiptoed across the floor.Madame de Bergenheim had ceased to sing, but her fingers still continued
softly to play the motive of the song.As she saw Octave approaching
her, she leaned over to look at her aunt, whom she had not noticed to be
asleep, as the high back of her chair was turned toward her.Nobody
sleeps in a very imposing manner, but the old lady's profile, with her
false front awry, was so comical that it was too much for her niece's
gravity.The desire to laugh was, for the moment, stronger than respect
for melancholy; and Clemence, through that necessity for sympathy
peculiar to acute merriment, glanced involuntarily at Octave, who was
also smiling.Although there was nothing sentimental in this exchange of
thoughts, the latter hastened to profit by it; a moment more, and he was
seated upon a stool in front of the piano, at her left and only a few
inches from her."How can a person sleep when you are singing?"The most embarrassed freshman could have turned out as bright a speech as
this; but the eloquence of it lay less in the words than in the
expression.The ease and grace with which Octave seated himself, the
elegant precision of his manner, the gracious way in which he bent his
head toward Clemence, while speaking, showed a great aptitude in this
kind of conversation.If the words were those of a freshman, the accent
and pose were those of a graduate.The Baroness's first thought was to rise and leave the room, but an
invincible charm held her back.She was not mistress enough of her eyes
to dare to let them meet Octave's; so she turned them away and pretended
to look at the old lady."I have a particular talent for putting my aunt to sleep," said she, in a
gay tone; "she will sleep until evening, if I like; when I stop playing,
the silence awakens her.""I beg of you, continue to play; never awaken her," said Gerfaut; and, as
if he were afraid his wish would not be granted, he began to pound in the
bass without being disturbed by the unmusical sounds."Do not play discords," said Clemence, laughing; "let us at least put her
to sleep in tune."She was wrong to say us; for her lover took this as complicity for
whatever might happen.Us, in a tete-a-tete, is the most traitorous word
in the whole language.It may be that Clemence had no great desire that her aunt should awaken;
perhaps she wished to avoid a conversation; perhaps she wished to enjoy
in silence the happiness of feeling that she was still loved, for since
he had seated himself beside her Octave's slightest action had become a
renewed avowal.Madame de Bergenheim began to play the Duke of
Reichstadt's Waltz, striking only the first measure of the accompaniment,
in order to show her lover where to put his fingers.Clemence played the air and Octave the bass, two of
their hands remaining unoccupied--those that were close to each other.Now, what could two idle hands do, when one belonged to a man deeply in
love, the other to a young woman who for some time had ill-treated her
lover and exhausted her severity?Before the end of the first part, the
long unoccupied, tapering fingers of the treble were imprisoned by those
of the bass, without the least disturbance in the musical effect--and the
old aunt slept on!A moment later, Octave's lips were fastened upon this rather trembling
hand, as if he wished to imbibe, to the very depths of his soul, the
soft, perfumed tissue.Twice the Baroness tried to disengage herself,
twice her strength failed her.It was beginning to be time for the aunt
to awaken, but she slept more soundly than ever; and if a slight
indecision was to be noticed in the upper hand, the lower notes were
struck with an energy capable of metamorphosing Mademoiselle de
Corandeuil into a second Sleeping Beauty.Mary travelled to the garden.When Octave had softly caressed this hand for a long time, he raised his
head in order to obtain a new favor.This time Madame de Bergenheim did
not turn away her eyes, but, after looking at Octave for an instant, she
said to him in a coquettish, seductive way:
"Aline?"The mute glance which replied to this question was such an eloquent
denial that all words were superfluous.His sweet, knowing smile
betrayed the secret of his duplicity; he was understood and forgiven.There was at this moment no longer any doubt, fear, or struggle between
them.They did not feel the necessity of any explanation as to the
mutual suffering they had undergone; the suffering no longer existed.They were silent for some time, happy to look at each other, to be
together and alone-for the old aunt still slept.Not a sound was to be
heard; one would have said that sleep had overcome the two lovers also.Suddenly the charm was broken by a terrible noise, like a trumpet calling
the guilty ones to repentance.CHAPTER XVII
A RUDE INTERRUPTION
Had a cannon-ball struck the two lovers in the midst of their ecstasy it
would have been less cruel than the sensation caused by this horrible
noise.Clemence trembled and fell back in her chair, frozen with horror.Gerfaut rose, almost as frightened as she; Mademoiselle de Corandeuil,
aroused from her sleep, sat up in her chair as suddenly as a Jack-in-a-
box that jumps in one's face when a spring is touched.As to Constance,
she darted under her mistress's chair, uttering the most piteous howls.One of the folding-doors opposite the window opened; the bell of a
hunting-horn appeared in the opening, blown at full blast and waking the
echoes in the drawing-room.The curtain of the drama had risen upon a
parody, a second incident had changed the pantomime and sentiments of the
performers.The old lady fell back in her chair and stopped up her ears
with her fingers, as she stamped upon the floor; but it was in vain for
her to try to speak, her words were drowned by the racket made by this
terrible instrument.After running in
her terror, under every chair in the room, Constance, half wild, darted,
in a fit of despair, through the partly opened door.Gerfaut finally
began to laugh heartily as if he thought it all great fun, for M. de
Bergenheim's purple face took the place of the trumpet and his hearty
laugh rang out almost as noisily.you did not expect that kind of accompaniment," said the Baron,
when his gayety had calmed a little; "this is the article that you were
obliged to write for the Revue de Paris, is it?Do you think that I am
going to leave you to sing Italian duets with Madame while I am scouring
the woods?You must take me for a very careless husband, Vicomte.We
are going to shoot a few hares in the Corne woods before supper.""Monsieur de Bergenheim," exclaimed the old lady, when her emotion would
allow her to speak, "this is indecorous--vulgar--the conduct of a common
soldier--of a cannibal!My head is split open; I am sure to have an
awful neuralgia in a quarter of an hour.It is the conduct of a
herdsman.""Do not think of your neuralgia, my dear aunt," replied Christian, whose
good-humor seemed aroused by the day's sport; "you are as fresh as a
rosebud--and Constance shall have some hares' heads roasted for her
supper."At this moment a second uproar was heard in the courtyard; a horn was
evidently being played by an amateur, accompanied by the confused yelps
and barks of a numerous pack of hounds; the whole was mingled with shouts
of laughter, the cracking of whips, and clamors of all kinds.In the
midst of this racket, a cry, more piercing than the others, rang out, a
cry of agony and despair.exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, in a falsetto voice
full of terror; she rushed to one of the windows and all followed her.The spectacle in the courtyard was as noisy as it was picturesque.Marillac, seated upon a bench, was blowing upon a trumpet, trying to play
the waltz from Robert-le-Diable in a true infernal manner.Daniel moved to the bathroom.At his feet
were seven or eight hunters and as many servants encouraging him by their
shouts.The Baron's pack of hounds, of great renown in the country, was
composed of about forty dogs, all branded upon their right thighs with
the Bergenheim coat-of-arms.From time immemorial, the chateau's dogs
had been branded thus with their master's crest, and Christian, who was a
great stickler for old customs, had taken care not to drop this one.This feudal sign had probably acted upon the morals of the pack, for it
was impossible to find, within twenty leagues, a collection of more
snarly terriers, dissolute hounds, ugly bloodhounds, or more quarrelsome
greyhounds.They were perfect hunters, but it seemed as if, on account
of their being dogs of quality, all vices were permitted them.John went to the hallway.In the midst of this horde, without respect for law or order, the
unfortunate Constance had found herself after crossing the ante-chamber,
vestibule, and outside steps, still pursued by the sounds from
Christian's huge horn.An honest merchant surprised at the turn of the
road by a band of robbers would not have been greeted any better than the
poodle was at the moment she darted into the yard.It may have been that
the quarrel between the Bergenheims and Corandeuils had reached the
canine species; it may have been at the instigation of the footmen, who
all cordially detested the beast--the sad fact remains that she was
pounced upon in a moment as if she were a deer, snatched, turned topsy-
turvy, rolled, kicked about, and bitten by the forty four-legged
brigands, who each seemed determined to carry away as a trophy some
portion of her cafe-au-lait blanket.The person who took the most delight in this deplorable spectacle was
Pere Rousselet.He actually clapped his hands together behind his back,
spread his legs apart in the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, while
his coat-skirts almost touched the ground, giving him the look of a
kangaroo resting his paws under his tail.From his large cockatoo mouth
escaped provoking hisses, which encouraged the assassins in their crime
as much as did Marillac's racket.exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil a second time, frozen
with horror at the sight of her poodle lying upon its back among its
enemies.This call produced no effect upon the animal section of the actors in
this scene, but it caused a sudden change among the servants and a few of
the hunters; the shouts of encouragement ceased at once; several of the
participants prudently tried to efface themselves; as to Rousselet, more
politic than the others, he boldly darted into the melee and picked up
the fainting puppy in his arms, carrying her as tenderly as a mother
would an infant, without troubling himself whether or not he was leaving
part of his coat-tails with the savage hounds.When the old lady saw the object of her love placed at her feet covered
with mud, sprinkled with blood, and uttering stifled groans, which she
took for the death-rattle, she fell back in her chair speechless."Let us go," said Bergenheim in a low voice, taking his guest by the arm.Gerfaut threw a glance around him and sought Clemence's eyes, but he did
not find them.Without troubling herself as to her aunt's despair,
Clemence had hurried to her room; for she felt the necessity of solitude
in order to calm her emotions, or perhaps to live them over a second
time.At the end of
a few moments, the barking of the dogs, the joking of the hunters, even
the wind in the trees and the rustling leaves, had bored Octave to such
an extent that, in spite of himself, his face betrayed him."What a doleful face you have!""I am
sorry that I took you away from Madame de Bergenheim; it seems that you
decidedly prefer her society to ours.""Would you be very jealous if I were to admit the fact?"Sandra went back to the kitchen.replied Octave,
making an effort to assume the same laughing tone as the Baron.However, you are well constituted to give
umbrage to a poor husband.But jealousy is not one of my traits of character, nor among my
principles."I respect my wife too much to suspect
her, and I love her too much to annoy her in advance with an imaginary
trouble.If this trouble should come, and I were sure of it, it would be
time enough to worry myself about it.Besides, it would be an affair
soon settled."asked Marillac, slackening his pace in order to join in
the conversation."A foolish affair, my friend, which does not concern you, Monsieur de
Gerfaut, nor myself any longer, I hope; although I belong to the class
exposed to danger.The artist threw a glance at his friend which signified: "What the deuce
made you take it into your head to start up this hare?""There are many things to be said on this subject," said he, in a
sententious tone, thinking that his intervention might be useful in
getting his friend out of the awkward position in which he found himself,
"an infinite number of things may be said; books without number have been
written upon this subject.Every one has his own system and plan of
conduct as to the way of looking at and acting upon it.""And what would be yours, you consummate villain?"The commander of the new guard then falls out members of the
guard for detached posts, placing them under charge of the proper
noncommissioned officers, divides the guard into three reliefs,
first, second, and third, from right to left, and directs a list
of the guard to be made by reliefs.When the guard consists of
troops of different arms combined, the men are assigned to reliefs
so as to insure a fair division of duty under rules prescribed
by the commanding officer.The sentinels and detachments of the old guard are at once
relieved by members of the new guard, the two guards standing at
ease or at rest while these changes are being made.The commander
of the old transmits to the commander of the new guard all his
orders, instructions, and information concerning the guard and
its duties.The commander of the new guard then takes possession
of the guardhouse and verifies the articles in charge of the
guard.If considerable time is required to bring in that portion
of the old guard still on post, the commanding officer may direct
that as soon as the orders and property are turned over to the
new guard the portion of the old guard at the guardhouse may be
marched off and dismissed.In such a case the remaining detachment
or detachments of the old guard will be inspected by the commander
of the new guard when they reach the guardhouse.He will direct the
senior noncommissioned officer present to march these detachments
off and dismiss them in the prescribed manner.In bad weather, at night, after long marches, or when the
guard is very small, the field music may be dispensed with.CHAPTER X.
MAP READING AND SKETCHING.When you pick up a map, the first question is, Where is the north?This can usually be told by an arrow (see fig.1, section 1)
which will be found in one of the corners of the map, and which
points to the true north--the north of the north star.On some maps no arrow is to be found.The chances are a hundred
to one that the north is at the top of the map, as it is on almost
all printed maps.But you can only assure yourself of that fact
by checking the map with |
garden | Where is John? | For instance,
if you ascertain that the city of Philadelphia is due east of
the city of Columbus, then the Philadelphia-Columbus line on
the map is a due east-and-west line, and establishes at once all
the other map directions.Now, the map represents the ground as nearly as it can be represented
on a flat piece of paper.facing the
north, your right hand will be in the east, your left in the
west, and your back to the south.It is the same with a map;
if you look across it in the direction of the arrow--that is,
toward its north--your right hand will be toward what is east
on the map; your left hand to the west; the south will be at
the bottom of the map.There is another kind of an arrow that sometimes appears on a
map.It is like the one in figure 2, section 1, and points not
to the true north but to the magnetic north, which is the north
of the compass.Though the compass needle, and therefore the arrow
that represents it on the map, does not point exactly north, the
deviation is, from a military point of view, slight, and appreciable
error will rarely result through the use of the magnetic instead
of the true north in the solution of any military problems.Should you be curious to know the exact deviation, consult your
local surveyor or any civil engineer.In that case disregard the
magnetic arrow unless you are using the map in connection with
a compass.If a map is being used on the ground, the first thing to be done
is to put the lines of the map parallel to the real outlines of
the ground forms, and roads, fences, railroads, etc., that the
map shows; for the making of a map is no more than the drawing
on paper of lines parallel to and proportional in length to real
directions and distances on the ground.For instance, the road between two places runs due north and south.Then on the map a line representing the road will be parallel to
the arrow showing the north and will be proportional in length
to the real road.In this way a map is a picture, or, better, a
bare outline sketch; and, as we can make out a picture, though
it be upside down, or crooked on the wall, so we call use a map
that is upside down or not parallel to the real ground forms.But it is easier to make out both the picture and the map if
their lines are parallel to what they represent.So in using a
map on the ground we always put the lines parallel to the actual
features they show.This is easy if the map has an arrow.If the map has no arrow, you must locate objects or features on
the ground, and on the map, their representations.Draw on the
map a line connecting any two of the features; place this line
parallel to all imaginary line through the two actual features
located, and your map will be correctly placed.Look to it that
you do not reverse on the map the positions of the two objects
or features, or your map will be exactly upside down.When the map has been turned into the proper position--that is
to say, "oriented"--the next thing is to locate on the map your
position.If you are in the village of Easton and there is a
place on the map labeled Easton, the answer is apparent.But
if you are out in the country, at an unlabeled point that looks
like any one of a dozen other similar points, the task is more
complicated.Mary travelled to the garden.In this latter case you must locate and identify,
both on the map and on the ground, other points--hills, villages,
peculiar bends in rivers, forests--any ground features that have
some easily recognizable peculiarity and that you can see from
your position.Suppose, for instance, you were near Leavenworth and wanted to
locate your exact position, of which you are uncertain.You have
the map shown in this manual, and, looking about, you see southwest
from where you stand the United States Penitentiary; also, halfway
between the south and the southeast--south-southeast a sailor would
say--the reservoir (rectangle west of "O" in "Missouri").Having
oriented your map, draw on it a line from the map position of the
reservoir toward its actual position on the ground.Similarly
draw a line from the map position of penitentiary toward its
actual position.The intersection of the lines will mark the place where you
stand--south Merritt Hill.This method consists merely in drawing on the map lines that
represent the lines of sight to known and visible places.The
lines pass through the map position of the places you see and
are parallel to the actual lines of sight; therefore they are the
map representations of the lines of sight, and their intersection
is the map position of the eye of the observer.After this orientation and location of position, one can deduce
from the map everything there is to know in regard to directions.In this respect, study of the ground itself will show no more
than will study of the map.To answer this, one
must understand that the map distance between any two points
shown bears a fixed and definite relation or proportion to the
real distance between the two points.For instance: We measure on a map and find the distance between
two points to be 1 inch.Then we measure the real distance on
the ground and find it to be 10,000 inches; hence the relation
between the map distance and the real distance is 1 to 10,000,
or 1/10000.Now, if the map is properly drawn, the same relation
will hold good for all distances, and we can obtain any ground
distance by multiplying by 10,000 the corresponding map distance.Daniel moved to the bathroom.This relation need not be 1/10000, but may be anything from 1/100
that an architect might use in making a map or plan of a house up
to one over a billion and a half, which is about the proportion
between map and real distances in a pocket-atlas representation of
the whole world on a 6-inch page.Map makers call this relation
the "scale" of the map and put it down in a corner in one of
three ways.A variation of
the first method on a map of different scale might be: 1 inch
equals 1 mile.Since a mile contains 63,360 inches, then the
real distance between any two points shown on the map is 63,360
times the map distance.To find the ground distance by the third kind of scale, copy it
on the edge of a slip of paper, apply the slip directly to the
map, and read off the distance; and so we answer the question,
"How far?"After direction and distance comes the interpretation of the
signs, symbols, and abbreviations on the map.Those authorized
are given in section 2 (a reprint of Appendix 4, Field Service
Regulations, 1914); but there are a good many other conventional
signs in common use.A key to them is published by the War
Department, and is called "Conventional Signs, United States
Army."From these you read at once the natural and artificial
features of the country shown on your map.It should be borne in
mind that these conventional signs are not necessarily drawn to
scale, as are the distances.They show the position and outline
of the features rather than the size.This, for the reason that
many of the features shown, if drawn to scale, would be so small
that one could not make them out except with a magnifying glass.If the exact dimensions are of any importance, they will be written
in figures on the map.In addition to te above conventional signs, we have CONTOURS
to show the elevations, depressions, <DW72>, and shape of the
ground.Abroad, HACHURES are much used, but they serve only to
indicate elevation, and, as compared to contours, are of little
value.Contours resemble the lines shown in figure 4 (section
1)
Hachures are shown in figure 5 (section 1), and may be found on
any European map.They simply show <DW72>s, and, when carefully
drawn, show steeper <DW72>s by heavier shading and gentler <DW72>s
by the fainter hachures.The crest of the mountain is within
the hachures._Contours_.--A certain student, when asked by his instructor
to define "space," said: "I have it, sir, in my head, but can
not put it into words."The Instructor replied: "I suppose that
under those circumstances, Mr.John went to the hallway.----, the definition really would
not help much."And so it is with contours--the definition does
not help much if you know a contour when you meet it on a map.For
examples of contours, turn to the map in section 2 and, starting
at the United States penitentiary, note the smooth, flowing,
irregular curved lines marked 880, 860, 840, 840, 860, etc.The only other lines on the map that at all resemble contours
are stream lines, like "Corral Creek," but the stream lines are
readily distinguished from contours by the fact that they cross the
contours squarely, while the contours run approximately parallel
to each other.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Note the stream line just to the west of South
Merritt Hill.The contours represent lines on the ground that are horizontal
and whose meanderings follow the surface, just as the edge of
a flood would follow the irregularities of the hills about it.Those lines that contours stand for are just as level as the
water's edge of a lake, but horizontally they wander back and
forth to just as great a degree.The line marked 880, at the penitentiary, passes through on that
particular piece of ground every point that is 880 feet above
sea level.Should the Missouri River rise in flood to 880 feet,
the penitentiary would be on an island, the edge of which is
marked by the 880 contour.Contours show several things; among them the height of the ground
they cross.Usually the contour has labeled on it in figures the
height above some starting point, called the DATUM PLANE--generally
sea level.If, with a surveying instrument, you put in on a piece
of ground a lot of stakes, each one of which is exactly the same
height above sea level--that is, run a line of levels--then make
a map showing the locution of the stakes, a line drawn on the
map through all the stake positions is a contour and shows the
position of all points of that particular height.On any given map all contours are equally spaced in a vertical
direction, and the map shows the location of a great number of
points at certain fixed levels.If you know the vertical interval
between any two adjacent contours, you know the vertical interval
for all the contours on that map, for these intervals on a given
map are all the same.With reference to a point through which no contour passes, we
can only say that the point in question is not higher than the
next contour up the hill, nor lower than the next one down the
hill.For the purposes of any problem, it is usual to assume
that the ground <DW72>s evenly between the two adjacent contours
and that the vertical height of the point above the lower contour
is proportional to its horizontal distance from the contour, as
compared to the whole distance between the two contours.For
instance, on the map, find the height of point A. The horizontal
measurements are as shown on the map.The vertical distance between
the contours is 20 feet.A is about one-quarter of the distance
between the 800 and the 820 contours, and we assume its height
to be one-quarter of 20 feet (5 feet) higher than 800 feet.So
the height of A is 805 feet.The vertical interval is usually indicated in the corner of the
map by the letters "V.For instance: V. I.=20 feet.On maps of very small pieces of ground, the V. I. is usually
small--perhaps as small as 1 foot; on maps of large areas on a
small scale it may be very great--even 1,000 feet.Contours also show <DW72>s.It has already been explained that
from any contour to the next one above it the ground rises a
fixed number of feet, according to the vertical interval of that
map.From the scale of distances on the map the horizontal
distance between any two contours can be found.For example:
On the map the horizontal distance between D and E is 90
yards, or 270 feet.The vertical distance is 20 feet the V. I. of
the map.Daniel went back to the garden.The <DW72> then is 20/270 = 1/13.5 = 7-1/2% = 4-1/2 deg., in all of
which different ways the <DW72> can be expressed,
[Illustration]
On a good many contoured maps a figure like this will be found
in one of the corners:
[Illustration]
On that particular map contours separated by the distance
[Illustration]
on the vertical scale show a <DW72> of 1 deg.John travelled to the garden.: if separated by the
distance
[Illustration]
they show a 2 deg.is a rise of 1 foot in
57.To use this scale of <DW72>s copy it on the edge of a piece
of paper just as you did the scale of distances and apply it
directly to the map.You will notice that where the contours lie closest the <DW72>
is steepest; where they are farthest apart the ground is most
nearly flat,
It has already been set forth how contours show height and <DW72>;
in addition to this they show the shape of the ground, or GROUND
FORMS.Each single contour shows the shape at its particular level
of the hill or valley it outlines; for instance, the 880 contour
about the penitentiary shows that the hill at that level has a
shape somewhat like a horse's head.Similarly, every contour
on the map gives us the form of the ground at its particular
level, and knowing these ground forms for many levels we can form
a fair conception of what the whole surface is like.A round contour like the letter O outlines a round ground feature;
a long narrow one indicates a long narrow ground feature.A good
many of them have one shape at one level and another shape at
another level, all of which information will be given you by
the contours on the map.One of the ways to see how contours show the shape of the ground
is to pour half a bucket of water into a small depression in
the ground.The water's edge will be exactly level, and if the
depression is approximately round the water's edge will also be
approximately round.The outline will look something like figure
6.Draw roughly on a piece of paper a figure of the same shape and
you will have a contour showing the shape of the bit of ground
where you poured your water.Next, with your heel gouge out on one edge of your little pond
a small round bay.The water will rush in and the water-mark
on the soil will now be shaped something like figure 7.Alter your drawing accordingly, and the new contour will show
the new ground shape.Again do violence to the face of nature by digging with a stick a
narrow inlet opening out of your miniature ocean, and the watermark
will now look something like figure 8.Alter your drawing once more and your contour shows again the
new ground form.Drop into your main pond a round clod and you
will have a new watermark, like figure 9, to add to your drawing.This new contour, of the same level with the one showing the
limit of the depression, shows on the drawing the round island.Drop in a second clod, this time long and narrow, the watermark
will be like figure 10, and the drawing of it, properly placed,
will show another island of another shape.Your drawing now will
look like figure 11.It shows a depression approximately round, off which open a round
bay and a long narrow bay.There is also a round elevation and a
long, narrow one; a long, narrow ridge, jutting out between the
two bays, and a short, broad one across the neck of the round
bay.Now flood your lake deeply enough to cover up the features you
have introduced.The new water line, about as shown by the dotted
line in figure 11, shows the oblong shape of the depression at a
higher level; the solid lines show the shape farther down; the
horizontal distance between the two contours at different points
shows where the bank is steep and where the <DW72> is gentler.Put together the information that each of these contours gives
you, and you will see how contours show the shape of the ground.On the little map you have drawn you have introduced all the
|
bathroom | Where is Mary? | The contours on an ordinary map seem much more complicated, but
this is due only to the number of them, their length, and many
turns before they finally close on themselves.But trace each one out, and it will resolve itself
into one of the forms shown in figure 11.Just as the high-tide line round the continents of North and
South America runs a long and tortuous course, but finally closes
back on itself, so will every contour do likewise.And just as
truly as every bend in that high-tide mark turns out around a
promontory, or in around a bay, so will every bend in a contour
stand for a hill or a valley, pointing to the lowlands if it
be a hill, and to the height if it mark a valley.If the map embrace a whole continent or an island, all the contours
will be of closed form, as in figure 11, but if it embrace only
it part of the continent or island, some of the contours will be
chopped off at the edge of the map, and we have the open form
of contours, as we would have if figure 11 were cut into two
parts.The closed form may indicate a hill or a basin; the open form,
a ridge or a valley; sometimes a casual glance does not indicate
which.Take up, first, the contour of the open type.If the map shows
a stream running down the inside of the contour, there is no
difficulty in saying at once that the ground feature is a valley;
for instance, V, V, V, and the valley of Corral Creek on the
map.But if there is no stream line, does the contour bend show
a valley or a ridge?First of all, there is a radical difference between the bend
of a contour round the head of a valley and its bend round the
nose of a ridge,
Compare on the map the valleys V and the ridges R. The bend of
the contour round the head of the valley is much sharper than
the bend of the contour round the nose of the ridge.This is a
general truth, not only in regard to maps, but also in regard
to ground forms.Study any piece of open ground and note how
much wider are the ridges than the valleys.Where you find a
"hog back" or "devil's backbone," you have an exception to the
rule, but the exceptions are not frequent enough to worry over.To tell whether a given point is on a ridge or in a valley, start
from the nearest stream shown on the map and work across the
map to the undetermined point, keeping in mind that in a real
trip across the country you start from the stream, go up the
hill to the top of a ridge, down the other side of the hill to a
water-course, then up a hill to the top of a ridge, down again,
up again, etc.That is all traveling is--valley, hill, valley,
hill, valley, etc., though you wander till the crack o' doom.And so your map travels must go--valley, hill, valley, hill--till
you run off the map or come back to the starting point.On the map, follow the R-V line, V indicating valley and R ridge
or hill.Note first the difference in sharpness in the contour
bends; also how the valley contours point to the highland and
the ridge contours to the lowland.The contours go thus:
[Illustration]
The streams flow down the valleys, and the sharp angle of the
contour points always _up_ stream.Note also how the junction
of a stream and its tributary usually makes an angle that points
_down_ stream.If you are in the bed of a stream, contours
representing higher ground must be to your right and to your
left.Generally the nearest
contour to the bank of the stream will cross the stream and there
will be an angle or sharp turn in the contour at this crossing.If the point of the angle or sharp turn is toward you, you are
going downstream; if away from you, you are going upstream.If the contours are numbered, you have only to look at the numbers
to say where the low and where the high places are; but to read a
map with any speed one must be quite independent of these numbers.In ordinary map reading look, first of all, for the stream lines.The streams are the skeleton upon which the whole map is hung.Then pick out the hilltops and ridges and you have a body to
clothe with ail the details that will be revealed by a close and
careful study of what the map maker has recorded.As to closed contours, they may outline a depression or a hill.On the map, "881" or "885" might be hills or ponds, as far as
their shape is concerned.But, clearly, they are hills, for on
either side are small streams running _away_ from them.If
they were ponds, the stream lines would run _toward_ the
closed contours.Mary travelled to the garden.The rest of "hill, valley, hill," will always
solve the problem when there are not enough stream lines shown
to make evident at once whether a closed contour marks a pond or
a hill.Look in the beginning for the stream lines and valleys,
and, by contrast, if for no other reason, the hills and ridges
at once loom up.Daniel moved to the bathroom.To illustrate the subject of contours to aid those who have
difficulty in reading contoured maps the following is suggested:
1.Use wire and slice this mound horizontally at equal vertical
intervals into zones; then insert vertical dowels through the
mound of clay.Remove the top zone, place on paper, and draw outline of the
bottom edge.Trim your paper roughly to the outline drawn.Indicate
where the holes made by the dowels pierce the paper.Do the above with each zone of your mound.Place these papers in proper order on dowels similarly placed
to ones in original mound at, say, 1 inch vertical interval apart.Replace the zones of the clay mound and form the original clay
mound along the side of skeleton mound.New force all the paper sheets down the dowels onto the bottom
sheet, and we have a map of clay mound with contours.NOTE.--One-inch or 2-inch planks can be made into any desired
form by the use of dowels and similar procedure followed.People frequently ask, "What should I see when I read a map?"and the answer is given, "The ground as it is."This is not true
any more than it is true that the words, "The valley of the Meuse,"
bring to your mind vine-clad hills, a noble river, and green
fields where cattle graze.John went to the hallway.Nor can any picture ever put into
your thought what the Grand Canyon really is.What printed word
or painted picture can not do, a map will not.A map says to you,
"Here stands a hill," "Here is a valley," "This stream runs so,"
and gives you a good many facts in regard to them.But you do not
have to "see" anything, any more than you have to visualize Liege
in order to learn the facts of its geography.A map sets forth
cold facts in an alphabet all its own, but an easy alphabet, and
one that tells with a few curving lines more than many thousand
words could tell.Noncommissioned officers and selected privates should be able
to make simple route sketches.This is particularly useful in
patrolling as thereby a patrol leader is able to give his commander
a good idea of the country his patrol has traversed.Sketches
should be made on a certain scale, which should be indicated
on the sketch, such as 3 inches on the sketch equals 1 mile on
the ground.The north should be indicated on the sketch by means
of an arrow pointing in that direction.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Any piece of paper may
be used to make the sketch on.The back of the field-message
blank is ruled and prepared for this purpose.The abbreviations
and conventional signs shown on the following pages should be
used in making such simple sketches.The following abbreviations and signs are authorized for use on
field maps and sketches.For more elaborate map work the authorized
conventional signs as given in the manual of "Conventional Signs,
United States Army Maps," are used.Abbreviations other than those given should not be used.A. Arroyo.Daniel went back to the garden.L. S. S. Life-Saving Station.L. H. Lighthouse
Ar.b. Brick.B. S. Blacksmith Shop.N. North.n. f. Not fordable.P. Pier.C. Cape.John travelled to the garden.P. O. Post Office
con.q.p Queen-post
Cr.R. River.d. Deep.R. H. Roundhouse.D. S. Drug Store.S. South.E. East.s. Steel.S. H. Schoolhouse.f. Fordable.S. M. Sawmill.G. S General Store.G. M. Gristmill.T. G. Tollgate.I. Iron.I. Island.W. T. Water Tank.W. W. Water Works.L. Lake.W. West.w. Wood.[Illustration: SIGNS--FIELD MAPS AND SKETCHES]
[Illustration]
MESSAGE BLANKS
[Illustration]
The heading "From" is filled in with the _name_ of the
detachment sending the information: as "Officer's Patrol, 7th
Cav."Messages sent on the same day from the same source to the
same person are numbered consecutively.Mary went to the bathroom.The address is written
briefly, thus: "Commanding officer, Outpost, 1st Brigade," In
the signature the writer's surname only and rank are given.This blank is four and a half by six and three quarters-inches,
including the margin on the left for binding.The back is ruled
in squares, the side of each square representing 100 yards on a
scale of 3 inches to one mile, for use in making simple sketches
explanatory of the message.It is issued by the Signal Corps in
blocks of forty with duplicating sheets.The regulation envelope
is three by five and one-fourth inches and is printed as follows:
UNITED STATES ARMY FIELD MESSAGE._Name_of_messenger_ ._When_and_by_whom_rec'd_.This Envelope will be Returned to Bearer.[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII.(Extracts from Signal Book, United States Army, 1916.)Each signal station will have its call, consisting of one or
two letters, as Washington, "W"; and each operator or signalist
will also have his personal signal of one or two letters, as
Jones, "Jo."These being once adopted will not be changed without
due authority.To lessen liability of error, numerals which occur in the body
of a message should be spelled out.Sandra went back to the hallway.In receiving a message the man at the telescope should call
out each letter as received, and not wait for the completion
of a word.A record of the date and time of the receipt or transmission
of every message must be kept.The duplicate manuscript of messages received at, or the original
sent from, a station should be carefully filed.In receiving messages nothing should be taken for granted,
and nothing considered as seen until it has been positively and
clearly in view.Do not anticipate what will follow from signals
already given.Watch the communicating station until the last
signals are made, and be very certain that the signal for the
end of the message has been given.Every address must contain at least two words and should be
sufficient to secure delivery.All that the sender writes for transmission after the word
"To" is counted.Whenever more than one signature is attached to a message count
all initials and names as a part of the message.Dictionary words, initial letters, surnames of persons, names
of cities, towns, villages, States, and Territories, or names of
the Canadian Provinces will be counted each as one word: _e._g._,
New York, District of Columbia, East St.Louis should each be
counted as one word.The abbreviation of the names of cities,
towns, villages, States, Territories, and provinces will be
counted the same as if written in full.Abbreviations of weights and measures in common use, figures,
decimal points, bars of division, and in ordinal numbers the
affixes "st," "d," "nd," "rd," and "th" will be each counted
as one word.Letters and groups of letters, when such groups do
not form dictionary words and are not combinations of dictionary
words, will be counted at the rate of five letters or fraction
of five letters to a word.When such groups are made up of
combinations of dictionary words, each dictionary word so used
will be counted.The following are exceptions to paragraph 55, and are counted
as shown:
A. M.1 word
Per cent 1 word
13.No message will be considered sent until its receipt has been
acknowledged by the receiving station.The International Morse Code is the General Service Code
and is prescribed for use by the Army of the United States and
between the Army and the Navy of the United States.It will be
used on radio systems, submarine cables using siphon recorders,
and with the heliograph, flash-lantern, and all visual signaling
apparatus using the wigwag.- N -.O - - -
C -.- - - W .- X -.- -
M - - Z - -.- - - - 6 -.- - - 7 - -.- - 8 - - -.- 9 - - - -.0 - - - - -
_Punctuation_.Period .Comma .-
Interrogation .Hyphen or dash -.-
Parentheses (before and after the words) -.-
Quotation mark (beginning and ending) .Exclamation - -.- -
Apostrophe .Semicolon -.Colon - - -.Bar indicating fraction -.Underline (before and after the word or
words it is wished to underline) .-
Double dash (between preamble and address,
between address and body of message,
between |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | -
Cross .Methods of visual signaling are divided as follows:
(a) By flag, torch, hand lantern, or beam of searchlight (without
shutter).(b) By heliograph, flash lantern, or searchlight (with shutter).(d) By hand flags or by stationary semaphore.(Two-arm semaphore
Code.)(e) By preconcerted signals with Coston lights, rockets, bombs,
Very pistols, small arms, guns, etc.(f) By flag signals by permanent hoists.The following conventional signals, with exceptions noted,
will be used in the first four classes._Exceptions_
Ardois and semaphore.Signal separating
preamble from
address; address
from text; text
from signature.- Double interval,
signature preceded
also by "Sig."A
(word).Mary travelled to the garden.Interrogatory
three times
Send faster.QRS
Cease sending QRT
Wait a moment .IX, IX
Move to your right.MD
Finished .- None.Daniel moved to the bathroom.Visual Signaling: By Flag (Wig-Wag), Torch, Hand Lantern, or Beam
or Searchlight (Without Shutter).For the flag used with the General Service Code there are
three motions and one position.The position is with the flag
held vertically, the signalman facing directly toward the station
with which it is desired to communicate.The first motion (the
dot) is to the right of the sender, and will embrace an arc of
90 deg., starting with the vertical and returning to it, and will
be made in a plane at right angles to the line connecting the
two stations.The second motion (the dash) is a similar motion
to the left of the sender.The third motion (front) is downward
directly in front of the sender and instantly returned upward
to the first position.John went to the hallway.The beam of the searchlight, though ordinarily used with
the shutter like the heliograph, may be used for long-distance
signaling, when no shutter is suitable or available, in a similar
manner to the flag or torch, the first position being a vertical
one.to the right of the sender indicates
a dot, a similar movement to the left indicates a dash; the beam
is lowered vertically for front.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Daniel went back to the garden.To use the torch or hand lantern, a foot light must be employed
as a point of reference to the motion.The lantern is most
conveniently swung out upward to the right of the footlight for
a dot, to the left for a dash, and raised vertically for front.He pointed out a thousand
imaginary disadvantages in their present site, and a thousand equally
imaginary points of superiority in the one he himself had selected for
them.He knew the mountain from top to bottom: no one could choose as
well as he could.This
was the place to observe the eclipse from, and here they meant to camp
out accordingly.Wouldn't they at least sleep down at his house?No, thanks, they
p>referred to camp out by themselves, according to orders, here on the
open.Then Kalaua began to lose his temper.What right had they, he
asked in a threatening voice, to come trespassing there on private
property?The first lieutenant responded promptly by showing a letter
from the King at Honolulu, authorizing the officers and men of the
_Hornet_ to choose a place for themselves anywhere on the open summit of
Mauna Loa, all of which was Government demesne, with the solitary
exception of Kalaua's garden.The old native's anger grew hotter and
hotter.They couldn't say why, but it was quite clear that some private
end of his own would be interfered with if the officers were allowed to
camp out within view of the crater and the Floor of the Hawaiians.I had
very little doubt myself, from what Frank told me, that some native
superstition was at the bottom of his objection.I thought it probable
there was a taboo upon the place--it was in all likelihood a seared spot
of Pele's.I remembered the fate of the man who trod the Floor of Pele and I
wondered what would happen to our friends from the _Hornet_.However, in
the end, as the naval men refused to be moved by either threats or
entreaties, Kalaua retired at last in silent wrath, muttering to himself
some unintelligible words about the folly of white men and the might of
the volcano."Take care," he cried, as he turned on his heel, flinging back his last
words at them."You've chosen the most dangerous spot on the whole
mountain.Mauna Loa will take care of itself.If you drop a match upon it, it'll
burn like sulphur."They didn't know as well
as I did how deep and fierce a hold heathendom still exercised over the
minds and actions of these half-savage natives.When Frank told me all this in the silence of our own rooms by ourselves
that evening, my heart somehow sank ominously within me."Frank," I
said, "I don't know why, but I'm sure there's mischief brewing somewhere
for us and for Kea.John travelled to the garden.I wish we knew something more about this man Maloka
they're always talking about.I feel that some terrible plan is on foot
for that poor girl's marriage.Thank heaven, the English sailors have come to protect us.""I asked several natives about Maloka to-day," Frank replied quietly;
"but though they all knew the name, they only laughed, and refused to
answer.One of them said he
didn't trouble himself at all about people like Maloka.And then they
all looked very serious, and glanced around as if they thought he might
possibly hear them.But when I asked if Maloka lived near by, behind the
peaks, they burst into roars of laughter again, and advised me not to be
too inquisitive.""He seems to live close here upon the summit, and
yet we never happen to come across him."Perhaps he's
visiting his friend Maloka.""I wish I could follow him," Frank cried eagerly."I'd like to catch
this Maloka by the throat, whoever he is, and I'll bet you sixpence, if
I once caught him he'd be pretty well choked before I let him go again.""Did the _Hornet's_ men send down for water to Kalaua's well?""They took up some pailfuls.""I hope Kalaua hasn't put anything ugly into it."CHAPTER XI
That night, like the nights before, I tossed and turned on my bed
incessantly.The pain in my leg had come back once more.It was long
before I dropped asleep by degrees.When I did sleep, I slept very
heavily, almost as if some one had drugged or tampered with my drink at
dinner.In the stillness of the night, a sound again awoke me.I raised my head
and gazed up suddenly.Could this be Kalaua and his friend again?And it was Frank who
stood with a warning finger uplifted close by my bedside in the glow of
Mauna Loa."Tom," he whispered in a hoarse, low voice, "there's foul play going on,
I'm certain.I see nobody in Kalaua's room, and just look how red it
all is to eastward."At the word, I jumped out of bed awkwardly, and crept to the window as
well as my injured limb would permit me.Sure enough, a lurid light hung
over the peak where the sailors were encamped: "Give me the glass!"I looked and saw a great glare of
fire surrounding the tents with their white awnings.At first my eyes
told me no more than that: after a while, as I grew more and more
accustomed to the gloom, I could see that a dozen little points of fire
were blazing away around the frail canvas shelters."There's something up on Mauna Loa," I cried.Worse than that--a fire, an
incendiary fire.The ground around them seems to be all one blaze.""Kalaua said it was inflammable, you remember," Frank cried."But sulphur would never burn like that," I answered."I fancy he must
mean to turn them out by fair means or foul; and as far as I can see
he's succeeding in his object.""You think it's he who's set it on fire then?""The sailors are awake and moving about
hastily; but perhaps you may yet be of some use to them.""All right," Frank answered, "I'll be with them like wildfire."In a minute he had tumbled into his coat and trousers, pulled on his
boots, clapped his hat on his head, and run out lightly up the road to
the encampment.By the time he reached the burning summit, I could see
with the glass that the whole camp was in a perfect turmoil of wild
confusion.The sailors were rapidly unpegging the tents and carrying
away the instruments from the burning patch to a place of safety lower
down the mountain.I could make out Frank joining eagerly in the task;
he was helping them now with all his heart and soul.I only wished I
too was there to second him.In this struggle of science against savage
malignancy, my indignant sympathy went fiercely out on the side of
knowledge.Presently, in the dim light, far nearer home, I saw two men creep slowly
down the crater path from the summit: two skulking men, with native
scarves tied loosely round their waists; tall and erect, lithe and
cautious.I recognized them at once; one was Kalaua, the other was his
visitor of the preceding evening.They crept down with the air of men
engaged on some criminal undertaking.Mary went to the bathroom.In their hands they bore two empty
tin kegs: I knew the shape well; they were American petroleum cans!Like lightning the truth flashed through my startled brain.For some
reason or other best known to themselves, these two secret votaries of
an almost extinct faith desired to dislodge the eclipse-observing party
from the peak that overhung and commanded the crater.They feared
perhaps the wrath of their hideous goddess.Unable to move the
Englishmen by force of reasoning, they had tried to drive them out from
this sacred site by means of fire.They had saturated the porous and
sulphurous soil here and there with petroleum.No pity, no remorse; they
must have meant to burn them as they lay, for then, applying a match to
it quietly, they had stolen away, leaving the flames to fight the battle
in their absence against the sleeping white men, whom they had perhaps
supplied with drugged water from the well in the garden.Neither spoke, but
both together bowed down thrice in the direction of the steaming crater.After that each placed his palms against his neighbour's.Then Kalaua
stalked silently on towards his own house; his companion descended the
zig-zag path that led right down to the Floor of the Strangers.Could Maloka live in some cave of the platform?It was terrible to dwell
in an atmosphere like this--an atmosphere of doubt, suspicion, and
heathen treachery.Save for Kea's sake I would have left it at once.But Kea's fate bound me still to the spot.Sandra went back to the hallway.I must learn the truth about
this terrible marriage.For half an hour I sat and watched, while the observers on the hill-top
ran to and fro in their eager desire to save their tents and baggage
from the menaced destruction.Daniel travelled to the office.Happily, they had waked before the fire
reached them.At the end of that time, Frank and the first lieutenant
came down with news.I asked in breathless
eagerness."Almost under now," the officer answered cheerily."We've managed to put
it out somehow for the present.But what can you do in the way of
putting out fire when the very earth under your feet's inflammable!The flames spread at first on every side
with just wonderful rapidity.""Ah," I put in as carelessly as I could."Lava, I suppose, and sulphur,
and so forth?""H'm," the lieutenant answered with a dubious sniff."_You_ may call it
sulphur and lava if you like; but for my part, I think it smelt
precious like petroleum."I cried, astonished at this independent
confirmation of my worst suspicions."That's just about the name of it.And
petroleum doesn't grow of itself in Hawaii.""Tom," my brother said, coming up to me quietly, and speaking in a very
unwonted whisper; "this is not the place to discuss all these things.The sooner you and I can get out of it the better.It's my belief Kalaua
has saturated the ground with something and set it on fire.""I don't know what particular heathen did it," the officer put in with a
confident tone; "but of this I'm sure, that somebody's poured coal oil
all over the place.Now, I don't mind camping out
on volcanoes or craters when they're left to themselves, but I'm hanged
if I like them when they're stirred up with coal oil to go burning down
the tent over a fellow's head.It's clear these Sandwich Islanders are
inhospitable folk; they don't mean to let us pitch our tents on that
particular spot; and if they can't turn us out one way, why then they'll
turn us out in another.As it is, we've lost already two of our tents,
and it was a blessing we didn't lose the whole lot together, not to
mention the lives of Her Majesty's lieges to our care committed, for we
were snoring most peacefully when the fire began."We were lying asleep, like warriors taking their
rest, on our own mattresses--sound asleep, every man Jack of us--when I
saw a glare shining under the tent, which I suppose would never have
woke me if a spark hadn't happened to fall on my forehead.My first idea
was that the volcano had got up an eruption on purpose in our honour:
but when I got outside and looked at the ground, I came to the
conclusion it couldn't be that for various reasons, and I set it down to
your friend the native.For one thing, the place just reeked of
petroleum, and for another, it was only alight on the surface, in
half-a-dozen different places at once, exactly as if somebody had set a
match to it.""Oh, I waked the men--and I never knew men so hard to waken.By dint of
care however we've put it out, and I've come down here to talk the thing
over with you.""Well, what do you think you'll do now?""Why, the British tar doesn't like to be beaten," my new friend
answered, "but I'm shot if I'm going to lie still and be roasted alive
in my bed like a salamander.These fellows seem too shifty for us to
deal with.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.Open fighting I don't object to, mind you, but I do object to
baking a man to death unawares while he's sleeping.It's not so good as
this in some ways, I admit, but it'll do anyhow better than a baking.And as soon as we can get away down to Honolulu, we shall have the law
against these petroleum-spilling brown fellows.""You will get no redress," I said."No Hawaiian will believe any story
against |
hallway | Where is John? | But at any rate you had better move for the present.Some
evil will befall you if you stop where you are.Kalaua sticks neither at
fire nor poison."And sure enough, they were forced to shift their quarters next day to
the place Kalaua had at first pointed out to them.By this time indeed I will frankly confess, it was beginning to strike
me that Kalaua's was not a safe place to live in.John moved to the hallway.We had almost made up
our minds indeed that as soon as the eclipse was well over, we would
return on the _Hornet_ to Honolulu.Kea's wedding alone could detain us
longer: but my curiosity on that point was so strong and vivid that I
determined to ask our new friends to wait till it was over, and then to
take us with them to the neighbouring island.I couldn't bear to abandon
her to Kalaua's mercy.Meanwhile, the sailors were busy with their own
preparations, for the eclipse arrangements took up their whole time.For the next few days accordingly Frank was all agog with this new
excitement.He was running about all over the summit from morning till
night, deeply engaged in the mysteries of tent-pegging, and absorbed in
discussions of level, theodolite, telescope, and spectrum analysis.He
was proud to display his knowledge of the volcano to his new friends.He
showed the first lieutenant every path and gully round that terrific
crater: leaped horrible fissures, yawning over abysses of liquid flame,
with the junior midshipman; and made the good-humoured and easy-going
sailors teach him marvellous knots, or instruct him in the art and
science of splicing.As for me, I hobbled about lamely on my crutches as
well as I could, envying him the ease with which he did it all, and
longing for the time when I too might get about up and down the crater
on my own two legs, without let or hindrance."Sailors are awfully jolly fellows," Frank confided to me one evening,
after a day spent in exploring and setting up instruments."Upon my
word, do you know, Tom, if I wasn't so awfully gone on volcanoes, I
think I'd really run away to sea and be a gallant midshipmite.""For my part I don't care for such dangerous occupations," I answered
prudently, gazing down with pensive regret into the slumbering crater,
that heaved now and then uncomfortably in its sleep with the most
enticing motion."A storm at sea's an unpleasant sort of thing.I don't
like all that tossing and plunging.Give me the peace and quiet of dry
land, with no more excitement than one gets afforded one by an
occasional eruption or a stray earth-quake, just to diversify the
monotony of every-day existence."And indeed I could never understand myself why anybody should want any
more adventurous life than that of a sober scientific man, with a taste
for volcanoes.None of your hurricanes and tornadoes for me.A good
eruption's fun enough for anybody.The point finally selected by the naval men for their camp and
observatory lay at some considerable distance from Kalaua's house, but
full in view from the open verandah.It was difficult of access however
in spite of its position, because a huge gully or rent in the
mountain-side, descending to several hundred feet below, intervened to
separate us; and the interval could therefore only be covered by
something like half an hour's hard riding.I was not able myself
accordingly to assist at any of their preparations; I could only sit on
the verandah like an idle man, and watch them through a good
field-glass, which enabled me to follow all their movements
intelligibly, and to interest myself to some small extent in the details
and difficulties of their extensive arrangements.During these few remaining days, before the expected eclipse, Kea sat
with me often on the verandah doing nothing, for her work on her
trousseau was now all finished; but she seemed more pre-occupied and
self-centred than usual, as if dreading and hating her expected
marriage.I felt sure she disliked the husband they had chosen for her.Often when I spoke to her she brought her eyes back suddenly, as if from
a great distance, and sighed before she answered me, like one whose mind
has been fully engaged upon some very different and unpleasant subject.She asked me much too, at times, about her father's brother and friends
in England, about the life in our quiet home country, about people and
places she had heard her father talk about in her early childhood.She
knew them all well by name; her father, she said, had loved to speak of
them to her.Evidently he had been one of those wild younger sons of a
good family, who had left home early and gone to sea, and taking to a
roving Pacific life had fallen in love with some young Hawaiian girl,
Kalaua's sister and Kea's mother, for whose sake at last he had made his
home for life upon a lofty peak of these remote islands.His family,
displeased at his marriage, no doubt, had all but cast him off; and even
if they invited Kea to come home to them in England after his early
death, they would have had no great affection, one may easily believe,
for their little unknown half-caste kinswoman.Yet I felt sure if only
they could once have really seen Kea they must have loved her dearly,
for there was something so sweetly pathetic and winsome in her
child-like manner that no one who saw her could help, in spite of
himself, sympathizing with her and liking her.Kea asked me once, after a long
pause, with sudden energy."Unhappily, no," I answered, with a quiet sigh of professional regret."That's my one solitary cause of complaint against my native country.Britain is much too
solid indeed for my private taste.It affords no scope for an
enterprising seismologist.There were some good craters once, to be
sure, in geological times, at Mull and Cader Idris, but they're all
extinct long since.We haven't a volcano, good, bad, or indifferent,
anywhere nearer us than Hecla or Vesuvius.""Then I should love England," Kea replied very quietly.Hesselgrave, if that's so, what on earth made you ever leave England to
come to such a country as Hawaii?"She spoke so earnestly, that I hardly liked to tell her in cold blood, I
came just for the sake of those very volcanoes which seemed to impress
her own private fancy so very unfavourably.There's no accounting for
tastes.I've known people who loved yachting and didn't mind a bear
hunt, yet wouldn't go near an eruption for a thousand pounds, and could
hardly even be induced by the most glowing descriptions to look over the
edge of a sheer precipice into the smoking crater of an active volcano.As if volcanoes weren't
at bottom the merest safety-valves to the internal fires of our earth's
centre!The few remaining days before the date of the eclipse passed by, I am
happy to say, uneventfully.Excitements indeed
had come so thick and fast during these late weeks that a little quiet
was a welcome novelty.And the presence of our English friends from the
gunboat gave us further a sense of confidence and security to which we
had far too long been strangers.We knew now, at least, that a British
war-vessel lay moored in the harbour below to watch over our safety.On one of the intervening evenings, as I sat in the verandah smoking a
cigarette alone in the pleasant cool of tropical twilight, I heard two
natives, hangers-on of Kalaua's, talking together in the garden, where
they were busy picking fruit and flowers for the use of the house on the
grand occasion.At first I paid little heed to their conversation: but
presently I thought I overheard among their talk the mysterious name of
that strange Maloka.I pricked up my ears at the sound.Then they too were busy with the great event.I listened
eagerly for the rest of their colloquy.the younger man asked, as he laid some roses
and a great bunch of plumbago into a palm-leaf basket."Garlands and wreaths for Maloka's wedding," the elder answered in a
hushed and lowered voice."It will be a very grand affair, no doubt," the younger went on quietly.I saw the dress that Kea is to wear,
and the bridesmaids' veils."If Kalaua allows me," the other answered."She's a pretty young girl," the younger man continued in an unconcerned
voice, still filling his basket."A great deal too good to my mind for a
wretched creature like Maloka.What does an ugly fellow such as that
want with a young and beautiful wife like Kea?I'd give him some ugly
old crone to match himself, I can tell you, if only I had my way about
it.""Hush," the elder answered with a certain solemn tone of awe in his
voice I had often noticed the natives used when they talked together
about this unknown bridegroom."Maloka may be ugly and dark if you will,
but he is a grand husband for any girl to light upon.You young men
nowadays have no respect for family or greatness.It is a proud thing
for a girl to marry such a bridegroom as Maloka.""Well, as far as I'm concerned," the young native answered, with a
slight toss of his head, "I don't think so much as you do of the whole
lot of them.The family's all very well in its way, but an ugly girl
would be quite good enough for a fellow of that sort.What's the use of
throwing away beauty like hers upon Maloka?However, it's no affair of mine, of course; her uncle and herself have
settled the wedding.All I shall do is to go and look on.They say it's going to be the grandest wedding that ever was
made in all Hawaii since King Kamehameha's daughter was married long ago
to another member of the same family."The old man laughed at this, as if it were a joke: but somehow his
laughter sounded painfully grim.I felt that whatever Maloka's family
might happen to be--and it was clear that the natives thought it a very
distinguished one--it was not famous for kind treatment of the unhappy
women it took as brides to its illustrious bosom.My heart was sore for
poor little Kea.To be sure, she acquiesced in the marriage, no doubt,
but then girls will sometimes acquiesce in anything.It was painful to
think she was going to marry a native whom even coarse, common natives
like these regarded as unworthy of her on any ground except that of
family connection.But the Hawaiians, I knew, have still to the full all
the old barbaric love of aristocratic descent and distinguished
ancestry."A good match" would atone for anything.At last the Saturday of the expected eclipse arrived in due time, and
all the day was occupied by Frank and the naval officers in final
arrangements for their scientific observations.At Kalaua's house, too,
great preparations seemed to be going on; it was clear some important
event was at hand: we almost suspected that Kea's wedding must be fixed
for the Sunday, or at least the Monday morning following.Kea tried on
all her things early in the day, I believe; and many Hawaiian girls came
in to help her and to admire the effect of the veil and trimmings.But a
less merry wedding-party I never heard in my life before.A cloud seemed
to hang over the entire proceeding.Instead of laughing and talking, as
the natives generally do on the slightest provocation, we could hear
them whispering below their breath in solemn tones in Kea's room, and
though lots of flowers had been picked and arranged for the occasion in
long wreaths and garlands, the girls didn't make sport, as usual, out of
their self-imposed task, but went through with it all with profound and
most unwonted sombreness of look and movement.Kea had said her
betrothed was somebody of very great importance.I began to think he
must be some one so awfully important that nobody dare even smile when
they thought or spoke of him!I had never heard of any one quite so
important as that before, except the head master of a public school; and
it seemed in the highest degree improbable that Kea should be going to
marry the Provost of Eton, or the Principal of Clifton or Cheltenham
College.[Illustration: "KEA TRIED ON ALL HER THINGS."]When evening drew on, we all had supper together at Kalaua's--the naval
officers, Frank, and myself--and then the eclipse observation committee
went off under Frank's efficient guidance round the long gully to their
chosen station.I meant to observe them there through my field-glass
myself, and see what sort of scientific success was likely to attend
their arduous labours.For a while I sat and mused in silence.The house seemed unusually still
and lonely after Frank left.Kalaua, Kea, and the native servants were
none of them loitering about on the verandah or in the sitting-room,
where they generally lounged.I seemed to be in sole possession of the
establishment, and I hobbled out by myself a little way on to the
platform in front of the house, wondering what on earth could have
become of all the inhabitants in a body together.My leg was nearly well
now, I could get along nicely with the aid of the crutches.I was almost
sorry indeed I hadn't tried to ride a horse, game leg and all, and go
round with the eclipse party to the camp of observation.Yet somehow I felt uneasy, too, at Kea's absence, and my uneasiness was
increased, I don't know why, by the constant glare that overhung the
crater.The lava was unusually red-hot to-night; the great eruption we
had long expected must surely be coming.I hoped it would wait till my
leg was quite well; a lame foot is more than enough to spoil the whole
pleasure of the best and finest volcanic outburst to an enthusiastic
amateur.I went back to the house and called twice for Kea.I ventured to open the door of
her bedroom.All the wedding-dresses and wreaths
and veils were gone from their places, where I had often observed them
when the door stood ajar in the course of the morning.A vague sense of
terror fell upon my soul.Mary travelled to the hallway.and
why was she out at this time of night, with all her friends, and in her
wedding garments?I called a third time, and nobody answered.But out on the platform in
front of the house I saw an aged Hawaiian hag, a witch-like old woman
who hung about the place and lighted the fires, sitting crouched on the
ground with her arms round her knees, and grinning hideously at my
obvious discomfiture.I cried to her in Hawaiian, as well as I could
manage it.The horrible old woman grinned still more odiously and maliciously in
reply."Gone out," she answered, mumbling her words in her toothless
mouth so that I could hardly make them out or understand them.I asked angrily, for I was ill at ease."The festival of Maloka," the old hag mumbled with a cunning smile.With a sudden horror I remembered then that Maloka was the mysterious
person to whom, as I concluded, Kea was engaged--the person whom she and
Kalaua had so often mentioned in their low and whispered talk with one
another.I cried, sternly laying my hand upon her withered
shoulder, "Quick!tell me at once, or it will be the worse for you.""He's Pele's son," the old hag answered, chuckling to herself with a
horrible chuckle."He lives with his mother, his angry mother, away,
away, down in the depths of Mauna Loa.She loves
him dearly: and she often asks for a wife for Maloka."In an instant the whole hideous, incredible truth flashed wildly across
my bewildered brain.They were going to sacrifice Kea to this hateful
god!They were going to fling her into the mouth of the crater!They
were going to offer her up in marriage to the son of Pele!"Which way have they gone, you hag?"I cried, shaking her in my fierce
anger.The old woman raised one skinny brown finger, and pointed with a grin in
the direction of a zig-zag path which lay to the left of Kalaua's
roadway.Without waiting one second to |
hallway | Where is Mary? | I reached the path, and turned hastily down it.The track was rough and
difficult to traverse, even for an active man with both his legs to go
upon; but for me, in my present halt and maimed condition, it was
terribly hard and all but impracticable.Nevertheless, impelled by
horror and fear for poor Kea's safety, T hurried along at a mad rate
down the steep zig-zag, careless whether I fell or not in my wild haste,
but eager only to prevent I knew not what awful heathenish catastrophe.I only prayed I might yet be in time to save her life.After many
stumbles and hairbreadth escapes, rolling over and over with my crutches
by my side, I found myself at last on the Floor of the Strangers, not
far from the spot from which I had fallen before, but separated from it
by a narrow chasm in the black basalt--a chasm, riven deep in the solid
rock, and filled below, as I saw at once, with a fiery strait of
white-hot lava.John moved to the hallway.Away off to the left, on the summit of the
mountains, I saw the camp-fires of the naval eclipse parties.They were
standing there, etched out distinctly against the pale sky-line; and I
could recognize every one of their faces with ease through that clear
air in the bright light of a tropical moon.But not a sign of Kea was to
be seen anywhere.I looked anxiously round for her, and met no token
anywhere.The old woman must surely have misdirected me on purpose.Fool
that I was to have believed that hag!Kea and her party could hot have
come this way at all towards the crater.At this
supreme moment Kalaua had intentionally attempted to escape my notice.Suddenly, as I looked and wondered in awe, a strange procession began
slowly to descend the mountain side opposite, beyond the chasm, into the
mouth of the crater.At its head came the man in the feather mask whom I
had seen that day that I broke my leg on the edge of the precipice, and
whom I now more distinctly than ever recognized as indeed Kalaua.There
was no mistaking his gait and carriage.He stalked on proudly in front
of the procession.Next after him, bearing rods with bunches of feathers
fluttering in the breeze from their tops, came the four acolytes who
had stood by his side that awful morning when he solemnly devoted me to
the devouring volcano.Then four Hawaiian girls in white bridesmaids'
dresses, with long garlands of oleanders strung round their necks,
followed in order, two by two, waving their hands slowly above their
heads, and chanting native _himenes_, as they call their long monotonous
wails and dirges.My heart stood still as I saw with horror that Kea
walked last, with downcast eyes, habited in her full bridal dress, and
with the white veil falling round her in folds almost to her ankles.Behind her straggled a few hushed and awe-smitten spectators, half
friendly assistants at this ghastly ceremony.I saw them all clearly but
two hundred yards off, though the chasm in the rock with its red mass of
molten lava below separated me from them far more effectually than a
mile of intervening distance could possibly have done.[Illustration: "A STRANGE PROCESSION BEGAN SLOWLY TO DESCEND."]My first impulse was to cry aloud with indignation and horror.My next,
for Kea's sake, was to hide myself at once behind a black jagged
pinnacle of hardened lava before they caught sight of me.I did so
almost as soon as the procession began to file slowly past the turn of
the road; and it was by peering with caution round the corner of the
pinnacle that I had observed them all as they descended two by two along
the narrow foot-path.Step after step they moved gradually down, to the long-drawn music of
those unearthly _himenes_.Kea, in particular, glided on like a ghost,
with downcast eyes and shrinking demeanour, yet not so much in the
manner of a victim as of one who willingly and heroically devotes
herself to some terrible end for the good of her country.I knew she believed she was averting the wrath of Pele, and I gasped
with horror at her awful resolution.Presently, the procession reached the Floor of the Strangers, on whose
platform I myself was already crouched flat, though always separated
from me by that terrific chasm; and advancing still to the lugubrious
sound of these doleful _himenes_.Kalaua placed himself on the edge of
the precipice, at the very spot where I myself had fallen over in
pursuit of the butterfly.Kea, moving forward with slow and solemn
steps, stood at his right hand, in her bridal dress, with her bloodless
fingers clasped downward in front of her.Then Kalaua began, in a strange cramped voice, to drone out some
horrible dedicatory service.It sounded like the service he had droned
out over myself on the morning of my accident: but I understood Hawaiian
much better now, and could follow the words of his frightful litany with
very little difficulty.Crouching behind the shadow of my broken lava
pinnacle, I saw and heard the whole savage orgy like some unseen
presence in that vast and self-lighted natural cathedral."Great Mother Pele," Kalaua began, intoning his words on a single note
and dividing his address into curious irregular verses--"Great Mother
Pele, who dwellest in the fire-lake, Queen of the Hawaiians, we, thy
children, bow ourselves down in worship before thee.Mary travelled to the hallway."We assemble in thy temple, oh, thou, that delightest in the flesh of
white-skinned chickens: we come into the outer threshold of thy house,
oh, thou, that ridest on the red flaming surges."Sugar-cane, and tappa-cloth we offer to thy children: a bride, a wife,
to thy favourite, to Maloka."Five sons thou hast borne in thy home, below; and one is humpbacked;
thy favourite Maloka."A white man came from the lands beyond the sea: a pale-faced stranger;
a wanderer to Hawaii."Of thy own accord thou chosest him a victim for thyself.The white man's foot trod forbidden ground: the Floor of thy
children, of thy children, the Hawaiians."In thy wrath, thou rosest to crumple him to ashes: thy flames soared
upward like tongues of fire; dancing and surf-riding on the billows of
flame, didst thou put forth thy red right hand to seize him.Kalaua continued his awful chant once more, shaking his robe, and slowly
dancing."A maiden rescued him: a mortal maiden.She stole the victim from the
clutches of Pele."No hand might save him against thy will: the force of a mortal avails
not against the fiery might of a living goddess."Thou, Pele, lettest him go for very contempt; thou gavest up the prey
from thy fingers willingly."For such as her, a law is laid down."Victim for victim: life for life: whoever snatches an offering from
Pele, himself must satisfy the wrath of the goddess."Were it not so, thou wouldst deluge the land with lava; thou wouldst
swallow the towns in the jaws of earthquakes: thou wouldst lick up the
cane-fields with red tongues of fire."Thy son, Maloka, thy favourite, the humpbacked, he cried aloud to his
mother for the maiden in marriage."'Give me this girl, he cried aloud, Oh Pele: give me this maiden who
snatched away thy victim.'"Thou, Pele, madest answer: 'My son, I give her thee.'Thou didst turn
uneasily in thy flaming home, and threaten the Hawaiians with a deadly
vengeance."See, we bring her: and we give her to Maloka; willingly, of her own
accord, the maiden comes: on Maloka's night, arrayed as a bride in
snow-white raiment, eager for her fate.The bridesmaids, in their wreaths and garlands, stepped forward.I
listened, horror-struck."Kea, do you take this god, Maloka, for your wedded lord?"In a stifled voice, tremulous but firm, Kea answered aloud in her soft
Hawaiian, "Kalaua, I take him.""Maloka, do you take this girl, Kea, for your wedded wife?"No sooner had Almighty God consummated the grand work of
the creation, the culmination of which was the breathing into man
of an immortal soul, than the devil, the father of evil, jealous of
the attributes given by God to man, made his bold attempt to destroy
God's immortal work.From that moment to this present the spirits
of evil have carried on an unceasing warfare against what has been
for the glory of God.The Monastic Orders ever since the days of
their birth have had to contend against these powers of evil; and
there is therefore little necessity for surprise that those who were
employed in such work as were the unscrupulous persons who came to the
archipelago to sow ruin in the consciences of the people and scandal
in society, should carry on a bitter campaign against the Religious
Orders to whom was owing every jot and tittle of the civilization and
culture enjoyed by the Filipinos.Sandra went to the bedroom.The Monastic Orders have ever been
the bulwark of Christianity, and as such have had to bear the brunt
of the battle.Europe owes the solid foundation of its political,
social and religious life to the Religious Orders, which, during
the ages in which the Huns, Goths and other barbarians overran and
devastated those lands, hoarded up in the nooks and corners of their
monastic dwellings the seed which, when afterwards sown, was to become
the stout tree of civilization which should spread its sheltering
branches to the four corners of the earth.One of these branches
drawing its fullness of life and vigor directly from the trunk,
extended to these far off islands and, casting its shade over the
embruted mankind here existing at that time, wrought a change over
it no less marked than that wrought over the European peoples.From
the day in which Father Urdaneta, that intrepid Augustinian, set
foot upon Philippine soil, till the day upon which the hydra-headed
Katipunan appeared in the land, the Monastic Orders have been the
one great source of all that was really useful and beneficial to the
inhabitants of the archipelago, although at times the moral interests
of the people were not the commercial interests of the country.The "friar" so much slandered by those who wish to overthrow his
beneficent influence, ever carried the banner of his country enlaced
with the Cross of the Redeemer.He came to the Archipelago as a
messenger of peace and order, and was the strongest supporter of the
sovereignty of his nation.The "friar" was hated because he was the
one who best knew and understood the indian, and from his intimate
knowledge of his parishioners, could the more easily detect anything
on their part which tended to the detriment of the integrity of the
Spanish sovereignty.The campaign against the Religious Orders was the attack of the
battering-rams against the city to be captured.By piercing the
wall the entry into the city could be the easier made; and this the
separatist element well knew, hence all their efforts were directed
against the stout wall which defended from its assaults the treasure
of the metropolis.For three hundred years the Philippines remained submitted to Spain
exclusively by reason of the moral influence of the Clergy.Whilst
the banner of Spain, floated over the Archipelago, the Religious
formed the strongest guard for its protection; when it fell, strung
by the ingratitude and treachery of those who had sworn to defend
it to the last drop of their blood, and lay dishonored in the dust,
it was the Religious who bowed his head in the deepest grief and who
shed the bitterest tears.When the flag of the conquerer was hauled up
to the height from which once gloriously floated the symbol of Spanish
authority, the Religious, obedient to the commands of his superiors,
withdrew to the solicitude of his convent, to await in patience,
the passing of the storm.He looks out upon the clouded political
horizon, as Noah looked out from the window of the ark upon the vast
sea of waters which hid from his view the fearful destruction which
had overcome the world, patiently awaiting the time when he should,
at God's will, go forth to commence again the work of reconstruction.Often have I heard the opinion expressed that the Government's worst
enemy is the "friar", that it is the "friar" who keeps alive the
spirit of rebellion.Let those who think thus, ponder over one small
thought: what has the friar to gain in sustaining a rebellion which
has caused him more moral and material damage, than has been caused
to any other entity in the Philippines?To those who are able and
willing to utilize the power of thought with which God has endowed
them, it is sufficiently clear that the Religious has nothing to gain
by such tactics, but, on the contrary, all to lose.In Spanish times the native enemies of the Religious Orders were the
enemies of Spain and in these days, the enemy of the friar is by no
means a real friend, whatever he may claim to be, of the Government of
of the U. S. The Spanish masons and the Filipino separatists found the
friar to be the greatest obstacle to be encountered."The friar," wrote
Governor D. Francisco Borrero, to Sr.Canovas, in a memoir concerning
the Archipelago, "knowing the language, spirit, and tendencies of the
natives, is considered as the principal obstacle for the realization
of the filibuster idea, and hence arises their aspiration (that of
the enemies of Spain) that the Religious Orders should be eliminated,
because such a step being taken, they believe they will have travelled
half the journey...."
The propaganda of Universal freemasonry, of Filipino freemasonry,
of the Liga Filipina, of the Compromisarios, was aimed principally at
the Religious Orders, but the results attained were but introductory
to the real work of the Katipunan, which, finding itself cornered by
the discovery of the plot it had concocted against the Government,
showed its hand.Its aim was anti-Spanish and not merely anti-friar,
as is sufficiently clear from the fact that in all the documents of
the diabolical association it is death to all the Spaniards, and not
to this or that class.Moreover in many cases the same Katipuneros
saved their parish priests from a sure death whilst they dealt out
anything but kind treatment to those of the Civil Guard (Filipinos)
and the Spanish troops who fell into their hands.The friars who were
murdered by the rebels were not murdered for being friars but because
they were Spaniards.The documents captured, the result of the trials
held in judgement of persons guilty of treason, show clearly that the
revolution was for the purpose of gaining the independence of the
country from Spain, and not merely to bring about the expulsion of
the Religious Orders.Aguinaldo, the leader of the Katipunan hordes,
desired to send the friars who fell prisoners into his hands, over
to Hong-Kong, where they would be at liberty to return to their own
country; but this merciful desire of his was overruled by his advisers,
among whom were numbered Mabini his right hand man, Pardo de Tavera,
Legarda and Buencamino, all three of them traitors to the cause of
independence.To-day they stand in positions of honor, honor which
they have done nothing to deserve, whilst Aguinaldo who was the tool
of political schemers, their play-thing, is cast into disgrace and
kept in the background, a scape-goat for the sins and shortcomings
of men whose names disgrace the darkest pages of Philippine history.Vast numbers of these documents were later on destroyed in
the hope that certain affairs of an anti-patriotic nature might be
hushed up, and many persons of a high official standing saved from
scandal.Padre Mariano Gil, O. S. A., who made known to the public
authorities the fearful plot of the Katipunan in time to prevent the
brutal murder of hundreds of Spaniards, was granted certified copies
of a large number (all theSandra went back to the hallway. |
office | Where is John? | The element here spoken of was the Filipino colony (all of
them separatists) and Morayta the "papa" of the said Filipinos of
separatist tendencies.This committee, although not exclusively masonic, was
essentially revolutionary, and had for its duty the distribution of
works of propaganda.Its delegate in Europe was Marcelo H. del Pilar.The campaign at this present carried on by some
of the filipino and Spanish papers, and, in contradiction to the
fundamental principles of Americanism, by the local American press
also, is but a sequel to the work of this committee of propaganda.The
calumnies which are literally crammed into the columns of Manila's
English speaking daily and weekly press are but a poor reproduction of
the vicious publications distributed throughout the archipelago since
the year 1888.For fourteen years have these calumnies been published,
but in spite of countless challenges, never have the statements
brought forward been backed up with even the shadow of proof.When
almighty God completed his creation by the making of man and woman,
he led them to Eden, placing them under his law.Then it was that the
devil beguiled them with lying words: "For God doth know that in that
day that you shall eat thereof (of the forbidden fruit) your eyes shall
be opened, and you shall be as Gods knowing good and evil."From that
day to this, this same argument that the devil used to try to prove
that God was withholding from the people what was to their benefit,
is being to-day used by certain of the offspring of that evil spirit
against the element of good, against the Religious Orders, the servants
of God, claiming that they held from the people of this Archipelago
that which was for their good and advancement.Adam and Eve found
to their bitter cost that the devil lied: those who are to-day being
misled by anti-friar calumny will make the same discovery in due time.The opinion of the author was
formed from statements made by those charged with treason.Many of
those under this charge gave false testimony, as was later on proved,
and in that testimony implicated honorable Filipinos who had never
harbored such ideas in their hearts as those they were accused of.John moved to the hallway.Many
of the wealthy element of Luzon and other islands of the group, were
forced by threats and compromises into position they had no desire to
occupy.Of these the great majority were either insular Spaniards, that
is sons of Spanish parents, but born in the Philippines, or they were
Spanish mestizos or indians.Some 90% of the wealthy revolutionists
were Chinese half-castes.Think of the thousands of hard earned
dollars which went to swell the funds gathered to feed and clothe and
to satisfy the fads and fancies of those exploiters.Mary travelled to the hallway.And what has
the poor indian who provided the money gained in the deal?Four or
five years of bloodshed and disaster he has surely gained; but what
is of more importance to him is that he barely escaped falling into
the hands of his own countrymen!He fell out of the frying-pan and
almost fell into the fire!The aspirations of the association were, to say the least,
anti-patriotic; they were always underhand; they were the aspirations
of the "Liga", of the "Compromisarios" and of the Katipunan."In the following year, Pedro Serrano arrived from Spain and
then was masonry introduced into the Philippines, the first lodge
instituted being the "Nilad" [37] its first Venerable being Jose
Ramos."Testimony of Moises Salvador y Francisco (fol.According to the testimony of Antonio Salazar (fol.1,118 to 1,129)
"In 1892 Pedro Serrano came from Spain and in union with Jose Ramos
joined a lodge of peninsular Spaniards, and commenced the propaganda
of masonry exclusively among Filipinos, in a short time establishing
the mother lodge known as the Nilad... the number of members becoming
excessive, other lodges were established in the suburbs...."
Into this lodge Nilad or the lodges formed therefrom, passed all the
members of the committee of propaganda and of the local delegations,
the work of the propaganda of masonry and that of separatism being
carried on in the same lodge room.The plea that masonry had no
connection with the Katipunan fails to stand good in face of this
testimony, added to which may be mentioned letters of M. del Pilar
to La Modestia concerning the organization and labors of separatism;
as well as other letters, rich in masonic jargon, to the lodges and
to individuals connected with the double work of propagating masonry
and spreading among the people ideas of the basest of ingratitude.wrote from Madrid,
June 8th 1892:
AL.G. D. G. A. D. U.144 of A. L. and A. masons of the
Philippines regularly constituted in the Federation of the
Gr.The letter goes on to speak of the new foundation and the number
of initiations."It pleases us much," says the Gr."to see the activity and zeal
which you employ in the labors, and for it we greet you.Nevertheless,
we must remind you always of the greatest care in the election of the
laborers.Not all men, although they profess our ideas and doctrines,
serve for good masons,..."
Morayta, writing on the 12th of June 1892 to bro.Panday Pira, says:
"... But do not forget an advice which I believe Ruiz gave you also:
be very careful; do not open your arms to any except they be of full
confidence.... Remember that, even though things have changed there (in
the Philippines) you run all the danger consequent upon the domination
(sic) of the friar and of the General."The general was Despujols,
an upright, honest and sincere man who was too apt to measure other
people's corn by his own bushel.The filibusters took advantage of
the fact, and by their lying protests of love for Spain, captivated
him and fooled him out and out for a time.At that time liberty of association was not allowed by law in
the Archipelago.To attain their ends this was the thing most necessary
for the separatists.Without the shelter of the law of association
nothing could be done except by stealth.It was for want of this
privilege that the shelter of the masonic lodge room was sought.Sandra went to the bedroom.Blumentritt, Fernando; of German race, Austrian by
nationality, resident in Bohemia and therefore spoken of by
various writers sometimes as a German, at others as a Bohemian or
an Austrian.Like Foreman [38], Blumentritt claimed to be a fervent
Catholic and yet was an open enemy of the Church.He claimed moreover
to be a great friend of Spain and yet openly sided with her enemies.He
was one of the collaborators of the La Solidaridad.Isabelo de los Reyes writes of him: "The savant (sic) Blumentritt the
brother of the Filipinos, has always served us with disinterest (except
in what concerned his pocket) and opportuneness.He was the first who
did us justice by publishing many valuable articles to demonstrate,
under all points of view, the superiority of the Filipino (Isabelo
does not say over what) and defending our cause against the ambition
of the imperialists (that is the Spaniards)."Blumentritt was a member of the society known as the "Amigos del Pais"
[39], and remained so till his actions and writings caused well
thinking Spaniards and Philippinos [40] to call for his dismissal
from its membership.The patriotic outcry against him caused him to
resign on the 14th of November 1889; the Solidaridad of the 31st of
December of the same year published his resignation.The press of
Manila was exceptionally bitter against him and only such Filipinos
as those who continue up to the present time forming part of the
juntas in Hong-Kong, Madrid, Paris, London and other places looked
up to him for the assistance they could not find at home.It was naturally in the Peninsula where the chief work of
the propaganda had to be carried on, and it was there also that the
propaganda had the least effect.The principal instrument for the
dissemination of the seed of separatist aspirations was the Solidaridad
(See note 24).The Filipinos here, who gave their subscriptions and
other sums of money for the support of the bi-monthly, were kept
under the impression that the official organ was making a great
noise in Madrid; but as it never reached the official world it was
supposed to influence, its publication was practically useless.In
the Philippines it served the same purpose as the La Independencia:
that is, it served to keep alive the spirit of unrest, and by the
lies it published, made the people believe that their leaders were
going to lead them to a promised land which "flowed with milk and
honey."They eventually got into the promised land, only to find that
the milk was very much "condensed", and that the honey was only to be
got after those who secured it had been exposed to the very unpleasant
operation of being stung by the bees which produced it.Instead of serving to keep together the subjects and their rulers
in a bond of peace and tranquility, and helping them to come to a
mutual understanding, in which state the progress and advancement
of the islands and their inhabitants could be the easier and the
better accomplished, the separatist element, by their propaganda,
caused more and more strife by attacking national institutions
and by casting slurs upon national honor.The discontent stirred
up against the Spanish authorities was identical to that which,
until the passing of the law of sedition and even since that time,
was stirred up against the American sovereignty.In its propaganda
against the Religious Orders, inciting the native clergy against the
lawful authority of their Bishops, it was the precursor of modern
Manila's American press.History tells us what was the result of the
lessening of the moral influence of the Religious Orders in the days
of Spanish rule, and to-day History repeats itself.Sandra went back to the hallway.The inciting of
the native clergy against their Bishops is encouraging the natives,
as a whole, to resist lawful authority.The cry to-day is "down with
the friar," tomorrow it will be "down with the American."In 1888 it
was down with the Religious Orders, in 1896 it had become "death to
all Spaniards".In 1898 the American was blessed as a deliverer from
oppression, in 1899 cursed as an intruder.Who knows the
opinion of the people?Who but a few ignorantes trust the great men
of the late revolution?In Spain the work of the separatists produced no effect upon the
people; a few here and there of the least patriotic of the scum of
Barcelona and Madrid aided them but apart from these and the Bible
Societies, no one interested themselves in their cause.From the earliest to the latest days of the period of the
revolt, that is from '88 to '98, this was one of the greatest obstacles
to be overcome.Money was collected for propaganda in Spain and in
Japan; what became of it all?Money was collected for the purpose
of releasing or stealing away Rizal; what became of it?Funds were
collected for the purchase of rifles and ammunition for the Katipunan,
and, at the last moment, Andres Bonifacio fled with some 20,000
pesos.This continual squabble over the administration of the funds
is a proof clear enough, of the existence of organized exploiters
whose pockets were of more concern to them than were the interests
of their country.It is almost needless to say that this latter was in the
minority; later on Pilar suffered a marked change of temperament
and became more decidedly separatist than Rizal.Rizal was willing
to give the goose a chance to lay her golden eggs; Pilar becoming
impatient killed the goose with the scheme of the Katipunan."Previous to his return to Manila Rizal lived some time in
Hong-Kong.From there he forwarded to Moises Salvador Francisco the
statutes and instructions for the "Liga Filipina".""It resulting that after some years of voluntary expatriation
... a Spanish citizen (Rizal) born in the Philippines, directed a
first letter, dated some months back in Hong-Kong, to the superior
Authorities, offering his aid and assistance for the better government
and progress of the Philippines, at the same time in which his latest
book commenced circulation, for which reason no reply was given; and in
a second letter dated in the month of May, in which, recognizing the
policy of generous attraction, of morality and justice here implanted
... announced his intention of returning to his native soil to dispose,
together with his friends, of the property they possessed, and to
go with their families to found, in Borneo, a filipino agricultural
colony under English protection...."
"A few days afterwards, the Spanish citizen... disembarked with his
sister in Manila...." (See also note 8.)Extracts from the Decree of
Deportation issued against Rizal by Governor Despujols, 7th July 1892.John went back to the office."In the year 1892, Rizal being in Manila, recently arrived
from Europe, several people of the country were gathered together,
among them Andres Bonifacio, Numeriano Adriano, Timoteo Paez and
Estanislao Legaspi, in a wooden house in calle Dulumbayan, were
a society known as the "Liga Filipina" was founded."Testimony of
Valentin Diaz, native of Panay, Ilocos Norte."In May or June 1892 Jose Rizal reached Manila; and encharged by
him, Paez and Serrano invited a large number of persons to gather
on a certain day... in the house of Doroteo Ongjungco where Rizal
manifested to those present, among whom was the witness, that it was
necessary to form an association which should be called the "Liga
Filipina", the object and of which should be the attainment of the
separation of these islands from Spain."Moises Salvador y Francisco
(fols."The reunion was called by Rizal, and the witness was invited
by Timoteo Paez, who conducted him to the house of Doroteo
Ongjungco.... That Jose Rizal addressed those present, manifesting
the convenience of establishing an association under the name of the
"Liga Filipina" with the object of collecting funds by different
means, to the end of securing opportunely the independence of these
islands".... Testimony of Domingo Franco y Tuason (fols.It was not the aim which Rizal had in his mind, of delivering
his country from disabilities but the manner in which he set to work to
accomplish that end, to which objection must be raised.When a people
suffer under the oppression of its rulers, all the world admires the
man who rises to throw off the hateful yoke.But when the oppression is
imaginary and when the so-called hero is but a marionette in the hands
of political schemers who seek their own advantage under the shelter
of a pretence to throw off a yoke which does not exist, one cannot
admire the part played by the deluded "tool".The emancipation from
the mother-country was the key-note of the revolt.It was the aim of
the Filipino freemasons, of the Liga Filipina, of the Compromisarios
and of the Katipunan.Rizal was deported to Dapitan, in the island of Mindanao,
by decree of Governor Despujols, part of which has been quoted in
note 42.The decree goes on to say that, by reason of the fact that
"the veil under which, up this present, he has succeeded in hiding his
true intentions has been torn asunder,"... "that he adduces no other
defence but useless denials, having recourse to throwing the blame
of the discovery of the leaflets upon his own sister (see page 99)...."
"In fulfillment of the high duties which devolve upon me as your
General and Vice Royal Patron... I decree the following:..."
"1st: that Jose Rizal shall be deported to one of the islands of
the south...."
"The responsibility of these vigorous measures which a painful duty
imposes upon me, falls entirely upon those who by their imprudent
aims and ungrateful proceedings come to disturb the paternal cares
of this general government making the ordinate march of Philippine
progress the more difficult."Daniel travelled to the kitchen.[41]
"Manila |
hallway | Where is John? | "In the month of April 1893, upon the initiative and
invitation Juan Zulueta, now dead, and of Deodato Arellano, cousin
of Marcelo del Pilar, a new gathering was called in the house of
Deodato Arellano, with the object of establishing anew the Liga
Filipina under the same bases and for the same ends...."
Note 47.The determinate ends of the separatists have already been
spoken of in note 3, which see."The object of the society (the Liga) is the establishment
of shops, workshops, businesses, industries and even a bank if
possible, with the end in view of collecting funds for an armed
rising."--Testimony of Juan Dizon Matanza, (fols.The ceremonies practiced by the Liga differed but little from
those practiced by the Katipunan.The chief difference lay in the fact
that the ceremonial of the Katipunan partook more of the grotesque,
of the absurd, of paganism.Pio Valenzuela in recounting the forms and ceremonies practiced upon
his initiation, said:
"Once in the house [42], they spoke of many things, en resume,
that the aim of the association was to obtain the independence of
the Philippines, oppressed and enslaved by the Spaniards.Placing,
later on, a dagger at his breast, they obliged him to throw himself
upon it, a thing which the witness could not pluck up courage enough
to do; whereupon they placed it in his hand, leading him to a man
whom he recognized to be seated, and ordered him (the witness) to
strike him with the dagger, a thing which he dare not do either.He
was then conducted into a room and addressed by a person he knew
to be Bonifacio by the voice, who informed him that he could not
retrace his steps because he knew of the existence of the society,
but he could not assist at the juntas nor could they teach him the
signs of recognition till he had been re-initiated; they moreover
made him sign two sheets of blank paper, causing him to swear never
to reveal the existence of the society to anyone, under the pain of
assassination.They then removed the bandage which he was blindfolded
and he saw around him eight or nine individuals dressed in cloaks and
hoods; he signed the two sheets of paper and was again blindfolded
and conducted to a considerable distance from the house where the
bandage was again removed.Another member of the Katipunan in his declaration made on the 22nd
of September 1896, stated that during the month of February 1893, one
Sunday morning, a certain Estanislao Legaspi entered his store, telling
him to accompany him in a calesa.He listened to tirades against
the Spanish Government till their arrival at the house of a certain
Tranquilino Torres, in calle Elcano.Here "his eyes were bandaged by
Legaspi and he was handed over to the care of another individual who
conducted him to the upper story of the house and made him sit down;
he then heard a person whom he knew to be Legaspi by his voice speak,
saying several things against the Spanish Government, demanding of him
an oath of blind obedience, and a defense of the Philippines till the
shedding of the last drop of his blood, threatening him with fearful
punishments if he should turn traitor.This ceremony being terminated,
his eyes were unbound and he saw, on a table, a skull which they
made him kiss, and Legaspi handed him a lance commanding him to wound
himself in the arm; but he felt a feeling of faintheartedness come over
him, and manifested to those present that he had not courage enough
to wound himself and wished that the oath he had taken be enough;
he was dispensed from the operation.When the bandage was removed the
eight individuals composing the junta were masked with black hoods, but
after he kissed the skull and attempted to wound himself they removed
the hoods and he then recognized Estanislao Legaspi who presided,
Mariano de Vera, Teodoro Plata and Juan de la Cruz who was a clerk
of the Tabacalera, and who had led him upstairs; he did not know the
other three.John moved to the hallway.The witness paid two pesos as entrance fee promising
to pay 50 cents monthly.He asked Legaspi what association it was,
and he replied that it was the Liga Filipina."In the daily report of the secret police department made to General
Blanco on the 30th of June 1896, is the following notice:
"Herewith is given translated most faithfully from Tagalog, the
result of an interview held with a well-to-do indian who belonged to
the most popular of the masonic lodges, who tried to draw into it a
friend.Questioned upon certain affairs, he said: "In the masonic
lodges of San Juan del Monte and of Pandacan, the whole pueblo,
rich and poor, is inscribed.""In the reunions the brethren attend blind-folded, and the chiefs
with the face covered.""The person who desires to enter the lodge is obliged to have his
face covered and his eyes bandaged in sign of blind obedience; the
proofs are carried out and signature made as follows.The person
receiving the initiated takes a dagger and gives it to him saying to
him: do you swear to be steel like that which you hold in your hand
and not to bend in the exigencies which oppress and vex us, and to
labor in pro of the independence of your enslaved country?I swear
answers the person to be initiated.Do you swear not to have father,
mother, wife, child nor any relative but the revenging arm which shall
sleep and live with you?They then surround him with arms
of all classes and say to him: here is thy family, thy only work,
and may it give thee thy life and open thy eyes for thy good of the
country.They then make a small incision in the form of a cross in
the right arm near the shoulder.""At present our meetings are held at night and in the most lonely
fields, with the object of not being surprised."...................................................................
"It is well known among us masons that Rizal is attributed with the
faculty of being able to translate his person instantaneously from
one point to another."Juan Castaneda testified on the 21st of September 1896 before
the Chief Inspector of the Corps of Vigilance that "he was recommended
to make the greatest amount of propaganda possible, of Japanese ideas
in the pueblo of Imus."The Japanese ideas here spoken of were those
of the foundation of the Japanese protectorate.was the great cry in the majority of
the masonic correspondence between the workers in Spain and those who
had to supply the funds here.On the 8th of June 1892 Morayta wrote
to bro.Panday-Pira informing him (a favorite custom of Morayta's)
that what was wanted was "money to invite journalists (to dine or
take a drink) and to pay articles in the papers."Mary travelled to the hallway.Morayta, probably
with tears in his eyes, in ending his letter, heaves a sigh, whilst
his fingers itching for the touch of gold, nervously clutch the pen
which scrawls these words: "if we only had here a good administrator
with funds then you would see how we should advance!"On the 22nd of June 1892 the secretary of the Gr.wrote to
the same explaining how "in a few meetings, a couple of banquets and
a few presents made at the right time" much could be accomplished.Rizal had money troubles previously with Pilar in Madrid
(see note 39).The excessive earnest and zeal displayed at the
time of the foundation of the Liga by Rizal died away on his
deportation.This zeal was owing to the captivating manner in which
the founder demonstrated to his audience the brilliant future to be
attained by such an undertaking.Rizal had the advantage of a ready
oratory and like Bonifacio, drew his hearers to his cause in spite of
themselves.And then again, the same as in masonry, the association
was secret, and its true end and aim were but whispered; and whilst
many of the associated were laboring to assist, as they thought, in
the fomentation of the culture and advancement of the country, they
were in reality playing with the toy allotted to them by the society,
whilst the chief members, those members best suited to be masons,
as says the Gr.[43], carried on the true
work of the Liga.As in the lower degrees of any secret society,
and of masonry in particular, the members are unaware of what is
aimed at in the degrees to which they have not attained, to which
all cannot attain, and the secrets of which are zealously guarded,
so it was in the Liga.Upon its re-establishment the Liga counted among its members several
who aimed at the leadership.The absence of Rizal, deported to Dapitan,
left open the door for unbridled ambition.This together with money troubles brought about considerable ill
feeling between the absent founder and those continuing the work of the
association.Rizal had so far kept up a continual secret communication
with the Liga, thanks to the liberty allowed him by his keepers in
Mindanao, who guarded him with scandalous carelessness; and thanks also
to the emissaries sent to him from Manila in search of instructions
and advice.The result of the ill-feeling thus brought about was the
rupture in official relations between the Liga and its founder.One of the facts clearly developed in the trials of
those suspected of treason, was that the guilty ones had taken the
utmost care not to leave behind them traces of their work.This was
principally the case with Rizal and the other chief workers of the
revolt, and of those who formed the association of Compromisarios.Both Pedro and Francisco Roxas were honorary councillors of
the Administration.On the 19th of September 1896 Blanco published
the following decrees:
"In as much as Sr.D. Francisco Roxas, honorary councillor of the
Administration is found under process in the courts of law: in the
use of the faculties in me invested, I decree that he cease from the
exercise of his functions etc., etc."And on the 30th of September the following:
"In as much as the Excellent Sr.D. Pedro P. Roxas, honorary councillor
of the Administration has been found under process in the courts of
law, for rebellion; in the use of my faculties, etc., etc."Moises Salvador y Francisco testified (fols.1138-1143) that "among
the persons who sympathised with the cause and who aided it with
their means for its realization, he remembered D. Pedro Roxas and
D. Francisco Roxas... (and others); and there existed in the provinces
others whose names he could not remember."Domingo Franco y Tuason testified on the 30th of September 1896
(fols.1332-1337) that "in another of the several interviews he
had with Francisco L. Roxas, he asked him if in the circle of his
relations (with the association) he counted with persons who had
offered to aid the objects and ends of the Liga.And in proof thereof he drew from a drawer in his desk a record
which he read, and among the names he read the witness remembered
those of don P. Roxas and others."When Francisco Roxas found himself in danger of arrest, he attempted
to flee to Hong-Kong, but was captured on board the ship which was to
carry him there.From the ship he was conducted under arrest to the
Comendancia of the Veterana where he remained several days, at the
end of which he was transferred to the Fort of Santiago.Francisco was a millionaire who had received from Spain a name and
reputation superior to his personal merits, and yet in spite of
all that the mother-country had done for him in raising him up to a
position to which he could never have attained without her aid, he was
found to have placed himself in the vanguard of the bitterest enemies
of his country.He was the director of the workings of separatism
and was the chief provider of arms for the revolt, as was testified
by innumerable witnesses.[44]
On the eve of his execution for treason Francisco penned the following
abjuration:
"I, Francisco L. Roxas, on the eve of my death, in reparation for what
in my words and actions may have offended my neighbor; for warning
of others of my person and in order to satisfy my conscience, to the
end that no one, and especially my children, fall into the net of
freemasonry, or of any other secret society, all of which I detest
and curse, and be not in a day to come ungrateful sons of our Mother
Spain, beg pardon for all my faults and bad example.""I die in the Holy Roman Catholic Apostolic faith in which I was born
and educated in a christian manner.I admit all that she admits and
condemn all that she condemns.""This I sign with my own hand with entire liberty."The _Sachsengraf_ (Count), or Comes, was formerly the head of the
nation, chosen by the people, and acknowledging no other authority
but that of the King.He was at once the judge and the leader of his
people, and had alone the power of pronouncing sentence of death, in
token of which four fir-trees were planted in front of his house.The original meaning of this I take to be, that in olden times the
malefactors were executed on the spot, and suspended on these very
trees, in full sight of the windows—a pleasant sight, truly, for the
ladies of the family.Nowadays the Saxon Comes has shrunk to a mere shadow of his former
self; for though there is still nominally a Comes who resides at
Hermanstadt, his position is as unlike what it used to be as those four
trumpery-looking little Christmas-trees stuck before his door resemble
the portentous gallows of which they are the emblem.It is, in fact,
merely as a harmless concession to Saxon national feeling that the
title has been preserved at all—a mere meaningless appendage tacked on
to the person of the Hungarian _obergespan_, or sheriff.The principal strength of these Saxon colonists has always lain in
their schools, whose conservation they jealously guard, supporting
them entirely from their own resources, and stubbornly refusing all
help from the Government.Sandra went to the bedroom.Sandra went back to the hallway.They do not wish to accept favors, they say,
and thereby incur obligations.These schools had formerly the name of
being among the very best in Austria; and I have heard of many people
who from a distance used to send their children to study there, some
twenty to thirty years ago.That this reputation is, however, highly
overrated is an undoubted fact, as I know from sad experience with
my own children, though it is not easy to determine where the fault
exactly lies.The Saxons declare their schools to have suffered from
Hungarian interference, which limits their programme in some respects,
while insisting on the Hungarian language being taught in every class;
but many people consider the Saxons themselves quite as much to blame
for the bad results of their teaching.John went back to the office.Doubtless, in this as in other
respects, it is their exaggerated conservatism which is at fault; and,
keeping no account of the age we live in, what was reckoned good some
thirty years ago may be called bad to-day.Anyhow, between the reforming Hungarians and the conservative Saxons,
unfortunate stranger boys have a very hard time of it indeed at the
Hermanstadt Gymnasium, and it is a fact beginning to be generally
acknowledged that children coming to Austria from Transylvanian schools
are thrown two classes back.But the whole question of education in Austria is such a provoking
and unsatisfactory one that it is hardly possible to speak of it with
either patience or politeness; and by none are its evil effects more
disastrously felt than by hapless military families, who, compelled
to shift about in restless fashion from land to land, are alternately
obliged to conform their children to the most opposite requirements of
utterly different systems.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.John travelled to the hallway.Thus the son of an officer serving in the Austrian army may be obliged
to study half a dozen different languages (in addition to Latin,
Greek, German, and French) during a hardly greater number of years.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.He
must learn Italian because his father is serving at Trieste, and may be
getting on fairly well with that language when he is abruptly called
upon to change it for Polish, since Cracow is henceforth the town where
he is to pursue his studies.But hardly has he got familiar |
kitchen | Where is John? | Slavonian and Ruthenian may very likely have
their turn at the unfortunate infant before he has attained the age
of twelve, unless the distracted father be reduced to sacrifice his
military career to the education of his son.It is not of our own individual case that I would speak thus strongly,
for our boys, being burdened with only seven languages (to wit, Polish,
English, German, French, Greek, Latin, and Hungarian), would scarcely
be counted ill-used, as Austrian boys go, having escaped Bohemian,
Slavonian, Ruthenian, and Italian; yet assuredly to us it was a very
happy day indeed when we made a bonfire of the Magyar school-books,
and ceased quaking at sight of the formidable individual who taught
Hungarian at the Hermanstadt Gymnasium.O happy English school-boys, you know not how much you have to be
thankful for!—your own noble language, adorned with a superficial
layer of Greek and Latin, and at most supplemented by a little
atrocious French, being sufficient to set you up for life.Think of
those others who are pining in a complicated net-work of Bohemian,
Polish, Hungarian, Slavonian, Italian, Croatian, and Ruthenian fetters;
think of them, and drop a sympathizing tear over their mournful lot!That the Saxon school-professors are well-educated, intelligent men is
no proof in favor of the schools themselves, for here another motive is
at work, namely, no man can aspire to be pastor without passing through
the university, and then practising for several years at a public
gymnasium; and as these places are very lucrative, there is a great
run upon them.Now, as formerly, most young men are sent to complete
their studies at some German university town—Heidelberg, Göttingen,
or Jena—an undertaking which, before the days of railroads, must have
required considerable resolution to enable those concerned to encounter
the hardships of a journey which took from ten to twelve weeks to
perform.It was usually conducted in the following manner: Some
enterprising Roumanian peasant harnessed twelve to fourteen horses
to some lumbering vehicle, and, laden with a dozen or more students
thirsting for knowledge, pilgered thus to the German university town
some eight or nine hundred miles off.Returning to Transylvania some
six months later, he brought back another batch of young men who had
completed their studies.The weight which these Saxons have always attached to education may be
gathered from the fact that in almost each of their fortified churches,
or burgs, there was a tower set apart for the inculcation of knowledge,
and to this day many such are still in existence, and known as the
_schul thurm_ (school-tower).Even when the enemy was standing outside
the walls, the course of learning was not allowed to be interrupted.It
must have been a strange sight and a worthy subject for some historical
painter to see this crowd of old-fashioned fair-haired children, all
huddled together within the dingy turret; some of the bolder or more
inquisitive flaxen heads peering out of the narrow gullet-windows at
the turbans and crescents below, while the grim-faced mentor, stick in
hand, recalls them to order, vainly endeavoring to fix their wandering
attention each time a painim arrow whizzed past the opening.* * * * *
Why these Saxons, who have shown themselves so rigidly conservative
on all other points, should nevertheless have changed their religion,
might puzzle a stranger at first sight.The mere spirit of imitation
would not seem sufficient to account for it, and Luther’s voice could
hardly have penetrated to this out-of-the-way corner of Europe at a
time when telegraphs and telephones were yet unknown.John moved to the hallway.The solution
of this riddle is, however, quite simple, and lies close at hand,
when we remember that even before the Reformation all those preparing
for the Sacerdoce went to Germany to complete their studies.These,
consequently, caught the reforming infection, and brought it back fresh
from headquarters, acting, in fact, as so many living telephones, who,
conveying the great reformer’s voice from one end of Europe to the
other, promulgated his doctrines with all the enthusiasm and fire of
youth.Mary travelled to the hallway.Every year thus brought fresh recruits from the scene of action; no
wonder, then, that the original Catholic clerical party grew daily
smaller and weaker, and proved unable to stem this powerful new
current.The contest was necessarily an unequal one: on one side,
impassioned rhetoric and the fire of youth; on the other, the drowsy
resistance of a handful of superannuated men, grown rusty in their
theology and lax in the exercise of their duties.Sandra went to the bedroom.In the year 1523 Luther’s teaching had already struck such firm
roots at Hermanstadt that the Archbishop of Gran, to whose diocese
Hermanstadt then belonged, obtained a royal decree authorizing the
destruction of all Lutheran books and documents as pernicious and
heretical.Accordingly an archiepiscopal commissary was despatched
to Hermanstadt, and all burghers were compelled to deliver up their
Protestant books and writings to be burned in the public market-place.It is related that on this occasion, when the bonfire was at its
highest, the wind, seizing hold of a semi-consumed Psalter, carried
it with such force against the head of the bishop’s emissary that,
severely burned, he fainted away on the spot.Sandra went back to the hallway.The book was thrown back
into the fire where it soon burned to ashes; but on the third day after
the accident the commissary died of the wounds received.Another anecdote relating to the Reformation is told of the village
of Schass, which, while Luther’s doctrine was being spread in
Transylvania, despatched one of its parishioners, named Strell, to
Rome in quest of a Papal indulgence for the community.More than
once already had Strell been sent to Rome on a like errand, and each
time, on returning home with the granted indulgence for his people,
he was received by a solemn procession of all the villagers, bearing
flying banners and singing sacred hymns.He was, therefore, not a
little surprised this time, on approaching the village, to see the
road deserted before him, though he had given warning of his intended
arrival.The bells were dumb, and not a soul came out to meet him; but
his astonishment reached its climax when, on nearing the church, he
perceived the images of the saints he had been wont to revere lying
in the mire outside the church walls.To his wondering question he
received the reply that in his absence the villagers had changed their
faith.Strell, however, did not imitate their example, but raising
up the holy images from their inglorious position, he gave them an
honorable place in his house, remaining Catholic to the end of his days.Nevertheless, in spite of many such incidents, the change of religion
in Transylvania brought about fewer disturbances than in most other
places.There was little strife or bloodshed, and none of that fierce
fanaticism which has so often injured and weakened both causes.The
Saxon peasantry did this as they do everything else, calmly and
practically; and the Government permitting each party to follow its
own religion unmolested, in a comparatively short time peace and order
were re-established in the interior of the country.Without wishing to touch on such a very serious subject as the
respective merits of the two religions, or attempting to obtrude
personal convictions, it seems to me, from a purely artistic point
of view, that the sterner and simpler Protestant religion fits these
independent and puritanical-looking Saxon folk far better than the
ancient faith can have done; while the more graceful forms of the
Oriental Church, its mystic ceremonies and arbitrary doctrines, are
unquestionably better adapted to an ardent, ignorant, and superstitious
race like the Roumanian one.John went back to the office.FOOTNOTES:
[5] This, however, may be doubted, as I do not believe that, under any
circumstances, a natural amalgamation between Germans and Magyars could
ever have come about.There is a too deeply inrooted dislike between
the two races.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Saxon villages are as easily distinguished from Roumanian ones,
composed of wretched earthen hovels, as from Hungarian hamlets, which
are marked by a sort of formal simplicity.The Saxon houses are larger
and more massive; each one, solidly built of stone, stands within a
roomy court-yard surrounded by a formidable stone wall.Building and
repairing is the Saxon peasant’s favorite employment, and the Hungarian
says of him ironically that when the German has nothing better to do he
pulls down his house and builds it up again by way of amusement.Each village is usually formed of one long principal street, extending
sometimes fully an English mile along the high-road; only when the
village happens to be built at a junction of several roads, the streets
form a cross or triangle, in the centre of which mostly stands the
church.From this principal street or streets there sometimes branch
off smaller by-streets on either side; but these are seldom more than
five or six houses deep, for the Saxon lays great stress on the point
of locality, and the question of high-street or by-street is to him
every whit as important as the alternative of Grosvenor Square or City
would be to a Londoner.Formerly no Roumanians or gypsies were tolerated within Saxon villages,
but of late these people have been gradually creeping nearer, and now
most German villages have at one end a shabby sort of _faubourg_, or
suburb, composed of Roumanian and gypsy hovels.The principal street, often broad enough to admit of eight carts
driving abreast, presents but little life at first sight.The windows
of the broad gable-end next the street have often got their shutters
closed, for this is the best room, reserved for state occasions.Only
when we open the gate and step into the large court-yard can we gain
some insight into the life and occupations of the inhabitants.[Illustration: SAXON PEASANT HOUSE.]John travelled to the hallway.Near to the entrance stands the deep draw-well, and all round are built
the sheds and stables for sheep, horses, cows, and buffaloes, while
behind these buildings another gate generally opens into a spacious
kitchen-garden.From the court five or six steps lead up to a sort of
open veranda, where the peasant can sit in summer and overlook his
farm laborers.Mary journeyed to the kitchen.From this passage the kitchen is entered, to the right
and left of which are respectively the common and the best room, both
good-sized apartments, with two windows each.In addition to these
there is often a smaller one-windowed room, in which reside a young
married couple, son or daughter of the house, who have not yet had
time to found their own hearth-stone; or else there lives here the
old widowed father or mother, who has abdicated in favor of the young
people.A ladder or rough flight of steps leads to the loft; and below
the veranda is the entrance to the cellar, where stores of pickled
sauerkraut, the dearly beloved national dish of the Saxons, and casks
of their pearly amber- wine, are among the principal features of
the provisions.In the village street, in front of each peasant house, there used
formerly to stand a large fruit-tree—pear, apple, or sometimes
mulberry—whose spreading branches cast a pleasant shade over the stone
bench placed there for the convenience of those who like to enjoy a
“crack” with the neighbors on fine evenings after the work is done.Many of these trees have now been cut down, for it was found that the
godless gypsies used to make their harvest there while the pious Saxons
were at church; or else unmannerly school-urchins in pelting down the
fruit with stones would sometimes hit the window-panes instead, and
thus cause still greater damage.The result is, therefore, that most
Saxon villages now present a somewhat bleak and staring appearance, and
that on a burning summer day it is not easy to find a shady bench on
which to rest a while.John travelled to the office.It may be of interest here to quote the statistical figures relating to
a large and flourishing village in the north-east of Transylvania:
Houses, 326 (of these 32 are earth hovels).Heads of population, 1416—of these the proportion of different
nationalities as follows:
Saxons—481 male, 499 female.Roumanians—118 male, 83 female (mostly farm-servants).Tziganes—104 men, 106 women.In this village, which is exceptionally rich in cattle, the different
animals number:
Bulls 3
Cows 357
Young cattle 575
Oxen 1200
Buffaloes 120
Horses 475
Goats 182
Pigs 734
Sheep 1000-1500
Most of the sheep in Transylvania are in the hands of the Roumanians,
while the pigs invariably belong to the Saxons.Among these latter,
1000 men possess on an average 215 horses, while among the Szekels only
51 will be found to the same number of heads.The Saxon peasant, being an enemy to all modern improvements, goes on
cultivating his fields much as did his forefathers six hundred years
ago.Clinging to the antiquated superstition that a field is the
more productive the longer it lies fallow, each piece of ground is
ploughed and sowed once only in three years; and having, owing to the
insufficient population, rarely enough hands to till his land himself,
he is obliged to call in the assistance of Roumanian farm-servants.Other people, too, have taken advantage of this agricultural somnolency
of the Saxons; so the Bulgarians, who pilger hither in troops every
spring-time to rent the Saxons’ superfluous fields, bringing with them
their own tools and seed, and in autumn, having realized the profit of
their labor, wend their way back to their homes and families.The great
specialty of these Bulgarian farmers is onions, of which they contrive
to rear vast crops, far superior in size and quality to those grown
by the natives.A Bulgarian onion field is easily distinguished from
a Saxon one by its trim, orderly appearance, the perfect regularity
with which the rows are planted, and the ingenious arrangements for
providing water in time of drought.Of the numerous Saxon villages which dot the plain around Hermanstadt,
I shall here only attempt to mention two or three of those with which
I have the most intimate acquaintance, as having formed the object
of many a walk and ride.First, there is Heltau—which, however, has
rather the character of a market-town than a village—lying in a
deep hollow at the foot of the hills south of Hermanstadt, and with
nothing either rural or picturesque about it.Yet whoever chances
first to behold Heltau, as I did, on a fine evening in May, when the
fruit-trees are in full blossom, will carry away an impression not
easily forgotten.From the road, which leads down in serpentine curves,
the village bursts on our eyes literally framed in a thick garland
of blossom, snowy white and delicate peach color combining to cast a
fictitious glamour over what is in reality a very unattractive place.John travelled to the kitchen.The inhabitants of Heltau, nearly all cloth-makers by trade, fabricate
that rough white cloth, somewhat akin to flannel, of which the
Roumanians’ hose is made.It is also largely exported to different
parts of the empire, and Polish Jews are often seen to hover about the
place.Such, in fact, is the attraction exercised by this white woollen
tissue that |